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Authors: Mitchell A. Duncan

Tags: #Science Fiction, #General, #Fiction

Deeper Into the Void (6 page)

BOOK: Deeper Into the Void
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Lawrence:
You know what Doctor, at least the weather is nice here; not a cloud in sight. The sky is golden and the sun is shining. Oh, I am driving by the way.

Lawrence looks over to the place where he had parked the solar rover yesterday afternoon. The remaining trace of the solar rig is the tread marks left by the tires as they fade into the rolling sands along the path from whence they had come the day before.

 

Lawrence:
Wait a second! What happened to the solar rig? It was here last night. Maybe Long sat on the parking brake and it rolled away or something.
Mendez:
I have absolutely no idea where it may have gone, or who may have taken it. Maybe E.T. got tired of riding in a bicycle basket.
Lawrence:
You have a sense of humor; interesting. I am betting that Long is just playing with us. He probably parked it out back or something. Well, at least the large rig is still here, and it is plugged in. I guess I’ll get it ready.
Mendez:
That’ll work, I guess. One thing bothers me though; I thought it was solar powered. It was there last night, and it is still early right now; it can’t be far. I mean, how could the solar powered rover drive away in the dark of night? Think about it.
Lawrence:
Well, we’ll keep a weathered eye on the horizon for it. I don’t think that there are too many things on this planet that shine in the sun.
Mendez:
What’s the difference between a weathered eye and a regular eye?
Lawrence:
Smart remarks like that, well they’re my thing. Don’t suck the very life out of me by making any more of those.

The large, battery-powered rig has been plugged into the power of the dome via a long, heavy duty extension cord for years. Lawrence walks around the heavy rig, the large wheels stand about a meter high; there are a total of six wheels. The long red-painted body of the rig is lightly weathered by sun and sand-storms. Lawrence unplugs the rig, and walks over to the side of the rig. He extends a hand to Mendez, which she takes as she climbs up the rungs on the outside of the rig, from there she climbs into her seat.

Lawrence joins her from the other side of the rig. After being seated in front of the controls, he unplugs his air supply hose from his oxygen canister and locks it into the dashboard in front of him. A rush of air into his hose is the sound that he was hoping to hear; the oxygen tanks on board must still have enough pressure to extend their time outside.

 

Lawrence:
Okay, let’s see if it still works.
Mendez:
What happens if it doesn’t work? Do we have to walk there?
Lawrence:
Too far to walk without having to drag extra oxygen with us, it would just be a waste of time.

Lawrence brushes the dust off of the controls in front of him and presses the power control on the glass control panel. A strong humming sound prompts him to relax a bit; the motor seems to be working just fine. With a few more presses of his thick gloves on the control panel, the rig begins to back away from the dome. The large wheels roll over several small rocks; the rocks are simply pressed into the soft sand underneath. Within a few short moments the rig disappears down the path as it ventures toward the first shuttle.

Time passes at a rate that is difficult for Mendez and Lawrence to calculate as they both sit quietly in the rig. Minutes, or maybe an hour pass as they look out over the scenic landscape that is still unfamiliar to them. The first shuttle comes into view as they descend down the last hill before reaching it. After the rig comes to a stop several meters away from the half-buried ship, they both unstrap themselves and get out of the rig. The wind has begun to pick up a little bit. Sand blowing upward into the thin air above them begins to render the sky a dusty red color. Small dust devils roam the landscape in the distance, and the sound of the grains of sand as they strike the glass visors is soothing to the ears, yet exhilarating to the cautious minds within.

 

Lawrence:
I am betting that the door won’t just open for us, so I am going to grab the cutting torch to get it open. I really don’t feel like climbing through a broken window or anything like that today.
Mendez:
Look at the vessel name painted on the hull there: Charon. I think that they could have picked a better name for that thing.
Lawrence:
Why does it matter?
Mendez:
I don’t really know that it does. Charon was the ferryman that ferried people to the underworld.
Lawrence:
No wonder the mission failed, with a name like that, how could they have made it? Someone back at badlands had a much darker sense of humor than I. Then again, to the lay man it is just another name, isn’t it?
Mendez:
Okay, make fun of me all you want. I still think they could have found a better name.

The hissing of gas as it rushes out of the nozzle of the cutting torch is almost loud enough to hear. As the sparks from the igniter fly past the gas it explodes into a furious flame. Lawrence adjusts the mixture and the size of the flame before he presses the burning fury to the door jamb. The door is more accessible than it normally might have been because of its proximity to the sand below.

 

Lawrence:
Okay, stand back. If there is still a portion of the hull that is still pressurized, then this door will fly off with a fury which hell hath not, if you know what I mean. If it hits you, it will seriously ruin your whole day. Who knows, it might just wreck your whole week.
Mendez:
Right. I’ll just stand back over there. It’s nice to know you care… Wait! What if someone is in there? If it’s pressurized and they have been surviving in there then…
Lawrence:
If all that stuff happened, then it will seriously ruin their day when this door comes flying off. Rapid depressurization isn’t fun, but it isn’t the worst way to go. I would rather die that way instead of being burned alive or something crazy like that.

After a couple of minutes of cutting the door falls off, exposing the interior of the shuttle. After shutting off the valves to the torch, Lawrence climbs up into the shuttle followed shortly after by Mendez. Lawrence heads aft and Mendez begins climb over the various crates laying all about as she makes her way to the forward compartment, where the cabin is located.

Control panels and compartment doors are broken off from their normal fixed places. They hang about the cabin and passageways; many are missing or shattered as well. Lawrence finds nothing of value in the rear compartments of the shuttle; access to the cargo area is relatively easy considering the doors that seal that section off are completely gone.

 

Lawrence:
Mendez, there isn’t anything to speak of back here. Have you found anything of interest?
Mendez:
Jim, you need to get up here… right away please.

As Lawrence hurriedly dodges the hanging debris in the shuttle as he makes his way forward, he stops suddenly upon entering the cockpit. In the copilot chair sits a pressure suit, presumably the suit has a body inside it. Ice crystals obscure the view through the helmet. As Lawrence attempts to move the suit, it becomes clear that there is indeed a body inside. The rigidity of the body suggests what is already quite apparent to them both, it is frozen.

After a short period, Lawrence raises his hand and brushes off the dust that covers the name patch, which simply reads “Winters” in large embroidered lettering. Lawrence’s breathing certainly changes and becomes more rapid and shallow, so much so that Doctor Mendez can hear it in her suit, over the radio. Resting his hand upon Winters’ shoulder, Lawrence firmly grasps a worn electronic tablet out of Winters’ right hand.

 

Mendez:
Do you know him?
Lawrence:
I think it could be said that I
knew
him, we served together.
Mendez:
I am sorry to hear that.
Lawrence:
Okay, well I figured we would probably find someone’s remains out here, but this is not exactly what I had expected…
For now, let’s get this tablet back to the dome and see if the contents can still be retrieved from it. I wonder what the pop-sickle was doing out here all by himself.
Mendez:
I have a confession to make.
Lawrence:
And what would that be?
Mendez:
I have been waiting for you to make a comment about Winters having a bad day or something like that.
Lawrence:
Too soon. Respect the dead. I was going to wait ‘till we got back outside before I dropped that jewel.
Mendez:
I guess I should have seen that one coming, huh? You know, you have an odd way of coping with your stress.
Lawrence:
Yeah, I get that a lot for some reason. I really don’t want to talk about it, let’s just get back to base with this thing already and leave it at that. That is unless you want to write all about my odd way in the case study that has my name on it.
Mendez:
Okay, I get that you aren’t particularly fond of psychologists; my only question for you is, why?
Lawrence:
You would ask that question, wouldn’t you?
Mendez:
Yeah, I just did.
Lawrence:
This is going to be a long mission out here. Anyway, you’re really bright, I am sure you can figure it all out on your own.

Chapter 6

W
ithin the control room, Doctor Long has finally worked his way into a chair positioned in front of the main control panel. For no apparent reason Long is having a difficult time holding his hand still. He stares at the jerky motions produced by his once subservient limb. He takes his left hand and lays it on top of the right one to try and calm the convulsive annoyance. He then rests it upon the control panel to relax it. Blue light courses through the glass panel at lightning speed; buttons and controls are all illuminated brightly before him. The large glass pane hanging on the wall in front of him also begins to light up.

The power control system is the first system that appears on the large panel in front of him. A crude schematic of the solar panels, the power storage array and power-consuming devices is plainly displayed in silver light. The sun’s output is measured and is displayed next to the readout on consumed power. Similar displays for the water utility system, comprised of pumps and filters, are displayed on the overhead screen in dark blue. Atmospheric controls and measurements are displayed to the left of the water controls. Air temperature and pressure, as well as oxygen levels and carbon dioxide levels, are all displayed in sky blue.

The display that really catches Long’s eye is the solar calendar, which is displayed as a diagram of the solar system. The alignment of all of the planets and relative dates are all displayed boldly, as to be read easily. Two planets rotate around the sun, in the same exact orbit, but on different sides of the sun. One of these planets seems pretty familiar to Long; it is where he has lived his whole life, Earth. The other planet, opposite Earth in the schematic appears only as a black circle and has no name attached to it. “That can’t be…”

A sharp movement on the far left side of the screen draws his gaze; the power input from the solar panels is dropping quickly, power in the storage array is failing. Warning messages on the screen appear in the power section. As Long is studying the control panel in front of him, the screen shuts down. Emergency lights, mounted along the walls at the ceiling in the control room all switch on as the screen goes clear. The faint humming of the computer in the room ceases; all goes absolutely silent.

A single reflection on the blank sheet of glass overhead draws his eyes slowly from the reflection of the emergency lights glowing in the background. The reflection is familiar enough to him; it is the reflection of his own face, weary and dejected. Despite the weight of his eyelids, Long widens his gaze to stave off his exhaustion. His arms lie on the arm-rests, his head leans back into the neck support of the chair. His extremities go completely flaccid, yet his mind quickens.

With his body completely relaxed and limp, his senses sharpen, drawing his focus to the smallest detail. The reflection of his eyes in the glass encapsulates his every thought. A single particle of dust causes his focus to intensify as he watches it drifting from up above to its settling place on the glass panel.

After staring at the dust particle, his gaze delves ever deeper into the eyes which stare back at him by way of the glass pane. Slight movements seen in the eyes in the reflection presses a surge of panic through him from his lips to his fingertips. Motionless and immobilized, he studies the movement of the eyes in front of him. Distress comes into plain view in the glass eyes; quick movements left to right in the eyes draw every reserve of mental acuity and capacity as he strains his mind to figure out how his gaze upon the reflection can remain so unshaken, yet his reflection looks about so. His relaxed muscles leave him at the mercy of gravity as he slowly slinks down the back of the chair.

His focus upon his reflection is broken only by the sound of a squeaky toy wheel as it rolls very slowly within an arm’s reach of the chair he sits in. The old toy’s wheels wobble on their bent axels as it rolls across the flat, level floor of the control room. The car rolls under the control panel, which is fixed in place just in front of him. Through the clear, plain glass Long watches the car as it rolls up to the wall behind the controls as it bumps into some frayed live wires. Sparks fly as it rests against the surging metal wiring. Smoke rises off of the floor and begins collecting on the ceiling. The windowless room only has a single door out, the door that is steadfastly shut behind him.

Cool clean air is tainted with foul smoke; the blue emergency lights quickly become concealed in the thick gray smoke. The waning light penetrates less and less through the building smoke. Smoke begins to descend slowly from the ceiling as Long lays helpless and paralyzed in his chair. His eyes widen as he watches the smoke begin to swirl around; it reaches down toward him. Long struggles against paralysis as he draws in the foul air. The strong smell of burning wood, which reminds him of campfires as a child, fills his nose and burns his throat. Weak coughs ensue as the smoke encapsulates his entire face. The world around him is constricted in a dark gray cloak; a final view through the narrow tunnel of vision is the last view of the faintly lit car as it smolders on the floor in front of him.

 

Cardiff:
Sleeping on the job, huh?

Long jumps up out of his seat as he turns quickly to look at Cardiff. She stands in the open doorway, looking at him with her arms folded. His fist rushes up to mask his mouth as he coughs violently. His eyes become blood-shot from the massive force of the incessant coughing. The dry coughs are completely unsatisfactory to him and provide him no relief from the pervasive burning in his lungs and throat.

 

Cardiff:
What is wrong with you? Do you need a drink or something?!

Long looks up at her through his excruciated eyes and can only nod as he leans on his other arm for support. Long stumbles to the floor as Cardiff rushes out the door to get him a drink. What seems like minutes pass as Long suffers through his tortuous coughing spell on the floor. Cardiff finally returns with a glass of water, and helps him to the seated position on the floor. With a vigor unmatched, he presses the glass to his lips. The thick taste of smoke washes away in the cleansing water. His itchy throat finds a small measure of relief in the drink.

Long removes the glass from his lips as he gasps for the cleansing air within the control room. The sound of boots running down the short hallway does not even distract Long from his focused breathing. Ghent enters the room, slightly short of breath, and makes a simple statement through his breaths, “The pond is at least 110 meters deep!”

Long hears none of this announcement, and quite frankly appears to be unfazed by Ghent’s presence at all. His eyes look at the wall behind the control computer. Terror and confusion fill every ounce of his body as he looks on at the ashen pile of wood that was once the toy car.

Dust swirls up from under the rolling wheels of the heavy rig as it slows its approach to the airlock. The red dust continues to swirl up into the air as boots kick it around. Lawrence and Mendez walk to the outer door of the airlock together. No discussion, no small talk; Mendez holds the old and heavily worn glass tablet that they had retrieved from the old ship. Lawrence stands outside the closed airlock door. His palm rests on the heavy metal door as he looks down at the small print on the door below his hand. Three streaks of what looks like dried blood appear as blemishes upon the heavy metal door. Mendez walks up to his left, and watches his careful study of the door.

 

Mendez:
Is something wrong with the door?
Lawrence:
I wonder where this bit of blood came from. Out here it would be difficult to get blood out of your suit without it evaporating or without dying in the process.
Mendez:
Blood?
Lawrence:
Yeah, this bit on the door here.
Mendez:
Uh, the door is clean. I don’t see anything on the door at all, including blood. Are you okay?

Lawrence returns his gaze from Mendez to the door in front of him. His puzzled expression illustrates to Mendez that he can no longer see the blemish upon the door.

 

Lawrence:
Hardly, our solar rig goes missing; there are skeletons in the closet everywhere you look around here. It is almost surreal.
Mendez:
I don’t know about skeletons in the closets, mine was empty.
Lawrence:
I guess I should just be grateful you’re not asking me about my childhood right now or something.
Mendez:
Would you like me to?

Lawrence presses the control and the door begins to open before them. After a moment of repressurizing in the airlock, Mendez places her gloved hand on Lawrence’s shoulder. “I am sorry for your loss; you know that”, Mendez’s smile shines through her mask as she addresses the dejected Lawrence. The inner airlock door begins to groan as it slides away from the opening to the airlock. Doctor Mendez removes her helmet with her free hand and slowly walks over the door threshold. Lawrence remains in the airlock for another moment or so.

 

Mendez:
I don’t know about you, but I am curious to see what might be on this tablet here. Let’s go, I am sure that the control center will have an interface for this thing.

Hesitantly, Lawrence steps over the threshold and joins Mendez as she starts up the pathway to the control center. The outer door to the control center is wide open as they approach the control center. Long, sitting on the floor, looks up from his fixation and looks upon the old tablet in Mendez’s hand. Cardiff looks on at the discovery and beckons for the relic with an extended hand. Mendez carefully hands it over to her. Cardiff sets it on the control panel in front of her.

The lights on the control panel change color, and a notice appears next to the tablet on the control panel, “Retrieving data”. Ghent leans away from the wall, where he had been for several minutes now, and looks on at the results of the retrieval with great anticipation. Only one file appears on the screen in front of Cardiff, she presses her finger upon the glass to start the video recording.

VIDEO LOG
CHARLES WINTERS

Well, it is official; everyone here has lost their minds. Hansen is still reciting the same thing over and over, “deeper, deeper, deeper”. He hasn’t eaten in days and just sits, staring out into the pond as if he is waiting for a long lost friend to appear out of it. James has become completely fixated upon the new planet that he found and is actually outside right now looking though his telescope at it. Yesterday, the Captain ventured out into a sandstorm and was nearly lost into a gaping hole in the wild desolate plain.

Our communications are still not working, the solar flares are apparently disrupting our radio transmissions back to Earth; either that or they are receiving our messages and we just can’t hear a response. This morning was colder than normal and the dome began to fill up with water vapor. We were besieged by a dense fog that you could not even see a meter out in.

My dreams have become difficult to bear; the others seem to have the same problem because no one is sleeping much at all anymore. The compulsion to drift down into the depths of the pond is almost overwhelming. “Deeper into the void”, the quiet voices press into my mind over and over and over again, always with a different end, “deeper into the void you will find solace”, “deeper into the void you will find a way”, and it just keeps going like that.

It seems that while here on Mars, each of us is on a separate quest. What drives us to our foolish desires and ends? I fear that no reason or want for reason will save us from ourselves now. As for my plans for the future, I am going to get that shuttle working and get off of the cursed rock. No one seems to want to leave at the moment, despite what has been happening.

The sun betrays us here in this forsaken place. Doors within the mind are opened and our sanity flees into the night. I know that this sounds crazy, but I feel as though someone is here and unseen, watchful and cunning. Deeper into the void of the mind we venture.

–Log End–

The simple, curious expressions on display as the video began to play, have now changed into that of fear and amazement; this is the first any of them have seen this type of message from the first expedition.

BOOK: Deeper Into the Void
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