Osiris: New Dawn (Part 2)
Dec 23, 2019 16:19:02 GMT -5
Post by OutsidR on Dec 23, 2019 16:19:02 GMT -5
A fan-fiction of Osiris: New Dawn:
Author:
ThatGuyFuryan
(Copy right.... 2019)
ThatGuyFuryan
(Copy right.... 2019)
Chapter 6
[continued]
Exhausted, Guy collapsed against the door, taking a moment to catch his breath. The temperature in his suit had reached an uncomfortable level: he was soaked in sweat, his nose ran. With a sniff, he peered through the window, his visor pressed against it. He could hear the wind picking up as the weather outside of the Hab worsen. Wisps of sand and dust catching the light from his helmet, particulate began swapping up against the side of the airlock.
He closed his eyes, trying to compose himself. He could feel himself shaking. "What in Hell was that thing?" he thought, the hissing and thrashing of the creature resonating deep within his mind. He opened his eyes half expecting to see its eyeless face peering back at him. Nothing. Nothing but sand whipped up into a haze. "What if there are more?".
"Lights." he quietly exclaimed with a sniff. Lurching off the door, "I need lights".
Leaving the pack and PDA on the airlock floor--not even realizing he had even dropped them--he made his way with as much haste as his legs would allow, snatching up the working Hab battery along the way. Overhead, particulate from now the developing storm washed over the glass canopy, like rain falling on a roof. The MLI walls buffeted, but held. With renewed purpose Guy reached the power unit, placed the battery down and open the cabinet door. He assesses what he saw. The Standard Auxiliary Power Unit is divided into three sections: the upper left section, which houses the main controls for the unit; the upper right, behind a triple latched access panel was two vertically mounted racks, holding all the hardware necessary to distribute power through the Hab and any auxiliary structure attached; and the bottom section purely just used to house the two Hab batteries.
Kneeling down, he reached into the lower section, with a tug he pulled the two thick power cables free. Murmuring to himself--mechanical details, ideas--he used his light to get a better look at both, before dropping one and reattached the other to the battery, slipping it back into its slot. Up to his feet, he machine gunned the three recessed latches, opening the access panel revealing the two racks. He quickly pulled and twists two red latches at the top and bottom of the nearest rack, with firm grip he pulled it to full extension. The hardware had taken damage; scorch marks and ruptured resistors littering the board. A dissatisfied sigh, he trips several switches and pulls several cables, isolating the rack from the rest of the unit. It was returned to its resting position before the other was pulled out. This one is in far better condition.
The murmuring continued as his hands dart from component to component, pulling several free, replacing some elsewhere. All safety switches on the board have been tripped as well as those on the control board to the left of the racks. Guy looked at the control board, finding the interior and exterior light switches for the Hab as well as the power switch for the airlock. He flips their switches, grabs hold of a larger black handle and pulls it down. Nothing. Sighing, he returns to work adjusting some switches and connections. He pulled the handle again. Nothing. Resetting the switches he makes further adjustments. Again he pulls the handle. Nothing.
Reset. Adjust. Again.
Nothing.
Reset. Adjust. Again.
The switches for the lights and airlock trip.
Guy inhaled sharply, noticing they tripped. He checked the main board, his fingers hovering over it, darting from section to section. Stopping over one of the regulator units: several components had been damaged. He paused for a moment, thinking. With a sniff, he turned towards the desk, light settling on its content. He rushed over and began sifting through the parts for one that might meet his needs. A small board caught his attention: a redundant power regulator. He picked it up, holding it in a pinch grip so he could inspect it thoroughly. His grip slipped and it fell, striking the table, bouncing and landing in some sand on the floor. As quickly Guy had retrieved it now carrying some sand but was undamaged. Instinctively, he brought the board to his face and blew on it, his breathe accumulating on his visor. He cursed himself, "F---idiot!".
With a few sharp shakes, the sand was off and Guy had returned the power unit, considering his options. He had to run a bypass: the Rovers regulator should hold as long as it wasn't damaged. Thoughts of other options left his mind as he runs through the protocols he could remember: isolating the damaged regulator from the system, pulling cords from damaged rack, patching in the Rovers regulator, and in a method that could only be described as 'janky', releasing cable ties from the neat cable management in the depths of the unit, threading the ties through screw holes and attaching it to cables.
He resets the necessary switches, reaches for and pulls on the main power handle. There is silence for a moment. Darkness. Then, a faint hum grew. Emergency lighting--its soft red tone--blinked and flashed. He looked towards the airlock, as if a sign of salvation its interior bathed in a growing warm white light. Outside the exterior lights flicker, building to full. They illuminated the skirt of the Hab. Lastly, the small but powerful rotating spotlight on top of the canopy grew to its fullest, circling as its powerful beam struggled to cut through the storm that now engulfed the area.
A tentative smile followed exhalation of pent-up breath. There was no time to celebrate. Purposely, he collected up what he felt was necessary: the tank from the Rover; one of the crate; rations, several of the Rover components, power cord and the battery still attached. He placed them carefully inside, stowing everything small enough in the crate. Sealing the interior door, he reached for the door panel on its right, tapping it with a finger. It blinked, quickly displaying simple graphics: two large faded circles with 0% above it; three small box below, one displaying red--representing that there was a fault in the connecting structure. He glanced to the exterior door, its respective panel was registering the same information. A good sign.
The floor around the airlock's access panel--the closet side panel to both floor and interior door--was partially submerged still. He had forgotten to clear out the airlock, but this proved only a minor obstacle. Once clear--revealing a large recessed handle on the left, slightly protruding thin metal handle on the right--he set upon it. The left handle was stuck in the closed (up) position, he didn't possess the strength any longer to open it with one hand. It took both hands and a considerable amount of body weight, enough to send him slumping forward into the wall, when the handle finally surrendered. Gathering himself, he grabbed both handles and after some degree of struggling, he pulled it free. Inside everything looked normal: several pipes converging on the flow unit, connected to it a small tank to capture atmosphere and release it. He closed its value and released the tubing, it wasn't required to actually remove the tank. A small gauge showed empty. The Rover tank was attached, it screwed into the connector without issue.
Guy thumped a hand across the display. It gave an acknowledging beep, half a moment before the Protean atmosphere began being removed. The flow pump sprung into action as designed, pumping the oxygenated contents of the tank into the empty airlock. "Pressurization Complete." a generic computer voice decreed.
Guy look at his PDA, simple suit sensors already analyzing the atmosphere: nitrogen 78.8%, oxygen 21% and 0.2% trace gases. Nothing dangerous detected. That was enough, he rushed the clamps of his helmet, twisted and released it. He inhaled deeply, the air was bitterly cold, stale and carried the coarse smell of sand, but it was safe and breathable. His helmet left his hands and hung at his side, still connected to pack.
Awash with relief, tears formed in his eyes and he smiled and laughed. Recycled air never smelt so sweet. Unfortunately, the events of the past two days finally caught up quickly. Laughter turning to crying, tears of joys now that of sorrow and despair. Unable to hold himself, he collapsed to his knees, hands now holding his face, crying and sobbing uncontrollably into them.
**********000**********
Chapter 7
[log]
Right. It's the end of day 2 and I cried like a baby. Not something I care to admit doing, but yeah, it happened. I've had a hell of a day. I managed to find one of the Osiris 1 team, a fellow named Martin. He was dead. His body had been buried in the sand near to the Hab. Poor bastard. Still makes me sick to my stomach: not just the fact that I got to see his face--shrapnel from a Hab explosion, I'm guessing, punctured right through his visor--but that I had been walking over him without realizing. To make things worse, I had to 'loot' the corpse to recover his PDA and suit pack. And I'll probably have to check the rest of his suit as well. Not something I'm looking forward to.
I did have some success today. I managed to get the airlock powered and oxygenated. It's now acting as my primary shelter until I find something better, or my oxygen supply runs out. I'll be rationing out pressurized time in here. My supply should last a few hours total before carbon dioxide increases to dangerous levels. Bonus though, this has solved my food issue, so I'm feed and watered. Regarding the latter, my suit supply is running low, but I know where I can get more. Just got to get into the Water re-claimer, which I had missed originally, as a point of fact.
Martins pack was in a somewhat recoverable condition. The shrapnel sadly penetrated the battery pack, some pieces had passed through him and struck it, I didn't see that until after taking it off and examining it. Other than that, it's oxygen and nitrogen bottles are intact and almost totally full, so I have replacements for my own. The internals I think I can work with: his CO2 scrubber still has usage; all the flow pumps and regulators are working. Spare parts should I need them. I was considering fashioning it into a CO2 scrubber for my little house here, but it was never designed for a vessel this large. It did give me the idea of checking the bio-dome out later on.
When I feel I can leave, that is.
I was attacked--by something. An alien. I've never seen anything like it in nature, maybe a cheap B-grade movie monster--sure. Movie makers dream up some truly messed up creatures. It would be right at home in one. It was like a hybrid of spider, piranha, monkey and wolverine: six legs; humanoid body; claws; eyeless face; mouth full of teeth; it was strong, fast and agile; aggressive, really aggressive. ", he paused, trying to recall as much detail as he could, "It ambushed me. It hid in the sand, I don't know for how long it waited, but when the time was right it attacked. I don't know how it saw me, it had no eyes. Something else maybe? Infrared or some kind of thermal vision? It can detect sounds, I know that for sure, and it can be distracted by them. It didn't like my light. It bothered it more than hurt it, I think.". He paused again as if a lump caught in his throat, he cleared it and continued on, his voice carrying a tone of distress, "It had no fear of me. It had no fear of humans, no fear of something two to three times its size. Not until it was hurt, at least. It knew to run when too injured to fight, maybe realizing it was up against something it couldn't beat. Maybe running to get help. Maybe--It was definitely smart. The worse kind of predator.
It should have been something to celebrate, the finding of sentient life other than Man. We’ve found simple cell organisms, bacteria, the simplest forms of life as we’ve left Earth, but nothing like this. The most we've found were trees This planet has it that. Something tells me that thing isn’t alone-- that there will be others. I’m in danger here. I have to keep my head, or I could lose it.
On that cheerful note, I think I'll give this PDA a going over. It might be able to provide some clues as to what's going on, or information I can use; find out what they knew. Got to keep my mind focused on other things rather then--you know.
**********000**********
Chapter 8
[continued]
Guy inspected Martins PDA as he chewed, lounging against the wall of his humble abode. While it had been the most he'd eaten in days, the Chicken Italian o tasted more like cardboard than chicken. A long standing tradition, field rations have been notorious for never quite tasting as advertised. He didn't mind though, it was satisfying enough to merely be eating. A glance to the crate beside him, he eyed the half a dozen remaining packs as if deciding what he might eat next. Moderation, he knew, was called for. At anywhere between 600 to 800 calories each, that would only last him a couple more days. Ordering in, he mused, was clearly off the table.
Flakes of sand and blood were chiselled from the screen with the edge of the half eaten ration pack. He pressed lightly, forgetting that the millimeters thin glass could take an impact of a hammer without shattering or scratching. Clear of debris, he rolled the cellphone-like device in his hand, checking both sides and every edge. It still seemed sealed: the metallic connection strips and both primary and auxiliary micro-USB ports were undamaged. The battery was dead, just as he had expected, long drained from the weather and standby state. He would need to charge it to access its contents.
Palming his own PDA, he pushed gently, then twisted it free from the slot on his suit arm. Tethering it to his suit via a cable, he placed it on his thigh. In the now empty recess, again using an edge of the ration pack, he sled a small red tab near the central connector. A safety override, isolating any connected device now connected in the slot from his suit internals. Standard safety procedure. His PDA gave a beep, an almost unreadable notification popping up that security software was now running. He could have accessed the second PDA with a direct connection to his own, though it was a risk he didn't wish. Martins PDA only required milli-watts of battery charge before it would auto-active. A few minutes wait was worth the reduced risk.
A faint circle appeared with a percentage reading above it: 0%.
With the process taking longer than expected, Guy took this down time to finish his meal, emptying the contents into his mouth before splitting the packaging open and licking the wrapper. Had he been home such manners would be frowned upon--his mother would have told him 'if he wanted to act like a pig, she'd send him to a farm.'. Likely for him necessity won out, he could ill afford to waste even a few calories. Thoughts of home drifted to cloud his attention. He wondered what his Mom was doing. If she was ok. How the family was going.
Exploratory missions were long duration, decades or 'one way' as those seeing such missions as a waste would say. 'Why go to other planets light years away instead of fixing our own?'. He knew what the missions meant, his family were supportive of him even though everyone knew some may never see him again, even hear from him again. He was some 20 light years from Earth now. Over 27 years had passed on Earth since his departure: one year spent in intensive training on the Moon and Mars; six months at Jupiter station running deep space simulations before leaving Earth's solar system behind entirely.
Her 72nd birthday would be coming up, he thought to himself with a longing sigh. 27 years, she would have aged that much. While chronically that much older as well, biologically he would he had only aged a handful of years at most. The effects of Deep Sleep. While he didn't understand all the science that went with it, the suspension astronauts underwent slowed cellular activity--both regeneration and degeneration--as they slumbered in their pods. It allowed a crew to survive--barring some unexpected catastrophic failure-- the immense time and distances between stars. While a person could not Deep Sleep indefinitely, theoretically one could sleep for hundreds of years, wake and still live the rest of their remaining days as normal.
5%. Growling from his stomach startled him. He winced; the cardboard wasn't going down well. Taking his straw between his lips--it slightly protruded from his suit collar--he drew back a mouthful. Water was running dangerously low now, but he had thought of a possible solution to that.
While the glass canopy of the Hab allowed light and heat to enter, it wouldn't be enough to raise the ambient temperature of the space by itself, let alone melt the ice in the Water Re-claimers tank before the temperatures would drop again. Likely for him, he had an electric blanket--of sorts. Martins pack, as did his own, had its own water supply for the wearer to drink during EVAs. It was wrapped in an insulating thermal 'sock' which, when the temperatures would plunge, applied a small amount of heat, keeping the contents from freezing. While bottles could easily be refilled using a port below the Re-claimer controls, in emergencies a small pipe would be connected to a value at the bottom of the tank itself, allowing direct access. The pipe (and a spare) conveniently kept clamped to the bottom of the tank itself. He could wrap it in the sock, connect his bottle and let the slow distribution of heat melt some of ice at the bottom of the tank. It would require him to connect a battery to the spare pack, as well as trick the system to constantly work, but it should work--slowly. He could do the same thing with Martins frozen water bottle, judging by its weight, it still contained a fair amount of water, but the thought of drinking dead mans water wasn't something he wished to consider.
10%. The PDA flickered to life as it booted up, running a short internal check. Lines of error code flashed by in an instant reporting dozens of memory issues. Not a good sign though data degradation was not unexpected. The device housed two 1TB memory chips: a primary and a secondary. The primary had reported most of the issues. A simply numerical login screen appeared, Guy swiped a finger across the screen, a secondary login fulled the display. He entered a command, a mission override code each of his crew had been given.
@root::override/critical/5624585-AA5432-A/unlockfull||@user::@ms/Jones,Guy::475223-B/
**********000**********
Chapter 9
The storm had taken command. From orbit, it imposed itself like a specter, the warm Protean yellows and oranges now a muted red. Below, blanketed by an onyx haze of ferocity, winds churned and writhed, downdrafts tearing across the surface like unseen hands, dust and sand soaring towards the heavens in a chaotic frenzy.
Against the unrelenting, Guy could do very little but grit his teeth and hope to keep his footing. He would lean forward just to be jerked back, or lurched forward to the extreme of his balance. Every fiber of his being burned. His only relief within the onslaught: the temperature had plummeted, and while his suit struggled to maintain a livable temperature above 0, which should have been more terrifying, it was strangely comforting.
He had been out salvaging supplies all day, the storm caught him completely unaware. One moment the skies were cloud free with not a hint of wind, the next a torrent of ravenous weather clawed over the horizon and overcame him. He was forced to abandon his supplies and made for base camp, a decision he was now regretting.
"If I ever decide to walk to base in weather like this, just depressurize my suit. Save me the trouble." he barked over the cacophony.
"I am unable to intentionally cause you harm, Guy." Sasha responded plainly. Even from inside his sealed suit, her voice was nearly lost.
"It was a joke!", a wind gust hammering into him, wrenching him forward.
"Oh. Most amusing." her response unintentionally droll.
Trudging forward, he was barely able to see more than a few feet ahead with any degree of clarity, beyond that everything was an angry blur. He still scanned his horizon for the Hab's beacon light, suit instrumentation indicated—at best guess—that he was close. As powerful as it was, he would need to be pretty much on top of it to see it. No light could penetrate far through the storm, so thick with swirling particulate that it even blotted out the sun. 'No salvage was worth this.', he told himself as a barrage of debris pelted into him, one being a small stone, which struck his visor, jolting his head back. "I really hate this place.".
Step. Step. Step. Pause. The task of walking grew ever more taxing. Step. Step. Pause. Step.
Sweat soaked, his breathing labored to the edge of hyperventilation. He had little option but to go on, there was no cover in sight nor would it do anything to protect him. If he let his focus slip, even for a moment, he knew the wind was strong enough to take him off his feet, tumbling him like a rag doll.
Step. Step. Pause. Step. Step. A sudden sharp pinging noise assaulted his ear.
"Proximity warning. U.N.E. signal detected."
"What?"
"U.N.E. suit beacon-- Osiris 1 standard distress signal."
He dropped to one knee, getting himself as low to the ground as he could, looking from side to side. "Where?"
"Undetermined. Atmospheric conditions are hindering--". Like with all AI, it was unusual for Sasha to stop mid sentence. He waited, scanning his surroundings. "Apologize." she continued, "Secondary analysis has isolated signal origin. North-Northwest heading, 45 meters from current position." he snapped his head in that direction, his eyes narrowed, staring into the distance as far as the storm would allow. On his HUD, a reticle appeared slightly off center ahead of his current position, another ping as it shifted from white to red--target lock. "Signal is in motion." she concluded. "Comms?", without waiting for an answer he pulled himself up and continued forward to what he could not yet see.
"Negative." she replied, barely perceived over his own breathing. "No responder pings detected, considering distress signal activation, possible communication fault may be present. Direct investigation is recommended.".
It took a few moments before Guy could actually make out what he was chasing, his helmet rang with another ping. It was definitely a U.N.E. suit, he couldn’t make out details, but the shape was recognizable; walking with a similar pace to his. If communications were out, then the astronaut was relying on coordinates to base camp. If he weren't so tired he would have been more excited. He wasn't alone, someone had survived. Nonetheless, energized by the emotion, he dug deeper, drawing upon everything he had left in the tank. His feet felt like lead, his muscle burned, yet determination drove him forward. No damned wind was going to stop him.
The intervals between pings shortened with every passing moment. Base camp was within reach as the skeletal frame of the Lab came into view, joined with a faint trace of light from the beacon. The other astronaut noticed this too, and corrected his or her angle of approach.
20 meters out. Then 10. Then five. Almost in reach.
The pinging continued to a screech though he had almost filtered it out, his eyes locked on the person in front of him. Just a few more steps. Shaking from both fatigue and excitement, his hand fumbled at his PDA, activating his exterior helmet speaker.
"Hey! Hey!" he called out. The figure didn't stop. He tried again, this time shouting as loud as he could. "Hey!". The figure stopped.
He allowed himself an excited grin as he came up along side. "Oh, man, you have no idea how happy I am to see you." he exclaimed, stepping in front. His expression dropped. Martin's lifeless face stared blankly at him, screaming.
GUY woke with a jolt. His heart raced, he was drenched in sweat. His heart rate monitor and Sasha's alarm joined in a symphony of noise. The nightmare lunged in his mind, momentary incoherent, he looked around panicked. Silencing the sounds, a familiar voice called to him. "Guy. Guy. It was just a dream." Sasha's calming tone going unheard. Her programming had been able to distinguish his increasing state of distress as he slept, but there was little she could do to wake up. His body still numb with sleep, he struggled as he pulled himself to his feet and to the exterior door. Rays of light streamed through the window, he fought through it, his eyes thinning. Outside, still face down where he had left him, Martins’ body lay silent and still, sand creeping up trying to reclaim him. "You are safe." Sasha assured him as his helmet and forehead fell against the door with some sense of relief. "Safe?" he exhaled, unconvinced. "This is not what I call safe.".
Sasha reminded quiet as he took the necessary time to compose himself, her programming knew well enough any additional words on her part could harm the situation more than help. Guy went to punch the door. He wanted to hit something, to release frustration and anger, but he withheld at the last moment. Punching the reinforced door would hurt him more than help him, he knew that. It wouldn’t help his situation in the least to break his hand.
With a long, deep breaths, his senses returned to him.
"What time is it?" he inquired, realizing the sun was coming up over the horizon.
"6:43 a.m., local time.",
"A bit longer than four hours."
"Yes, apologies. Through the night, while running restorative processes on damage memory blocks, I had taken the liberty of updating your personal devices’ libraries with all known relative planetary data, as well as installing a copy of my programming.”. At that, he raised an eyebrow. “Something went wrong during this process. Your personal device locked out the host device and ran intrusion protocols. Without the necessary computing power, I was unable to overcome this obstacle in a timely fashion. I re-establish the connection and complete the process. Unfortunately, this took me several hours.". "Is it common for you to do what you want?" he snapped. "Not at all. I am programmed to assist the crew with any and all primary and secondary missions. To perform to the utmost of my ability. In lieu of current events, as you are the only ranking U.N.E. officer present, you are the crew.". She wasn't human, she was a program, but he knew it was a fact she was the best chance he had. A faint tremble across his lips--quickly dismissed by clearing his throat--betrayed the desire to cry: the implications of her words, his situation and the truths of the matter brought up a torrent of emotion. He would be her sole focus.
"It is not within my programming to 'assert'. I am unable to issue orders or make mission critical decisions without permission or existing protocols." she continued reassuringly. "I was simply following core protocols to preserve the life of the crew. Your personal equipment being the superior platform available, allows me to better assist in the current mission. As such, I am now able to do so to my fullest: maintaining suit functions to optimal levels; data management, providing information where required. All allowing you to focus on the more pressing tasks.".
Guy took it all in. He knew she would not, and could not lie to him, U.N.E. programming preventing her from deception. It was the best news he'd heard in the past few days. He knew the stress of the situation was already affecting him, sometimes stopping him from seeing the obvious--impeding his chances of survival. He needed the help.
His thoughts then rested elsewhere, his gaze returning to the body outside. He needed to do something to ease them.
"So, I guess you're coming with me then." he announced, unlocking and opening the door.
"Where?" she inquired, his sudden departure not something she had anticipated.
"To bury the old crew.".
**********000**********
Chapter 10
import emerg_cmd3.module
load emerg_cmd3.module
loading........./
U.N.E. EMERGENCY PROTOCOL: TB-0351-A--Activated, MISSION REFORMATION
FIELD TEAM CREATION, DESIGNATION: New Dawn
STATUS: ACTIVE
TEAM COMPOSITION: 1
TEAM MEMBER(s): Jones, "Guy" - Mission Specialist; Fields of expertise: biological and physical sciences; mechanical engineering knowledge. Rank: Field promotion issued - Mission Commander. Classification access: New Dawn--Full, Top-Secret; Osiris Team--Full, override in effect; Dawn Runner--Restricted, rank specific: Crewman.
TEAM MEMBER(s) STATUS: Jones, "Guy"—Suspected early onset of psychological trauma, suspected early onset malnutrition. No known injuries. No known aliments.
MISSION STATUS:
PRIORITY ACTIVE: Jones, “Guy” - Survival
PRIMARY ACTIVE: Establish communication with U.N.E. Nephthys, carrier class, current whereabouts: INDETERMINATE.
SECONDARY ACTIVE: Ascertain the whereabouts and state of the Osiris 1 team; Current status: 1 confirmed deceased, 5 unknown.
SECONDARY ACTIVE: Ascertain the whereabouts and state of Dawn Runner team; Current status: 5 unknown, 1 uncertain. Michael's, Jennifer: last known status: ALIVE, DEEP SLEEP; location: Dawn Runner orbital debris, Deep Sleep pod. Current status: unknown.
A short distance from the base, in the shadow of a massive stone pillar, Guy stood motionlessly, head and eyes bowed in respectful silence. His dust covered hands clasped in front, from one dangled U.N.E. dog tags: 'Martin, Theodore. Osiris 1-004'. Martin now lay at rest, buried in a shallow grave covered with rocks. Atop it lay the mans shattered helmet.
Sasha calculated the psychological impact of the act, her programming stressed the necessity of his own survival above all else, though she delivered her recommendations with a sympathetic emphasis on surviving not only for himself but for the others as well. In doing so he would bring closure: reporting the fates of the crews to not only U.N.E. Command, but to the families as well. Before the burial, he removed anything useful: suit tubing, straps, suit plating and other components that looked intact. A large blade-like piece of shrapnel--that had pierced the suit but not the man--was now strapped to his thigh, held in an impromptu sheath, handle made of duct tape.
The dog tags were lifted as eyes opened. He looked upon them and knew he would have to survive to tell the story of what happened, a task that carried the scent of the impossible. He now had Sasha, with her his chances of survival dramatically improved, but he was still alone--one man against the unknown. Eyes drifted back down to the grave, wet with emotion: he feared the longer he would survive, the more he would be burying alongside Martin.
A low power warning blinked across his HUD.
“Guy, perhaps it’s time to return to the Hab to recharge.” Sasha suggested while he reached for his PDA and cleared the warning.
He sniffed before he murmured a response, “Yeah.” Clearing his throat, he pocketed the tags and turned from the grave, “Probably a good idea.”.
**********000**********
Chapter 11
AFTER consuming another ration and washing it down with last of his water, Guy sat in his airlock, suit-less for the first time in days. Under careful instructions from Sasha, he performed visual checks of his gear before getting to work on a recommended upgrade. With tools he had found the day before, he removed one of the only access panels on his suits chest piece, carefully unplugged and removed a sensor array strip and replaced it with one he salvaged from Martins suit. Like with most U.N.E. technology, though with differing functionality, they were of matching physical size, the new piece fitting without the use of force. Before re-suiting, the empty water bottle was removed and several pieces of Hab canvas cut into thin strips, then braided together to form a long rope. His knife wasn’t the sharpest but it handled the job.
Suited up and braided rope in hand, it was threaded through the handles of two storage crates, the handle of his pick-axe was then pushed through several of the braided sections, using it to brace the crates and stop them moving. Pulling it onto his back and holding the loose ends tight, he gave it a little test. There was some movement, a bit of clanging of metal on metal but wasn’t too bad.
Over at the Water Re-claimer, sure enough the emergency pipe was tied to the bottom of the tank. It was removed, attached and the thermal sock wrapped around it. Guy forced as much of the sock not connecting the pipe up against the tank itself, before wrapping it in a long strip of duct tape. It all seemed to hold. The bottle was attached and the suit pack was propped up against the Re-claimers housing, battery tethered to it. Finally, all available MLI was jammed into any gaps around the base of the tank to keep as much heat in as possible. With only a few modifications, the thermal sock was constantly on.
After giving everything a final going over, Guy took his impromptu pack and exited the Hab.
Pack flung onto his back and securely tightened, he eyed the sky. It wasn’t noon yet, having spent less than an hour preparing. He faced his intended direction, “Alright,” he exhaled slowly, “let’s get this started”.
“Acknowledge.”.
His HUD lit up like a Christmas tree: vitals data; compass; directional arrow; a list of mission objectives, and a long, navigational line travelling up the side of the hill and along its top.
“Current objectives: Locate Dawn Runner Ascent Craft crash site; Salvage mission critical components and supplies; Return to Base Camp.”
He felt like he had just been dropped into a video game. All currently unnecessary data disappeared barring the compass—a thin band at the top of his view—and the navigational line, which had reduced in intensity, though still easy enough for him to make out.
“I have prepared a brief on the moon, if you would like?” Sasha informed him.
“Shoot.”.
“I am unarmed.”
He sighed.
“That was a joke.” she replied rather dryly.
He couldn’t help but smile and scoff, not really sure if it was some poorly conceived humor protocols or one expertly designed to lighten the mood. ‘Terrible joke. Dad joke.’ he thought to himself.
“Making good use of the hardware, I see. A brief would be fine.” he answered, moving out before she began her delivery.
“The third moon of Thesis Prime--a hot Jupiter candidate and second planet in the Gliese 581 system-- Proteus 2, in many ways, is as close to a Mars analog than has been discovered by the U.N.E. or any other agency.”. As she continued Guy couldn’t help but zone out--a self-taught habit learnt during long lectures at college. While he tried to focus on her words, he was more concerned about what could be just over the rise.
THE Osiris 1 team had established their base camp on a dissected plateau that terminated into an ancient escarpment. It, like numerous others, stretched in all directions, their tall cliffs marking the coastline of what planetary scans had determined to be on the edge of a sub-continental landmass. Beyond the cliffs, could best be described as a sea of sand. Nothing else could be seen, the horizon still save for the winds that churned across its surface, pulling dust and sand along with it, which would be carried and then come crashing back down, almost like waves.
Nearing the top of the hill, Guy stopped and looked back to base camp, perhaps for the last time. With a sharp breath, he continued forward only to be confronted by wonder when he reached the top.
Towards the mainland, a handful of multi-ringed basins intersected each other, the results of meteor strikes assaulting the land-- ancient acts of terrible force. In a chaotic display of beauty, they scarred it with deep depressions, plateaus and sizeable mountain ranges, all dotted with dozens of smaller impact craters. Almost untouched, several small windswept plains could be made out, tucked away between other large land-forms.
Disbelief and awe hung on his face, his AI companion gave a very clinical description of what he had not seen on the night that he crashed, and in the subsequent days that followed. Like something from science fiction, giant rock outcroppings--some the size of skyscrapers—towered over the landscape, many nearing an unnatural 45 degree angle. What compounded the majesty of it all, was that some floated. A mind-bending sight to behold. They hung mere inches above the ground or stretched high into the heavens, tethered by some unseen forces. Sasha delivered the only accepted explanation among the Osiris 1 team--though still unproven--was that Meissner effect was causing them to float, the result of some yet unexplained magnetic field fluctuations that laced the sub-continent. At the extremes of his vision, a number of these floating behemoths were almost lost in dark clouds of charged particulate, the occasional bolt of daytime lightning rippling through them.
Before she could continue her brief, Guy had spotted the other elements that made Proteus 2 so unique: its life. Stretching down the inside of what he now knew to be the floor of a massive crater, tall grass grew in a patch work along its striated surface. It was unlike any variant he'd ever seen: almost waist high, tall, thick blades, black but slight a blue hue. Beyond the crater was another patch work, and another. Large swaying trees came into view as he followed the rim around and down. They grew seemingly at random, and random degrees of density. Tall, slender trunks reached up, held in the ground by twisting aerial roots. At their tops, massive palm-like leaves formed a loose canopy that lightly danced in the breeze. As with the grass, the leaves shared the same kind of midnight blue coloring, the underside equally as dark, had clearly visible patches of faint oranges, reds or blues. Some looked like that held large, plum like fruit nestled at the base of the leaves.
Every so often, a strange kind of fungal stem protruded out of the ground. To all appearances, it looked like a giant mushroom that grew beyond its original cap--easily two to three meters across-- and then the next, and then the next. Growing 10 to 15 meters before reaching their limit, where a bulb developed and produced long, broad jet-black storks that converged at a tip, hang out and over like elongated feelers. These storks swayed and twitched in the wind in an eerie fashion.
Among all this and the rocky terrain, other eerily familiar kinds of shrubs, fungal growths and small palm plants grew, all sharing similar characteristics to their tree brethren.
As he walked Sasha's predetermined path, now some 600 meters from base camp, other wonders revealed themselves. Walking through a narrow pass etched between rock faces, it emerged in yet another crater, this one housed several small geysers that periodically erupted, throwing up gas and debris as he wander the path up the crater floor and around. With upgraded sensors, his suit was able to monitor the increased ambient temperature and sample the atmosphere: it was nearing the 60 degree celicus mark and the air registered high levels of toxic elements. Some kind of natural gas geysers. It would be even hotter at the craters, small, central peak. The soil was soaked in mineral ladened liquid that had condensed and fallen from each eruption--a beautiful kaleidoscope of chemistry. He made a mental note to come back and take samples.
Up and out of the crater, a clear path stretched out in front, winding between three smaller one, each devoid of anything remarkable. He followed it until it met with a steep cliff, where the terrain grew increasingly rockier. With no visible better direction to travel, he returned to blindly following the navigational trial on his HUD. Progress was slow, he had to make sure his footing was good else he would find a foot slipping between two boulders. Demanding so much of his concentration, he began noticing thick red bands through the surrounding rock. It gave the immediate area a considerable washed out red appearance. If this was Earth, he would have sworn it looked like iron ore deposits. It was in all the boulders and crept up the cliff face, layers upon layers of clearly defined red between layers of rock. He was certain it was iron.
Up ahead, the cliff he was following appeared to be converging on another, both in shadow as the sun shifted across the sky. The second cliff growing every taller, the ground near where they would meet was well lit. There was another gap in the terrain ahead. The navigational line followed the first cliff and turned towards the yet unseen gap. He had only 211 meters to travel, his journey had already taken him 40 minutes. He wasn’t making good time.
As the two cliff faces drew closer together, he could make out that there was a sizeable gap between them. Approaching it, something on the ground caught his eye. He stopped in front of it, knelt and freed from the sand. It was debris, a fragment of hull, possibly from his craft or the Dawn Runner, but it had definitely fallen through the atmosphere. He was close.
A large, beetle-like creature came through the gap, walking lightly over the soil, almost making no sound. Both he and the creature were almost obvious to each other, until both were not. On one knee, the creature was as tall as Guy was. He looked up as it looked back at him, shuffling to a halt. They were only a few meters from each other. Guy froze, heart pounding in his chest. The creature stood silently, eyeing him up.
“Sasha.”, his voice almost a whisper.
Recognizing his elevated state, “Is something wrong?”
He spoke clearly and quietly as his free hand began slowly reaching for the knife. “Do your files have any information on a giant beetle-like creature?”. The creature chattered its short mandibles, tilting its head like a curious dog as it was described to the AI. “Quadruped; blue-black hue; about five foot tall.”.
A holographic representation of the creature appeared on his HUD, momentarily drawing his focus.
“Byrrhoidea gigas. Common classification: “Snub”. A asocial giant beetle—“
“Is it hostile?” he interrupted, his tone sharp.
Assessing, she responded quickly. “Only if provoked or accompanied in larger numbers.”
Guys hand stopped moving. He knelt motionless, eyes fixed on the Snub. Nothing else appeared in his field of vision bar sand and rock. It seemed alone.
Curious about the thing before it, the Snub chattered again, raising his mandibles as if trying to taste the air between them. It took a few steps closer. Guy used every ounce of control to not flinch. It tasted the air again, this time it released an almost dissatisfied snort. It stood there for a moment, as if unsure how to proceed. What it was thinking Guy couldn’t fathom. After a brief pause, it turned its whole body away as if preparing to move, curiously it turned back again. Guy’s eyes glancing at its mandibles as they twitched. Again, it turned away, then back again. Whatever mental process it was going through, it didn’t need a third attempt to work it out. Breaking off, the Snub began scuttling along in the direction it was originally heading.
Guy tracked it before even considering relaxing. It moved away from him, between several small outcroppings, towards a tall organic-looking structure some distance away. It didn’t seem to fit with the rest of its surroundings. He could make out several other blue-black shapes moving about. Some kind of Snub mound, he considered.
A sense of relief washing over him as he got to his feet. “Not everything wants to kill me.”.
Though the encounter was without incident--unlike his first--he drew his blade before continuing on, now at a faster pace. He passed through the gap and into a wide basin, its shallow hills possibly the rims of several craters. The basin sparsely populated, littered with low ridges, a few trees and a sprinkling of large boulders. In the distance, slightly off from the projected crash site, he could make out the top of the second stage booster. With a decent stride, it didn’t take long for him to cut across the basin. Once clear of several low ridges, he could make out the long scar that his landing had made in the soil. At its conclusion, the three modules—capsule, first and second stage boosters—lay resting not too far from each other, around them a blanket of litter: debris; thrown rocks and at least one broken tree.
He stopped at the projected point, only a dozen meters off the mark. He dropped his handmade pack, a relief to finally get it off.
“Have you located the crash site?” Sasha inquired.
“Yes”, he replied as he took it all in. He also took a glance behind him. No surprises there. “Time to get to work.”.
**********000**********
Chapter 11
Man has been enamored by space since he first set eyes upon the heavens and asked “What was out there?”. It has been within the last 110 years that he has freed from himself from the loving shackles of the Earth, and reached up into these heavens, striving forward, either driven by some other need, seeking to answer the question.
The Soviet Union was first, with Sputnik 1 in 1957, the first artificial satellite to orbit the Earth, and again only a few short years later in 1961, with the first man to orbit the planet. Driven to do better, in that same year, then United States President John F. Kennedy proposed a bold goal: to land a man on the moon and return him safely to the Earth within a decade. It sparked a space race that consumed the hearts and minds of millions around the world, leading to some of the most courageous moments in human history: the first Moon landing in July, 1969 by Neil Armstrong and Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin, the establishment of Lunar 1, by participating countries of the United Nations, in 1985; the founding of Copernicus Station, the first Martian colony in 2002; the completion of the giant orbital platform, the aptly named ‘Jupiter Station’, around Jupiter in 2014, along with the official formation of the United Nations of Earth, a global governing council; and finally, in 2020, the discovery of the—highly classified—technology, the Fold Engine, that enables man to travel through space nearing the speed of light.
Since those early days, Man has not stopped moving forward, success built upon success. This, however, has not always been the case. Man has stumbled, he has fallen; there have been challenges, failures and losses. Apollo 13, with the ‘successful failure’ of its aborted mission to the Moon, that saw the crew--under the command of Jim Lovell--successfully returned to Earth in 1970. Lovell-- who would later become Joint Commander of Lunar 1 upon its completion-- finally reached the Moon. The lose of the Space Shuttle Columbia and all hands in 2003, as well as the crew aboard a Soyuz spacecraft that malfunctioned during separation from the International Space Station in 2010, killing all hands aboard. The tragic loss of SpaceX entrepreneur Elon Musks’ fourth Martian colony vessel, Posiden, along with all hands in 2012. Heralded as one of the greatest disasters of its decade, Epsilon 3, a research and development station, one of the few nuclear powered space stations commissioned by then United Nations, collided with orbital debris and crashed to Earth in 2017, covering a portion of the western hemisphere in nuclear fallout. 2034, the first man to be marooned on an alien world, Crewman Mark Lovell, grandson of Jim Lovell, who survived 61 days of isolation on the barren moon of Triton 6.
Like his grandfather, Mark’s ordeal went down in the history books as a successful failure: where he was rescued--alive and a little worse for wear--though the failure came in the challenges he faced during his survival, namely the conflicting aspects of U.N.E. interstellar technologies. Too many square pegs for round holes: too many technologies—some dating prior to the formation of the U.N.E. itself--that were incompatible with each other. It sparked a three year long halt on all interstellar exploratory missions and a radical overhaul, leading to the standardization of designs, components and procedures aboard the varying crafts of the fleet. It would take almost twenty years after that, for all interstellar carriers, such as the Nephthys, to receive the new directives and integrate them.
What this meant for Guy--as he stood focused on his HUD, manipulating a holographic representation of the capsule, via touch radials on his PDA--was that he had considerably better chances of survival, not just based on his own experience and knowledge, but the flexibility of components from any salvage he may recover. Lining the virtual to the physical, he tapped the screen to lock it in before doing the same for the other modules. While training was rigorous and exhaustive for deep space missions, assuming it wasn’t damaged or otherwise lost, the astronauts carry an extensive array of knowledge and tools in their PDA based on those directives brought about from the Lovell Stranding.
“Alignment complete.” Sasha informed him. His HUD flashed with new visual data: a mission log and several reticles appearing and locking on to essential components. “Retrieve Survival Kit. Retrieve EPU: Emergency Power Unit. Retrieve Capsule Atmospheric Tanks. Retrieve Orbital Maneuvering Thrust-er. Retrieve Attitude Control Thrust-ers. Retrieve—“
“Thanks, I think I got it.” Guy interrupted, having completely eyed the list before she was even a quarter of the way through its completion.
Breaking down his impromptu pack, he placed the two crates and rested the pick-axe against one, it was all set up close enough to any of the three modules that if he needed to rush for it—if some alien thing wanted to come over and say “Hi” with its face—he’d be able to reach it in moments. The capsule was the first port of call, salvage wise it contained the most moving parts. Guy studied it for a few moments before setting upon it, not only making a mental plan of attack following the visual data he was getting, but the physical condition the capsule was in. It was pitched to one side, resting against a mound of turned up soil. In the light of day he noticed just how lucky he had been.
The capsule looked a lot like any other capsule used in space exploration: it was small, with a very cramped interior, just enough space for three crew, seating around a central point facing out; it had a circular base that housed ascent thruster's and the engine block; there were six distinct sides, three being noticeably pronounced--removable access panels the size of a person—with all sides converging at the top with a docking ring. A large steel strut pierced right through the capsule, top to bottom: it narrowly avoided the docking ring, split the chair directly below and right through the bottom of the engine block. Fortunately, that meant it had missed him during the crash. Unfortunately, squatting down studying where the engines should be, it did a number of the primary flight assembly, which wasn’t there anymore, save for one of the secondary thruster's—which dangled in a twisted husk of metal.
“Scratch the primary flight systems off the list, Sasha.”
The relevant items on her salvage list highlighted on the HUD, “Is it damaged?”
“It isn’t there anymore.”, he replied as he looked back down the trench the crash had dug, “And I can’t see it. Even if I could, I doubt it would be recoverable. Part of one of the boosters pierced right through the capsule, tore it off. Explains the impact I felt during the crash.” he continued, recounting his experience. “There’s one of the secondary boosters, noozle looks intact but the engine looks damaged.” he eyed the piece up, “I’ll grab it but I’m not holding hope.”.
“Acknowledged.” Sasha struck the relevant items from the list. “Auxiliary systems?”.
Eyeing the mess in front of him, “Plating for the floor is largely intact, I can’t see any other breach. I’ll have to go in from the interior to get to it.”.
“Acknowledged.”
The booster provided little resistance in its removal, merely held in the spaghetti of twisted metal by a single fuel line, which snapped with a minimal amount of force. It was small and very lightweight, easily cradled in one arm. Normally nested with seven other just like it, the boosters were used for attitude control and for minor velocity-change maneuvers once in orbit, configured to use the same mono-propellant as the primary system, in this case hydra-zine. If the engine was damaged, he may still have use its components, assuming the EPU was intact.
The capsule lurched a little as Guy pulled himself up onto its side and slid himself through the open access panel. It groaned in protest as he dropped himself back into the seat he had original rode in on. The interior was muted, the sterile whites and blacks covered in a fine powdering of dust. It was over everything and, he knew, it would be in anything if there was even the slightest gap.
He first checked for the survival kit, which is always attached to the interior between the primary and secondary seats. His seat was the secondary, the primary had been skewed. The kit wasn’t there, a twisted metal bracket the only reminder it was once there, likely it went with the engine block. Flanking the access points were a series of controls. Reaching up to one, he dusted it, then flipped a few switches. Cabinet lights flickered to life as consoles and displays lit up, barely visible through the dust. A shower of sparks erupted from out of sight as damage systems overloaded and died. Everything went blank. At least there was some power left in the batteries and systems still worked. Resetting the switches, he decided to get to work.
The seats were the first to be removed. They took up the bulk of the interior, with them out of the way he would have more room to move. Comfortable, functional bucket seats, they were standard across all capsule types. While the capsule didn’t provide the necessary leg room, they were motorized and had the ability to be reclined; one he could use as a seat, the other could be fully reclined and converted into an bed. Anything was better than sleeping on the floor. With the third unable to be removed, he was able to salvage parts from it: several toothed belts, timing pulleys and servos. Once the two seats were removed, the strut and damage seat made a platform, though not the most stable, for him to work on.
Using his knife, he sliced through the honeycombed rubber flooring, revealing an access panel: “Danger. Authorized Personnel Only.”. Pulling its recessed handles, the heavy, reinforced panel was removed and placed to the side. Inside was the EPU, the capsules’ Emergency Power Unit, a small hydrazine backup power generator. The reticle on his HUD encompassed much of his view.
“The EPU looks to be in one piece.” he informed Sasha as his hand hovered over each piece in turn. The entire unit was bolted into a reinforced housing, a little larger than a brief case. The generator itself was quite small, would easily fit into two hands and was connected to a small one litre tank of hydrazine, all of which was encased in insulating, flame retardant form. Along one side, there were connectors and a value that allowed it to be connected, or isolated from, the main hydrazine fuel system. Below it, out of view, was an exhaust vent. Given the nature of hydrazine, that section of the capsules floor was reinforced and designed to direct any potential explosion outwards and away from the crew area. “I’m going to retrieve it.” he told her , bringing his pistol grip up and began unscrewing it.
With the more challenging piece recovered and removed, the oxygen tanks were next. Each capsule had two bundled oxygen tanks for each potential occupant, who could tie into them when seated. He was able to recover two of them, as the third bundle had been punctured during the crash. After that, he set upon the remainder of the capsule, removing access panels to the circuitry and mechanical components within. Everything that could be removed, was removed: bolts and screws, washers and fittings; insulation; two small two kilowatt batteries, circuits; displays; wiring that could be removed in whole sections, was just yanked and pulled free; tubing and piping; even the rubber flooring he could have a use for later.
**********000**********
Chapter 12
The first and second stage boosters weren’t in such great shape. As an ascent vehicle, it was designed to land on the surface of a planet ahead of the crew, use an onboard fuel plant in the first stage to replenish its fuel supplies, and give the crew a vehicle ready to go at a moments notice. Essentially just a capsule mounted on top of rocket engines and fuel tanks, wrapped in a lightweight hull, it was designed with crash landing in mind. Crash landing, for an ascent vehicle, was the worst possible outcome.
Entire sections of both were missing, Guy noticed as he weaved between them towards where the fuel system access hatch was meant to be on the first stage. He found nothing but a gaping wound. Remembering that were fires in the wreckage when he hobbled away, he was still hoping something would have survived, some flame retardant insulation holding true. All primary and secondary tanks had been ruptured in one way or another, either from the sheer force of the impact, or shrapnel from the structural systems or engines themselves. Unable to withstand the force of the impact, segments of hull had torn away or buckled, exposing any surviving machinery to the Protean environment--what wasn’t damaged by the crash was subjected to the fires and the atmosphere. Apart from salvaging the hull panels for recycling, which wasn’t a priority--and would be too heavy for him to move en mass anyway--he was only able to recover small amounts of hoses, piping, insulation, and heavy duty hinges from either section. None of the engine systems were recoverable as something more than scrap.
Guy was silent as he gathered together everything he could from the crash site. He’d been at it for several hours: he was tired, thirst and more than a little disheartened. That fuel plant could have kept him going for a considerable amount of time: both in fuel— and power—as well as water. With some hydrogen, carbon dioxide could have been drawn out of the atmosphere, and the two combined into methane and water, which would be extracted either as a byproduct for him to drink, or reintroduced into the system by electrolysis, giving hydrogen as well as the oxygen needed for combustion--or for him to continue breathing. With some minor adjustments, the EPU would be able to handle a methane/oxygen mix as a fuel source.
He gave his list of salvage to Sasha, she went through varying combinations of parts. He knew he only had bits and pieces, not necessarily enough for one thing or another. He still had the EPU though, if was still fully working, that was a few kilowatts, at least.
All in all, he had over 100kgs worth of ‘loot’, as he came to call it.
“Loot aside, the seats are not a necessity, Guy.”
“Says the one without an ♥♥♥.” he puffed as a dragged a large section of hull towards his pile.
Understanding the necessity of ‘creature comforts’ for their psychological benefits, especially in high stress situations, the facts of the matter still won out. “They are too bulky for you to carry. Recommend leaving them, for later recovery.”.
Guy was already a step ahead. He heaved the metal over, revealing a shallow framework on the other side. “You know, Sasha,” he began threading heavy duty fuel line through the upper frame, forming handles he could pull on, “I’m most likely going to die here. It sucks, but that’s the reality.”. Transferring his pile into the makeshift sled, he continued, “But, I’m not going down quietly. I’m going to keep on going. And, until the end,” now pointing at one of the seats, “that seat is going is going to be cradling my ♥♥♥.”.
As a declaration for continuing survival, her programming didn’t quite expect that.
He knew he was being childish, maybe even a tad irrational. He could hear Sasha’s gears turning, noting something somewhere, some file, about his psychological state—he knew it, didn’t care. Determined, he finished loading. Somewhere in her memory there was a number, a percentage, representing his chances of survival. Every action he would take--every mistake, every success--and that number would change. That fact--that little number--felt like an oppressive weight on his chest. It wasn’t ‘her’ fault, having her greatly improved his chances, but some egg head back on Earth would have programmed that representation, that stupid little number, into her.
‘If I’m going to be a number,’ he thought to himself with gritted teeth, ‘I’m going to be a comfortable number.’.
The sled was a hell of a lot heavier than he expected, he really had to try to pull it. Heavier, or maybe he was just getting that much weaker.
“Other way, Guy.”, his HUD flashed and updated with his return course.
“I knew that.” Guy exclaimed as he turned himself around and continued on.
LAST ENTRY...................