11. I spent all the following two days preparing the SEV for its sortie to the elevator’s landing spot which, to nobody’s surprise, was virtually the same place it had touched down more than a month earlier.
The SEV was designed to travel by remote control if necessary and had an onboard camera. One problem was range: at ten kilometres it would be beyond its reception limit. I solved that by feeding the control transmission frequency through the Hab’s main unidirectional antennae, which could be turned to follow the SEV, enormously increasing its range but which meant that Cloe would not be able to receive any communication from me whilst I was controlling the SEV.
The trickiest part was adapting a torch to switch on and off using a radio control assembly that could be operated from ten kilometres away. After trying and discarding several virtual assemblies on the computer I contacted Mission, who reminded me I needed their permission for the operation—which they granted—and then suggested I simply use the SEV’s own headlight, which could be controlled remotely. After thanking them for telling me something I should have worked out for myself I checked the time. It was dusk. The expedition would have to take place the following morning.
It was still dark when I was woken by the paging alarm on my tablet. A message from Cloe. Groggily I slid out of my bunk and shuffled over to the console seat. I switched on the screen and opened the message. I hope I didn’t wake you. I wanted to message you before you send the SEV. Maybe you should take it a gift. What do you think? Cloe.
Great idea, girl, I thought. What do you give an alien that already has a five-kilometre-long spaceship? A chocolate bar? Still, it was worth considering, though how to take a gift to the alien and leave it behind when the SEV returned posed several technical problems. After mentally debating a few options I gave it up. I would need to rig up a remote control robotic arm on the SEV which theoretically could be done but which would take too much time, and anyhow I wasn’t in the mood. The alien wanted to communicate. It didn’t want presents.
There was no need to time the SEV’s visit to when Terra Nova or the Orbiter were overhead as the Hab’s antenna would be aimed at the SEV and unable to transmit to orbiting spacecraft, so after a short breakfast of oatmeal porridge and coffee I waited until the dawnlight was clear enough to see by before starting up the vehicle. An SEV can manage about twenty kilometres an hour flat out. I was not in a hurry and wanted to play it safe so I pushed it up to ten. The video camera showed an image of the same yellow-ochre desert sand punctuated by darker rocks and boulders, with the wall of canyon mountains in the distance.
Seeing the landscape slowly move past was oddly comforting. Dawnlight, glowing gently from the sky or reflecting off things in a shimmering kaleidoscope of colour, tranquillizes the soul, especially if accompanied by silence. As the SEV progressed along I began to cheer up. This excursion might actually achieve something.
After half an hour the vehicle reached the same dry riverbed I had traversed a month earlier. It climbed up the opposite slope and under my control stopped once it reached the crest. There in the distance was the alien creature, like an enormous onion. I made the SEV change direction and slowly circle the creature. The thing remained motionless. I drew closer then stopped, the vehicle’s camera trained on the cord that rose up out of the top of the creature. The cord, which I knew to be about seventeen thousand kilometres in length, was not fixed or tied to the alien but emerged directly from the overlapping leaflike layers that formed its outer skin and came to a point at its crown.
I resumed my circular path around the alien and stopped when in front of it again. So far it had given no sign that it was alive. Time to try communicating with it. The SEV had one searchlight, mounted on the front of the vehicle at the centre. Using the appropriate code key on my keyboard I tapped out the same maths sequence used on the previous encounter. Blink…blink blink blink. For a full two minutes nothing happened. I repeated the message. Blink…blink blink blink. The alien raised a front leg and struck the ground, five times. I tapped again. Blink blink…blink blink blink blink. The alien’s leg moved again and struck the ground six times, then eight. It had got the idea.
Now for some elementary addition problems. I tapped out blink…blink, waited for a slightly longer pause, then tapped blink blink. One plus one equals two. After longer pause I tapped out blink blink…blink, waited a few moments, then tapped the answer. Blink blink blink. Two plus one equals three. Now the alien’s turn. I tapped out blink blink…blink blink, and waited. Time passed, then the alien stomped out the reply: four. I sat back to see what would happen next. Five minutes passed. The alien was as immobile as when I had first encountered it. Clearly it was waiting for me to make the next move. Well, it was time to make it.
I started the SEV’s motor and moved forward at three kilometres an hour until I judged the vehicle’s distance from the alien to be the same as my own distance had been when it had opened its mouth. I stopped the SEV. All I could do now was sit tight and see what it did.
A minute passed then, as I had half-expected, its outer layer of leaves peeled open, unfurling until their points had bent back completely and buried themselves into the ground. Above them, like a bud emerging from a gigantic flowering plant, was an inner gourd of cream-coloured leaves, overlapping each other in the same pattern as the outer layer. A few moments passed, then these too curled back and down. And showed me a chair.
There it was. A seat, high backed, with armrests, about three metres off the ground, resting against the central cord that ran down into the base of the opened gourd. It was made of an indeterminate brownish substance, the apex of an array of opened leaves that led up to it at an angle easy enough to climb.
The seat was human-sized and looked as if it might be a bit of a squeeze for a spacesuit, however the area around it seemed large enough to stand up or even lie down in once the leaves had closed up again, forming a hollow cavity with the chair in its centre. Discomfort would not be an issue.
After a further two minutes the inner leaves suddenly twitched then curled upwards, reforming their gourd. A few moments later the outer layer followed suit and the entity, now an onion shape again, resumed its stance of frozen immobility. It gave no further sign of movement and it didn’t need to. I understood the message. I had been given an invitation.
I withdrew the SEV twenty metres then left it there with its camera fixed on the alien. My mind was in a whirl. The creature was a machine. Some sort of biological construct designed for one specific purpose—to descend to the Martian surface and bring a human being back to the alien vessel. It knew exactly how big we were and how our bodies were shaped. How on earth could it have learnt that?
But there again, why not? Presuming it had the technology, the alien vessel could easily have picked up audiovisual broadcasts and learnt all it needed to know about the human race. I remembered the old joke about the strongest proof of the existence of extraterrestrial intelligence being the fact that it hadn’t tried to contact us. If the alien had formed its knowledge of humanity from what it saw on our TV channels then it must have remarkable good will to wish me aboard. In any case I would find out about its own idiosyncrasies soon enough, as I was going to accept the offer.
It was obvious I had no choice. I could stay on Mars and die of starvation or I could go. I would in all likelihood die once aboard the alien ship, or even before I reached it, but that was balancing a probability against a certitude.
After spending half an hour watching the alien creature do a good imitation of a rock I redirected the Hab’s antenna towards the Terra Nova’s orbital path, and waited another twenty minutes until the ship was in range before switching on the mike and pinging Cloe. Her face appeared on the screen almost immediately.
“How did it go?”
“Very interesting. The thing is a biological machine and I have a ticket to its mother ship.”
I described the encounter in detail. After a few questions for clarification she asked the big one: “Are you going?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Do you think it is the right thing? You have no idea what to expect. How will you even survive the journey? The trip will last a day and you have oxygen for only a few hours.”
“I’m betting on the fact that if it knows humans sit, it knows they breathe. That chair is the right size for a person without a suit. That chamber is perfect for removing one’s suit once it’s sealed up and sitting in comfort until the thing reaches the main ship. It doesn’t make sense any other way.”
“Maybe it’s a trap.”
“Why bother? It could have captured or killed me the first time round. It didn’t. Its only mistake was to jump the gun and come forward with the offer of a free ride before I was ready, although if Dieter hadn’t knocked me out I might just have taken it up. It didn’t make that mistake the second time. It waited until the SEV approached it before opening up. This is one smart alien, Cloe, and so far it’s shown nothing that adds up to hostility.”
“Mmmouais. Maybe. When do you plan to go?”
“As soon as I get the second SEV over here. No point delaying. I’ll run the whole thing by Mission but I can’t see them objecting and if they do they can go jump. That creature can’t stay on Mars indefinitely. It’s a living organism and there has to be a limit to how long it can maintain itself on the surface. In the meantime I want you to do something for me.”
“What?”
“Match orbits with the alien ship. I’ve done the numbers. It won’t compromise your return trip. I may be willing to pay a visit but I don’t plan on making it a permanent stay.”
“Are you serious?”
“Of course. The alien pilot must have seen us descend from Terra Nova. If it sees you approaching whilst I’m being hoisted up it should figure out I’ve told you to do it. It can work out you’re not hostile.”
“That sounds fine in theory.”
“Think about it. Would you try to harm the alien ship with me inside it?”
There was a brief pause. “I suppose not, but the whole idea presumes it thinks human beings don’t kill each other.” I caught the trouble in her voice.
“Point taken,” I said. “Keep at least a thousand kilometres away. Don’t come closer until I tell you—if I’m able to radio you. If you don’t hear from me don’t approach for any reason.”
For supplies I decided to take as little as possible, not wanting to add more than was absolutely necessary to the weight of the elevator-creature. In addition to my suit I took a pack with enough food and water for a week, a pair of boots (used in the interior of the Hab), an air meter, a torch, a length of cord and my tablet. Its built-in camera and mike would enable me to document my time in the alien vessel.
It was almost an afterthought to contact Houston for permission.
Trinny’s reply came almost immediately. His face was worried, harried almost, and he looked away from the camera chewing on his thumbnail, something I had never seen him do before.
“We agree with your assessment that the alien has shown no hostile intent. If we had more time and data we’d have given you a detailed rundown on first contact procedure, but this is beyond anything we’ve conceived, so all I can say is take it one step at a time and use your common sense. You have plenty of that.”
He paused a moment before continuing.
“I’ve been given some news. We’ve been running analyses on the effect of Ganymed’s impact on the Earth’s mantle. It’s bad. The shockwaves are going to open at least three mantle plumes below the Earth’s crust, pushing lava to the surface and causing unprecedented volcanic activity. Impossible to know all the effects that will have, but the minimal scenario is that the volcanic ash combined with the asteroid’s ejecta will block out so much sunlight an ice age will spread across the whole of the Earth’s surface.
“Once enough snow has fallen and the oceans have frozen, they will reflect sunlight, perpetuating the cold temperatures. It could last hundreds of years. No plant life will survive, nor any land animals. Deep sea life maybe, but that won’t help us.”
He turned to face me. “It’s up to you now. I’ll send you the data on the mantle plumes. It might be useful if you succeed in making contact. Anything else you need let me know. Trinny out.”
I leaned back in my chair for a long time, deep in thought. A strange emotion welled up, not horror or sadness, but a peculiar sense of isolation. I was no longer alone with death. Every human being was now one with me, all on the edge of the precipice, waiting to fall in. But it made no difference. I was still isolated.
The fact that any hope the human race had for survival depended entirely on what was about to happen to me did not move me at all. Neither I, nor Trinny, nor NASA nor anyone else was in control of the situation any longer. We were thrown on the mercy of Fate, on an imponderable alien technology that might or might not wish or be able to help us. There was nothing I could do except go and try to ask. It was a simple and probably hopeless task, but it was at least something to do, far, far better than just waiting to die.
A little later a text message arrived from Sylvia.
Eugene has told me what’s happening.
I wish you the very best of luck. Don’t write me off just yet as there is a new treatment that should make a real difference. I’ll be fine.
I don’t know why you brought up our marriage. Any difficulties we had in the beginning have long since been resolved. Of course nothing’s perfect but we have managed well enough for years. You are at the very top of your profession and everyone is proud of you. There’s even talk of putting you forward for the Congressional Medal of Honour which you certainly deserve. They’re going to send a ship to rescue you. Just do what you have to do and come home soon.
Sylvia
As I finished reading it I sighed. I did try, I thought, but I wish they hadn’t lied to her.
As I made myself a cup of coffee Sylvia’s message remained in my mind. It bothered me more than I would have thought possible. She was going to die, soon, and she did not know or want to know. I would probably die before her and that knowledge had made the trivial things of life repugnant to me. I became aware of a sharp stab of loneliness. Do not go gentle into that good night. No, do not go into that good night at all. There is nothing good about it. A cloying, deadening, meaningless emptiness. My sense of isolation oppressed me. I was not one with humanity at the brink of our common dissolution. We were separated by steel walls, each of us making that final tumble alone.
I contacted Cloe.
“Trinny told you?”
“...yes.”
“If I don’t come back what will you do?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think that far ahead. You must come back, that’s all.”
“He told you Sylvia’s dying?”
There was a silence.
“Yes.”
“We’re all going to die, you know that?”
“Why do you say that to me?”
“I’ve been down here too long. You’re the only person I can talk to, even if we weren’t so far from Earth.”
Her head was down, her eyes on the keyboard before her. “I know. But we have to think there is hope.”
“I don’t work on hope. I work on probabilities. I can only hope for what’s probable. We’ve got no reason at all to think that thing up there can help us. If it wants Earth for itself we’d just get in the way. And look, it’s big but what can it do to twenty miles of rock? It’s got limits.”
“Then why do you go?”
“Because there’s nothing else I can do. I can go and find out what it wants but I can’t hope for anything.”
“Why do you tell me this?”
I hesitated. “Because…because it’s the truth. I’ve run out of time for lying and self-deception. Sylvia is living in a fool’s paradise. But I can’t and I won’t.”
Cloe leaned back from the mike, her voice faint. “You’re getting ready to die, aren’t you?”
“I suppose I am.”
She leaned forward and raised her eyes. “Listen to me. Why do you think I save your life? Why don’t I save Dieter? You want to know? Because in this nightmare I trust you. I think if anyone can carry us through it is you. Not Dieter, not Trinny. Just you. I can’t think of death, do you understand? You must pull yourself together, Jason. You must get me through this. You must, you hear? You must...” Her voice trailed off.
“…I’m sorry, Cloe.”
There was a pause. “Never mind.”
“I thought you were the strong one.”
She laughed. “Me? Who’s made all the decisions? You were trapped on Mars and no way back to Earth and you were still happy about finding water. Trinny thinks you are a marvel. One of a kind, he said. An idealist.”
It was my turn to laugh. “He called me an idealist?”
“Yes, you. You’re not cynical about the things that are important. You’re a very good commander. Don’t break down on me now.”
“I won’t. I promise that.” And I meant it.
“And come back.”
“I intend to. Look after yourself.”
Neither of us spoke for a moment.
“I better get on with it. I’ll contact you as soon as I’m able to.”
“Goodbye Jason. Good luck.”
There was no reason to wait any longer. After breathing pure oxygen through a facemask for half an hour I entered the airlock and donned my suit. Ten minutes later I stepped outside, climbed aboard the second SEV with my pack, and set off. I thought of Cloe. Go well, girl. If I can save you I will. Then another thought welled up from the depths. Look after her.
Cloe’s electric jolt had broken my oppressive mood. I still had a job to do. I still had a crew to mind. I could shrug off death and carry on living, and I felt strangely childlike at the thought. The big picture had somehow settled into place and the details, the fascination of the present moment, absorbed me again.
At the heart of a child is the thirst for adventure, an appetite for new and wondrous things in a world whose immediate neighbourhood has exhausted the possibilities of enchantment. It is adults who are jaded, giving up the marvellous for the pragmatic: better careers, better pay, a better social standing, all dead things.
As I steered the SEV over the bumpy ground a child’s excitement stole over me. It wasn’t that I had been too long in the mental prison of death and was now at last free. It was more than that. A true adventure is not a safari park tour. It is the exploration of a world that is as unknown as it is dangerous. I had no idea of what I was going into nor any certitude I would survive it. The exhilarating thrill I felt at that thought ran right through me like an electric current.
The morning sun was high in the sky, slightly dimmed by a few faint cirrus clouds trailing overhead. Its light created sharp, contrasting shadows but was not intense. The road, composed of two sets of SEV tracks, had become familiar. I was beginning almost to feel at home on the Martian surface. I crossed the ancient stream bed and crested the low rise beyond.
Taking the SEV’s macrobinoculars I scanned ahead. There, as I expected, sat the alien creature, motionless, exactly as I had last seen it. The first SEV was a short distance away, also where I had left it. It did not look as if the alien had approached or tampered with it at all.
I stopped the SEV alongside its twin, got a grip on my supply pack, and climbed off the vehicle. Then slowly, pack in hand, I approached the creature until I was ten metres away from it. I stopped and waited. The thing really did look like a giant gourd. I was just thinking that the resemblance was odd when the blackish leaves of the outer layer curled open, followed by the creamy leaves of the inner layer.
At the top of the now flattened alien creature the chair waited. It looked as if it was made of some mottled brown-black, woody substance. It was clearly meant to be a chair, however there were slight irregularities in its shape and it lacked sharp corners. It was what I imagined a chair would look like if it had grown that way. I took a deep breath, and stepped on to the nearest leaf. Its texture was rough and irregular and I had no difficulty walking up it, using its irregularities as steps. The inner leaves were somewhat smoother but were splayed outwards at a gentler angle, and I walked rather than climbed along them.
At the top the level floor was firm yet slightly springy. It had a fibrous consistency and, like the chair, was darkish brown in various hues. It was dry, which did not surprise me. The temperature of the Martian air would have frozen any water or water-based liquid immediately. The floor was made of the same fibrous substance as the inner leaves though these were paler in colour, with a mottling of orange-ochre scattered over a creamy-brown undercoating.
I dropped my pack on the floor, turned myself around and, after a moment’s hesitation, sat on the edge of the chair, my backpack preventing me from leaning back. It seemed to be a signal. The leaves began to close and in two seconds I was plunged in complete darkness. I gripped my knees nervously. Nothing happened for several moments. Then, slowly, I discerned a faint tracery of orange colour that appeared around me. The colour grew in strength and gradually I became aware of being in a chamber. The mottling of orange I had observed earlier now gleamed like a collection of fireflies, shedding a weak but adequate light on the area around.
On a hunch I leaned forward and opened my pack. Pulling out the small, rectangular atmospheric meter I switched it on and took a reading. No change in the atmosphere. Carbon dioxide: 95.9 %; Argon: 2 %; Nitrogen: 1.9 %; Oxygen: 0.14 %; Carbon monoxide: 0.06 % and a trace of other elements. Pressure 0.14 psi.
There was sensation of tilting forward then backwards, followed by a return to stability. I guessed that the creature had left the surface and was being hauled upwards. I looked at the meter. Oxygen was up. Seven per cent and climbing. The nitrogen content too was increasing, and the total atmospheric pressure was now 1.7 psi.
The gleaming orange mottling on the roof seemed to have reached its maximum intensity, bathing everything in a rich, golden light. I was reminded of that brief period during a terrestrial evening, when the light suddenly deepens, turning even the most mundane objects into a glowing splendour of colour washed with warm highlights and deep shadows. It was like that now. My pack was a luminous creamy radiance, the air meter in my hand a blend of shimmering grey and tremulous black. Everything was tinged with wonder.
I took another reading. Oxygen thirty-one percent, nitrogen sixty-six percent, pressure 5.6 psi. The Martian near-vacuum atmosphere was gradually turning into breathable air. Its pressure was now higher than my suit’s 4.7 psi of pure oxygen though still too low to risk removing my helmet, but with nearly four hours oxygen left I was not in a hurry. Ten minutes later I took a further reading. Air pressure 8.3 psi, high enough to risk breathing. I undid my helmet clasps and, gripping it with both hands, gently pulled it off. There was a momentary rush of incoming air, and then I took a breath. Yes, breathable, with a faint tang I could not place.
The next step was to switch off the suit’s air supply. I wanted to preserve my oxygen as much as possible, not for use in the alien vessel, but for when I might need it during my return to the Terra Nova. Getting back to the ship was not something I counted on or even seriously hoped, still it was an eventuality to plan for. I did not yet remove my suit. One might intellectually conclude that the alien, having gone to the trouble of keeping me alive thus far, would continue to take the same trouble, nonetheless I was not at ease. I wanted to be able to replace my helmet at a moment’s notice. With a gravity only one third of Earth’s, wearing a spacesuit on Mars is not burdensome.
Suits however are bulky. If I wanted to sit it would have to be done either uncomfortably on the edge of the chair or leaning against the central cord that ran from the floor up to the top of the chamber. I finally decided on the latter option, and sat with my backpack against the cord, my legs stretched out in front, and my helmet and supply pack to the side.
During all this time there was perfect silence. No faint humming of machinery, no thump thump of any distant heartbeat, no gurglings, nothing. Another glance at the air meter showed a pressure of 18.6 psi. A sense of worry took hold of me. Did the aliens think humans lived under a Venusian-like atmospheric pressure? If so I would soon be crushed to death. After a few minutes I looked at the meter again. 18.6 psi. The pressure had stabilized at a point higher than Earth’s but without becoming uncomfortable. Breathing in fact was easier, the higher pressure and oxygen content requiring less effort from my lungs. It would be possible to jog in this air a long time without becoming winded.
I replaced the air meter and took out my tablet. Holding it up I set it to Record and hit Play. “Commander Montague here. The time is twelve oh eight hundred hours January nineteenth. I am currently within a cavity in the alien entity. The entity is clearly an example of bioengineering that appears adapted to sustain human life during the trip to the alien ship.
“The temperature is twenty-eight degrees centigrade. Atmospheric pressure is eighteen point six psi and its composition is earthlike, with a slightly higher concentration of oxygen. Humidity is sixty percent. The air is breathable and I am currently without my helmet. There is an ochre-like substance on the walls that emits light, supplying an illumination clear enough to see by. I’m giving you a panoramic shot of it now.”
I swung the tablet in a slow arc over my head then resumed. “There is no observable alteration in the disposition of the cavity and the absence of sound is complete. If the situation remains unchanged I will consider removing the rest of my suit and getting comfortable as I estimate there are still twenty-one hours left to go of the return journey, presuming the entity is rising as fast as it descended. Commander Montague out.”
Duty done, I switched off the tablet camera and replaced it in the pack. Leaning back I looked around. The walls of the cavity, the pack, the helmet, my legs were bathed in the unearthly light that, here and there, wavered in intensity. I wondered about the kind of biochemistry that produced the illumination.
Pulling out my tablet again, I switched on the virtual keyboard and typed category: biology, then light-producing organisms. After a brief search through the results I found what I was looking for. A number of species on Earth create a yellowish-green light by introducing oxygen into a mix of calcium, adenosine triphosphate, luciferin and the enzyme luciferase, all manufactured within the light-producing cells. The light is accompanied by very little heat, so as not to fry the creature producing it. It was an ingenious example of chemical engineering. The illumination on the cavity roof was possibly achieved by a similar method, but it was unlikely I would ever find out exactly how it was done.
Another hour passed. I picked up the tablet and, without activating the film recorder, spoke into its microphone. “Commander Montague here. Time is thirteen twelve hundred hours. I have decided to remove my suit. Nothing else to report.” I switched off the recorder then stood up. A Z4 spacesuit is made in a single piece and is designed to be entered from the rear, via a hatch that when closed doubles as the life support system. It takes just a few minutes to get in or out of one. A short while later the suit was deposited on the floor and I was sitting in the chair, which had the elasticity of wickerwork. After making myself as comfortable as I could I settled down to await the end of my journey.
II – THE HALLS OF THE DEAD
12. I awoke. A slight jolt had stirred me from a dreamless sleep. I was drifting, weightless, in the cavity space. The journey had been without event. With the exception of food, the alien entity had anticipated all my needs, even the need to relieve myself, which was served by a funnel-shaped hole in the floor by one of the cavity walls.
As gravity weakened I had taken precautions, using the cord I had brought along to lash the suit and pack together and wedge them tightly between the armrests of the chair. With the remaining length of cord I tied myself to the central column and lay on the floor. It was thus that I had fallen asleep.
I checked the time. It was eight-fifty a.m. A mental calculation told me I had been in the cavity for nearly twenty-two hours. I was instantly alert. Untying the cord I opened the backpack of the spacesuit and clambered in. Once inside I used my arm to swing the backpack shut and seal the suit. I fastened on the helmet and activated the oxygen supply. Whatever happened I wanted to be ready.
One thing worried me: getting knocked about when the elevator creature started moving about on or in the alien ship. I decided to use the supply pack as an improvised airbag. Taking hold of it I tried to lift it off the chair and found it would not move. Bracing my feet on the floor I tugged harder. It tore loose like a strip of velcro. I placed a gloved hand on one of the armrests. It remained stuck as if glued down, but came away with an effort. Turning around, I perched on the edge of the chair and placed both hands on the armrests. A little testing confirmed that I would remain in place unless a violent movement shook me loose.
After a time I became aware of a gentle swaying motion, and guessed the creature was walking along some surface, possibly having made the tips of its legs as adhesive as the chair. I lifted one glove from its armrest and examined the palm. It was quite dry and clean, which meant that whatever had made the chair sticky was not some gluey or tacky substance. The swaying motion ceased for a few moments then resumed, only to cease about a minute later before resuming again. It seemed we had stopped twice. Going through airlocks? A third time the swaying stopped.
Nothing happened for a long while. I glanced at my watch. Nearly an hour had passed since the cessation of motion. I lifted my hand to open the supply pack and noticed that my arm had weight.
A stab of panic jolted through me. I could think of only two ways there would be a sensation of gravity. Either the alien vessel had started rotating or it begun to accelerate. If the latter were the case it was leaving the Terra Nova and any hope I ever had of returning home.
The sense of heaviness steadily increased. After about half an hour it felt greater than on Mars. Eventually the pull of inertia seemed to stabilise around half Earth’s gravity. More than two hours had passed and I had done nothing except wonder what was happening. All I could do was wait for whatever came next.
What came next was sudden. Without warning the leaves of cavity walls curled outwards and I was in the open again.
I had half-expected to see metal, plastic or some other gleaming surface. What I had not expected to see was a forest floor. There was light, the same rich light that had illuminated the cavity, only here it was stronger, with a touch of green to its golden haze. The light was soft and diffuse, as if diluted and broken up by the vapour of a thick and humid atmosphere.
In the light an open stretch of glade spread before me, framed by massive tree trunks, twisted, gnarled and knotted like old oaks, rising up from the ground to a height of thirty metres and more, spreading their branches high overhead to meet each other in a great intertwining canopy into which were woven trailers, shoots and other plantlike growths. It was as if nature had taken upon herself to create in wood, bark and vine an imitation of the great mediaeval Gothic cathedrals, and had surpassed them.
The forest floor was a matted texture of interlocking roots, soil, grass, shrubs, fallen branches, moss, lichen and dead leaves, in a mixture of brown, orange, green, yellow, mottled grey, maroon and all the colours that belong to the natural world. It was not perfectly flat. A man would need to step over a raised root here or walk around a low shrub there, but it looked easy enough to traverse, and clearly—as the creature I was in had made no further movement—I was meant to get out onto it.
I hesitated just a moment before switching off the oxygen. Removing my helmet I took a sniff. The air was fresh and tangy, with a touch of cool wetness to it. I picked up my supply pack and noticed that it no longer stuck to the chair. With pack in one hand and helmet in the other I took a deep breath, stepped down the leafy slope and gingerly placed a foot on the ground. The surface was firm with just a little give. I took a dozen steps forward then looked back. The creature had already closed up and was turning itself round on its stubby legs. The cord which had lifted it to the alien ship was no longer attached to the top of its body. To one side a large well-like hole opened in the ground. As I watched the creature shuffled to the hole and crawled into it. In a few moments it was gone.
I approached the edge and looked down, in time to catch a glimpse of the creature disappearing down a tunnel of which the hole was an opening to the surface. I stood back and looked around. Except for the great tree-trunks and the greenery I was alone. No sign of any reception committee. Well, they would come soon enough. In the meantime it seemed a good idea to do some exploring.
But first things first. I opened the backpack hatch and wriggled out of my suit. After pulling on the boots I had brought with me I stood up and looked about. I was in the middle of an open space that was as large as the interior of the largest church on Earth. Which is to say that it was remarkably churchlike. The great tree trunks rose up like gigantic fluted pillars, from which branches splayed out overhead, joining each other to form irregular Gothic and Romanesque arches. It was a framing of space that brought out the grandeur of its size, a biological equivalent of an architect’s effort to display the majesty of volume. It was, in a word, beautiful.
It is perhaps difficult to convey the effect this sense of a vast inhabitable space had on someone who had been cooped up in the restrictive confines of a spaceship for nearly a year. I breathed deeply and stretched my arms out. Whatever else it might turn out to be, this alien world was a marvel.
I took a few steps and tried a jump. The gravity seemed to remain at a constant half G. Walking was preferable to jogging but the latter could be done without too much effort. The question now was where to go. The tree trunks were fairly close together but I could see more green space beyond them. Leaving my suit on the ground I shouldered my pack and walked up to the nearest tree. I felt its bark. It was rough and slightly friable.
Taking out my knife I cut into it gently and carefully. The bark was tough and it took a sawing motion before I was able to slice a groove into the wood. I cut out a sizeable chunk, exposing a lighter woodlike substance underneath. Good. I could blaze a trail and find my way back to the point I had started from.
Before setting out I took the tablet from the pack and recorded the scene around me, panning 360 degrees. “Commander Montague. Eleven ten hundred hours. January twentieth. I am inside the alien craft. The atmosphere is nearly identical to that in the elevator creature. Pressure and oxygen content slightly higher than on Earth. Humidity sixty percent. I am entirely surrounded by vegetation. So far I can see nothing that looks or behaves like an animal. No sign of any intelligent aliens.
“The ground is overgrown and appears to be composed of plant humus. There is a light source above the trees but I cannot determine what it is. It appears to fluctuate slightly in brightness. There is an opening in the ground next to me down which the creature has gone. It joins a tunnel about ten metres down. It might be possible for me to descend to the tunnel but I will do that only as a last resort. I am assuming the alien ship has begun to accelerate as there is a feeling of gravity, somewhere in the region of half a G. I am about to set out and explore the habitat. Montague out.”
I looked upwards. The light filtered through the tree branches from a source of varying intensity, like daylight from an irregularly overcast sky. Any planet that keeps an evenly moderated temperature over its surface must spin. If the same side always faced the sun then one half of the planet would roast whilst the other half froze. The borderline region between the two halves would be subjected to extreme fluctuations in temperature. Life would not survive. Hence any living creature would presumably come from a world that rotated and possessed the cycle of day and night.
One could deduce further that biology, accustomed to the day-night cycle, would require the cycle to be replicated in any artificial environment. This alien world would presumable have a night, probably preceded by a dusk. I would need to make sure I was somewhere suitable when that night fell.
This of course was all guesswork, however I had no choice but to go on the most probable assumptions. Passing the tree I had blazed I found myself in another churchlike space, somewhat smaller than the one I had come from. The same trunks rising up high in the air, and the same branches spreading out to form a canopy overhead. The same soft golden-green light. The tree trunks seemed to continue their ascent above the canopy layer, but it was not possible to see just how far up they extended. I would need to climb one to ascertain that.
I walked into the middle of the open space, skirting a few low bushes to do so. At the far end of the glade the tree trunks were further apart and through them I could see another glade opening out beyond.
Then, standing there, I became aware of something strange. I looked back at the bushes I had skirted. Making my way over to the nearest one I crouched down and examined it. It was nondescript, which it to say it had a central stem from which thin branches extended outwards, sprouting a thick spread of narrow pointed leaves. Just like any bush on Earth.
I stood up and looked around. The trees, branches, vegetation, everything, was too damned earthlike. The trees themselves were no species I had ever come across, but they could have blended into a terrestrial forest without attracting anyone’s notice. It was not the strangeness of this alien environment that had originally impressed me, but its beauty. And now I realised just how strange the familiarity was.
What were the aliens, and where were they? I would find out if I had to search their habitat from end to end. Resuming my journey I made for the more widely-spaced trees at the far end of the glade. I reached them and looked beyond. The next glade was the largest yet, extending perhaps two hundred metres to the trees marking its farthest end. Its greater size was due to the fact that it had originally been two glades. A scattering of tree stumps stretched across the central space, marking the original boundary between the clearings.
I walked into the middle of the open space and looked upwards. The overhead canopy covering was patchy, with large gaps between the branches and vines. Above them I saw a second canopy layer and what seemed to be the traces of a third above that, about two hundred metres overhead. Beyond it I could partly see the source of the illumination, a narrow, irregular rectangle of light that seemed to quiver and change shape as I watched. It was impossible to guess its nature.
To solve the mystery of this world I would have to climb. The trouble was I did not have climbing equipment and did not relish the risk of a fall with no chance of medical help or even first aid. Possibly some of the trees were scalable. The thing was to keep looking until I found one. I moved on, examining each passing trunk but without success.
Beyond the distant trees at the far end of the big glade the vegetation was much thicker. Great palms and ferns sprouted up to ten metres and more in height, their thickly-clustered fronds spreading out, blocking the view above. Below them the light was dim. I wandered in a green twilight, my feet crunching on a forest floor covered with plant detritus, fallen branches, moss and lichen. As I progressed I became aware that the ground was gradually rising—a gentle incline that became steeper the further I went. The light grew dimmer. It was when the gloom began to make it difficult to see that I suddenly realised what it meant. Night was falling.
Keeping calm I retraced my steps until I was clear of the palms and back again amongst the trees. Before I had reached the centre of the great open space it had become obvious there was something odd about the light. It had regained its original brightness. I waited. There was silence. Nothing moved. The great tremulous lamp shone down from the expanse above. Damn you, I thought, I’ll chance the dark. I plunged back in among the ferns.
Orientation was difficult. To avoid getting lost I scuffled the ground with my boot every few feet or so, creating crude lines that pointed back the way I had come. I had no idea how large this jungle-like expanse was and did not want to go in circles unawares. The incline became steeper, as if I was scaling a wooded mountainside, but the climb seemed to need hardly more effort that walking on level ground. I put it down to the low gravity of this world.
It must have been about twenty minutes before the palms began to thin out and appear smaller, though they were becoming difficult to see clearly in the gathering twilight. It took another ten minutes or so before I finally was able to walk clear of them. By then I hardly noticed them at all. My gaze was behind me.
The great trees were about half a kilometre back. I was above them and could see their leafy tops, connected to each other by a delicate tracery of vines and branches. I was in a vast open space. Ahead of me the vegetation thinned until it disappeared altogether in the charcoal gloom. I could at last see the shape and orientation of the interior of the gigantic vessel.
To my left and right the land curved upwards, meeting somewhere above, beyond the great tube that stretched the length of the vessel. A tube is a poor image. It was an enormous pillar, laid on its end. It followed the central axis of the habitat, meeting the walls of the vessel that came together in a rounded point at the far end. The trees basked in an illumination that came from straight above them, but hardly any of it reached the place where I stood.
I looked up above my head. Right overhead the pillar emitted a few flickering points of light, their erratic brightness corresponding to the variations in gloom I saw around me. So that was it. Light rays travelled directly downwards, at ninety degrees to the orientation of the pillar. They were hardly diffused at all until they reached the trees, where the misty humidity of the air softened and spread them. That explained why the light source was above my head no matter where I stood. But why did it fade out here?
The trees grew towards the central source of light regardless of where on the ground they were situated. ‘Down’ I realised applied everywhere, no matter where you found yourself in the ship. Seeing this, I grasped the nature of gravity in this world. The vessel was spinning on its axis, and I was feeling the effects of centrifugal inertia. The alien ship probably hadn’t moved at all since I entered it. It had merely begun to rotate.
There is nothing sweeter than feeling hope rekindle after all hope has been extinguished. I might yet reach the Terra Nova and have a life beyond this minute-by-minute existence. The knowledge made me more determined than ever to find the inhabitants of this world. So far though I had yet to come across any sign of them.
I looked up the slope ahead of me. What had seemed a mountainside was in fact a narrowing of the vessel’s circumference. In the gloom above the central pillar ran through an opening into a dark space beyond. I realised suddenly that this vast cavity of light and vegetation was only part of the alien vessel. It could not be more than a mile in length from the far end where the walls met the luminous pillar to the gap above me where the pillar disappeared into darkness. A further two miles of the alien craft lay beyond that opening.
Why did the great central space constrict to a narrow aperture at this point? Clarke’s Rama had been a single open cavity, lit by three huge canyon-like strips of light embedded in its circular walls. This ship on the other hand appeared to be divided into at least two sections. The arrangement made no sense. I shrugged. Why should anything here make sense? I was in a world that bred questions most of which would probably never be answered.
The slope ahead was steep, its incline nearly forty-five degrees, but it was only a couple of hundred metres to the top of the opening. I understood why climbing had not been difficult. The higher I went, the lower the centrifugal pull and the less my weight became. At the summit I would be experiencing the equivalent of moon’s gravity or less.
As I climbed I examined the ground before me. The plant growth became increasingly scarce, finally reduced to some patches of lichen between dead tree stumps, which themselves became more weathered and decayed in appearance as I progressed. I stopped and examined one. I could not tell for sure, but it seemed to have been dead for a very long time. Life had gradually retreated from this part of the ship. The ground itself had lost its elasticity and become hard and stonelike. I knelt down and examined it closely. It was not stone. It was more like a fossilized relic of the forest humus that had once been here.
The summit was about a hundred metres below the great central pillar, at this point almost black with just a few weak flickerings of illumination that played along its surface. This and the diffused light from the forest enabled me to see my way with a near-weightless bouncing gait, as if I was walking on an ocean floor. The top of the aperture was flat. A few dozen metres brought me to its far edge. From there a steep slope fell away before my feet and beyond that—utter darkness.
I felt a touch of coldness drifting up from those impenetrable depths below. I stood still and listened. There was no sound. On impulse I cupped my hands to my mouth and called out “Ho!” The silence was unbroken then, faintly, I heard my echo.
I began to feel uneasy. So far I had not encountered a living thing that did not belong to the plant kingdom. I would have believed that this world was completely devoid of fauna except for the creature that had brought me here. It had plant-like characteristics perhaps, but it was definitely animal-like too. There had to be more like it. But down in that empty blackness I couldn’t imagine anything living of a higher order than bacteria. What was that space for? How was I to explore it?
I retraced my steps to the top of the slope I had climbed earlier. Standing at the edge I looked out. The straggling vegetation of the forest traced an irregular and patchy line around the circumference of the vessel’s walls, whilst its topmost branches formed a leafy carpet that covered most of the interior surface. It was a very large area to explore. Anything that wanted to hide from me would have no difficulty in doing so. I could only surmise that I had been brought here for a reason, and that the reason had to involve contact of some kind sooner or later. The sensible course of action was to return to my starting point, make myself comfortable, and wait for something to come along and say hello.
The return journey was done at a leisurely pace. I took hold of one of the palm branches in the palm forest. It was cool to the touch and tore easily. Its stem was brittle and I was able to snap it off the main trunk without difficulty, like breaking a celery leaf in half. I felt a passing guilt but after a moment’s thought dismissed it. The living things in this world were meant to die and decompose and be recycled anew. I had merely facilitated the process in a very small way.
Twice I got lost and had to methodically retrace my route until I found the trail I had blazed earlier that day. Eventually I reached the original glade with its well-like opening. I looked at my watch. Six hours had passed since my arrival. It was impossible to know how long the artificial daylight would last. It would be wise not to wander too far. Perhaps the inhabitants of this world would come out of the hole themselves to meet me. They had brought me here so it made sense to hang around until they made the next move. After a light meal I decided to limit myself to exploring the glades adjacent to the one I was in but not to go any further.
It was whilst I was examining the adjoining glade that I found it—a tree that could be climbed. Several thick vines wound around it corkscrew-fashion and looked as if they could serve as footholds and handholds. I began scaling the tree, following the line of the vines round and round until I reached the level of the first canopy. Climbing carefully through the layer of branches that grew out from the central trunk, I continued up until I emerged into an open space above.
Here was a new surprise. At this level the branches and vines flattened out, forming a roughly even surface that looked like it could be walked upon if one took care not to fall through the gaps. Above my head the tree trunks continued their ascent. Twenty metres further up a second layer of branches splayed out, meeting overhead to form another canopy roof.
I stepped out along a branch. It divided into smaller branches, meshed with vines, shoots and outgrowths. Gingerly I placed a foot on it and tested the surface. Yes, one could walk on it. Cautiously I felt my way along. Parts of the canopy covering were thin and untrustworthy but it was not too difficult to find the solid paths between them. With a feeling of triumph I reached the centre of the open space and gazed around. I was in a huge, green-brown cavern of twig and leaf and branch. A sense of wonder filled me. Who could believe I was actually aboard an alien spaceship orbiting Mars? That perhaps a couple of hundred metres were all that separated me from the endless vacuum of space?
I was looking for the safest path to the far end of the tree cavern when I noticed that the light was beginning to fail. An initial suspicion of dimness soon became a certainty. I would need to abandon my exploration and doss down for the night. Retracing my steps to the tree trunk I had climbed I descended as quickly as possible. The light was fading fast by the time I reached the well-glade, as I called it, and I had just enough time to make an improvised bed with some fern leaves, laid in a natural depression in the ground with a convenient springy hump serving as a pillow, before night fell. Using the mini torch in my tablet to see by, I made a short audio report of the day’s events then lay down on my leafy mattress and, surprisingly enough, was soon asleep.