Alien Artifacts Read online

  I’m dead. Whatever I do now, I die here.

  He thought of the remains of the alien probe, the joy and wonder he had felt just yesterday. Miranda had succeeded. No one would know—maybe ever.

  Unless I do something. What can I still do?

  The explosion would have destroyed the main transmitter as well as the backup. Transmitters on the furnaces or rovers weren’t strong enough to reach the relay stations in the system—not even the one on Tartarus’s orbit.

  The rocket.

  The landing and launch site was a half day’s journey from here. If he found an operational rover, he might get there much faster.

  If he could send out a message from the rocket’s transmitter, they’d come rescue him. In the emergency shelter at the site, he could survive maybe two weeks. More if he took all the remaining supplies with him.

  If he could, he would leave the planet. But to survive the acceleration unharmed, he’d need to go through the pre-launch procedures which took place on the station.

  A call out would suffice. He might live after all.

  * * *

  Linus managed to find a rover and stack in as many supplies as he could. When stopping at the last furnace on his way to the launch site, he noticed warning messages on the screen.

  Oh no. She must have disabled cooling of the reactor. Probably not just here.

  With so many fail-safes, it was next to impossible to sabotage a reactor. But so was blowing up the station. She must have been working on the systems the whole time. And while the reactors wouldn’t explode, they would melt down and destroy the furnaces for good. Maybe that was her goal after all—to cut down all supply from Tartarus. Without it, allied forces in the system would be more vulnerable to an attack.

  He could do nothing here. Better head for the launch site quickly.

  He cut off all means of outside communication and drove the rover manually, following the path on his HUD. It required constant alertness but it consumed all of his attention, for which he was grateful. No time to think about what had happened. Until his concentration was broken by sudden crackling in his earphones. A call on the distress frequency; he couldn’t disable that one.

  Then a short silence, followed by a quiet voice: “Hello, Linus.”

  He froze.

  He had to stop, otherwise he’d crash the rover. It was like hearing a voice from the dead.

  “I can see you’re going to the launch site. Linus, I’m sorry. You can’t get away.”

  Little beads of sweat were running down his forehead. “Are you going to hijack this rover as well as the first one?”

  “You took care to prevent that. However, I don’t need to. It’s impossible to get off this planet.”

  Don’t listen to her. Go, quickly, before she catches up with you.

  He drove as fast as he dared to. All the time, he was hearing Miranda’s melancholic voice saying all was lost. He tried to pay no attention to it.

  When he reached the launch site shortly thereafter, she was nowhere to be seen and had even stopped talking. He wasn’t sure whether to regard that as a good or bad sign.

  First of all, he tried to access the rocket’s transmitter, hoping to send a message out. Not responding. He climbed into the cabin and, to his horror, found a record that the transmitter was accessed an hour ago for maintenance.

  She was here!

  She might still be here.

  For a second, Linus was paralyzed. He was almost too afraid to turn, certain that he’d find her just behind himself, waiting.

  He turned. The rest of the cabin was empty, the seal closed.

  “So you thought of this, too,” he said aloud. “You were thinking ahead, as always.”

  Should he attempt to leave the planet, even knowing the acceleration would likely cause him fatal injury?

  What other choice do I have left?

  Linus turned on the flight systems and checked their status. He almost didn’t feel any more despair when the fuel indicator shone red; the aluminum cells were gone. Of course she’d taken care of all possibilities.

  He leaned back in the chair. This was it. He was dead. He could stay here and wait. He might dial down his oxygen supply and slowly fall asleep. But suffocation and carbon dioxide poisoning were not a good death, he had heard. Yet again, what would be?

  How would she die? Still out there, waiting, taking care I wouldn’t escape.

  He stood up and climbed back out of the rocket.

  “Are you still listening in?” he said.

  “I am.” She sounded sorry. “Linus, give it up. Neither of us can get away.”

  “Says you,” he interjected sharply.

  “Do you really want to argue? Now? Fine. Go on and try. But it’s a wasted effort.”

  “Why did you do it?!” he blasted, his anger returning.

  Linus could almost imagine a faint sad smile as she said: “I made a choice. I was sent here to slow down and observe things. But when you reported that finding, I knew I had to make a quick choice. Sabotaging the entire complex, even at the cost of my life, had always been an option. What would you do if you were faced with this decision, only clinkers would obtain the discovery?”

  “I’d never become—”

  “A double agent? Even if you could help your side? Or are you too much of a coward for that?”

  He was torn between feeling angry at her and just tired, very, impossibly tired.

  “Are you going to end it?” he asked quietly.

  “It already is ended, Lin. There’s no way left to send out any signal or leave. We can only wait until the definitive end—or bring it closer. Do you want me to do that?”

  He considered her question for a while. “No,” he whispered then. “I’m not a coward.”

  “I know you aren’t.”

  “And what are you, Miranda?”

  “My people would call me a hero.”

  “Mine a traitor.” After a pause, Linus asked: “Where are you?”

  “Why? Are you going to try to kill me?”

  “Would it matter now?”

  She didn’t answer him. Linus half expected she had stopped talking to him and he’d die here alone. He didn’t really expect her to show herself.

  Linus felt his throat dry as a space-suited silhouette appeared near him. He had to overcome the urge to run. What would be the point?

  “I’m here,” she said needlessly.

  All of a sudden, he didn’t know what to say. He had so many questions and couldn’t bring himself to say aloud any of them.

  Neither one spoke. They stood there for what could have been an eternity, before Miranda finally said: “Would you believe me if I told you again that I’m sorry?”

  “I…don’t know.”

  “What do you wish to hear? An explanation? I can give you that.”

  It’s not like you’re going to tell anyone else, she left unsaid.

  Linus felt tired and beaten and to his own surprise, he found himself content with not knowing as well as hearing out Miranda—nothing mattered anymore. “Okay,” he said quietly.

  “Okay,” she repeated hollowly. “Let’s sit in the shelter. I could never bear this horrible land.”

  “You never said.” What is she trying to do? he thought. It’s a trap, it must be. But what would she accomplish? We’re both dead anyway.

  “Neither did you.”

  He reluctantly followed her, eager to find out what she had to say—and what she had planned, perhaps. There was no point in staying outside, alone, to die. They sat down in the dark room. Linus could hear Miranda’s fast breathing. For a moment, he felt sorry for her and then realized the absurdity of his situation. If he still could, he would have laughed.

  “I know I already asked you why,” he said. “But still…I can’t grasp what would make a person do what you’ve done. At least, before I die, I deserve an explanation, like you offered.”

  For a moment, he only heard silence on the channel. Then, abruptly, she sp
oke: “They’re right. The clinkers, as you call them. We have no right to exploit and destroy other worlds. We had our chance on Earth and screwed up. Think of all the possible futures we might be extinguishing with every planet colonized, terraformed, or mined through and through! All the life forms that never will be, because of us. We’re terribly selfish to usurp the space for ourselves. We wouldn’t need any planet ever again if it wasn’t for the stupid sense of power, of ownership of the worlds that don’t belong to us.”

  That’s why you keep killing people? Linus wanted to ask but stayed silent. He would let her talk, try to figure out whether she really wanted to explain herself to him, however absurd it was, or still had some hidden agenda.

  Miranda took a deep breath. “Somehow, their views explained a lot. We’re fighting for space even where there’s plenty. We’ve been destroying things to remake them to our liking. If we ever really valued what we’ve got, worked with it instead of forever wanting more…And the war? Your people started it. We had no choice but to fight back.

  “We all do what we have to do. I got augmented. Not much, not enough for people to notice. But enough so that I wouldn’t need to set foot on any planet again in my life if not for my assignment here. I would live on a station built from scratch out of space debris, using resources not taken from a potentially habitable world which just didn’t have the chance because of us. It takes so little to let go, start anew. We should have done that long ago.”

  Linus imagined her eyes as she continued. They were filled with tears. But her voice gave away no such traces. Maybe he was trying to picture her…more human. Or exactly the opposite?

  “They gave me a new home. New life. But I needed to go back. Needed to be here exactly for this reason.” Now, her voice trembled a little. “What would you make of the discovery? Weapons. You’d take apart every piece of ancient tech left there, try to turn it against us. And not just the old kind of weapon. You’d attack our very foundations. Say those who had made the probe had terraformed worlds themselves. That we’re no different from our cosmic predecessors and our side must be subdued.”

  Would that really happen? Linus wondered. He came up with a yes. But still...

  It sounded so menial now. So small. So what if a faction of humanity had said stop and started promoting their own ideology? At first, nothing had happened. At least he hoped so. Hoped they were given space to speak freely, just like anyone else. It was their fault they started sabotaging the terraforming programs, attacking the opposing officials. That was the truth, right? Miranda had become a victim of propaganda saying otherwise.

  Or, maybe, she was planting propaganda in his head right now.

  “Is that a lie, too, like everything else you ever said?” he said hoarsely.

  “No. Do I have any reason to lie anymore?”

  Linus wasn’t exactly sure she didn’t. In truth, he’d only partially listened to her tale. Another part of his mind was occupied with trying to come up with a way out. Maybe he had never fought for anything—until now. He was not going to die here if he had the slightest chance of getting out.

  “I wish I had seen it,” she interrupted the sudden silence.

  “What?”

  “The alien device. It must have been wonderful.”

  “It was,” he said in a trembling voice, once again thinking of all that could have been and never would—because of her. “How could you do it? Despite all you said, even if it was the truth and you were right—how could the Miranda I knew do such a thing? What did you think when you decided to kill me and bury the discovery?”

  “I told you already.”

  “It’s not enough! What is enough to kill a friend?”

  “You were a friend, Lin. But you were also the enemy.”

  He stared at her speechlessly, wishing to see through her faceplate, wishing to find a speck of guilt, of sorrow in that face. But he was sure he’d find none.

  It didn’t matter now. He was dead. No means of escape. The rocket’s fuel cells were gone, probably destroyed. The furnaces, from where he could otherwise get refined aluminum for the rocket engine, gone. The product storage site, blown up with the station. There was no way he could find nanoflakes of pure aluminum anywhere—

  Oh. Wait. Natural aluminum deposits. Not purified and homogenous enough, but does it matter if all I need is a chance of getting out of hell?

  His heart started pounding. He was grateful for the suit which could not betray his expression. He could only hope Miranda didn’t hear the change in his breathing.

  How can I get past her? I should never have come here. I’ve been so stupid! She doesn’t seem armed, but she’s blocking my way out and is in better shape. And I’ve spent most of the last two days walking through hell.

  Linus gave her a terrified glance. And she’s smart, there’s no arguing that. She must have figured out this possibility but it was the only one she couldn’t destroy, so instead she decided to guard me personally. I was such a fool!

  He accounted for the items strapped to his suit: a small hammer, a knife.

  Would he be fast enough? Fierce enough?

  Would he become a monster, too?

  No, he wouldn’t kill, he just wouldn’t. He wasn’t that person, never would be.

  An image of the alien probe materialized before his eyes. Not even for this? For everyone to know about this? For trying to stop the war with this?

  Before he could fully comprehend his own actions, his hand shot up, clenching the knife, and in the next heartbeat he was atop Miranda’s suit, pointing the tip of his knife to the seam between her helmet and suit.

  “Go on,” she whispered in the comm. “Prove you’ve got the guts.”

  “I don’t want to prove anything. I just want to live. Tell people about what we’ve found.”

  “Did you really mean what you said about the meaning of the discovery? That it would bring people together, make everyone reevaluate our conflicts?”

  “Yes.”

  “I hope you are right.”

  He couldn’t bring himself to use the knife. Maybe if he could tamper with her oxygen tanks, lower the supply to render her unconscious, but not to suffocate her –

  Her arm shot up, knocked the knife out of his hand, and suddenly he was lying on his back, gasping and confused, and then Miranda held the knife and charged—

  Fear. Move. Strike—again! Pain.

  The next moment Linus remembered, he was panting heavily and looking at a suited figure lying motionless on the ground.

  “Miranda?” he whispered.

  He extended his hand hesitantly, almost afraid to touch that vaguely human-like shape. He pulled away a couple of times before he finally did.

  It didn’t move.

  Linus gulped and gasped for air. As if all of a sudden the air in his helmet was replaced with water. He was drowning. He couldn’t breathe at all.

  “M-Miranda,” he stuttered. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear anything but his own desperate gasping. He had to overcome the sudden urge to take off his helmet.

  No air outside. No air. No air.

  Gradually, Linus managed to suppress the panic. But he was still unable to shift his gaze to Miranda’s space suit again.

  Hey, Lin, you’re afraid of a damned corpse? Of the outside? Of dying? Is there anything that doesn’t frighten the shit out of you? He could imagine her mocking voice.

  The discovery. You have to pass on the knowledge. You have to live. Even if just long enough.

  Linus tried to stand up. His legs could barely support him. For a moment, his stomach turned, but he managed to keep its contents in.

  No time to lose. No time...

  He moved like an automaton: staggered outside, found the rover, drove back toward the terminator. Now he finally knew how to use the endless measurements he’d done. For once in his life, he knew exactly what to do.

  The largest and purest aluminum deposits were located not far behind the terminator, by the massive polygons o
f ridges and deep pits. Linus hoped the mining equipment still worked. He pinged the machines when he got close enough. Most of them answered.

  There: Ores of aluminum flakes rich enough to propel hundreds of aluminum-LOX rockets. But not sufficiently purified. Not of standardized size. They might blow up the engine. A minor inconsistency in fuel burn and the reaction chamber starts to melt.

  Linus felt indifferent. It wasn’t as if he had any other choice.

  After returning with the propellant, Linus recorded everything he could think of into his suit’s memory and a couple of external storage devices—the probe’s data and his own record of events. Very much like a suicide letter. Then...

  I’m already dead if I don’t do it. Nothing worse can happen to me now. Why wait? He activated the launch sequence.

  Time seemed to slow down. In some other reality, seeming so unreal and faraway now, it was Christmas. Here in hell, it was snowing faintly.

  The countdown sounded to him as his last seconds to live. He almost panicked and aborted the sequence but then thought of Miranda’s mocking smile and stopped. Now he could only hear the count; tears had filled his eyes.

  You’re not really afraid of the dark, Lin, are you?

  Then he was squeezed into the chair by rapid acceleration, his stomach knotted in the foolish hope that after all that had happened, against all the odds, please, oh god, please, he’d live.

  THE FAMILIAR

  David Farland

  The snow on Europa fell with unnatural velocity, it seemed, unhampered by the thin atmosphere, creating white-out conditions. Water ejecting from an ice geyser had risen miles in the air and created enormous, intricate snowflakes as large as a man’s palm. Ahead a sleek blue space cruiser appeared in outline through the mist and snow. It shifted slightly, sinking another two or three inches into the broken ice. As Armando approached, shrieks of terror and pain pierced his helmet’s earphones: a woman’s voice, and a child’s.

  “¡Vengo! ¡Vengo!” I am coming, he promised through his voice mic, and shoved forward, using his long experience in Europa’s low gravity to close the distance in a few carefully balanced, leaping strides. He felt utterly helpless.