Orb (23 page)

“When you see him,” I said, “say hello for me. Better yet, invite him for dinner. By the way, have you seen Angie lately?”

“Last seen, she was sniffing around down by the water’s edge.” We squinted at the glistening water, our attention drawn to Orbs basking in the brilliance of late-afternoon sunshine.

“So,” she said, “have you come up with a plan? Thompson wants a plan. A plan, a plan, a plan.” The repetition was her way of venting frustration.

“Perhaps,” I said. “An embarrassingly simple one. I was going to get Kelly’s opinion first. It involves her anyway, and she’ll be less insulting about it than Thompson. And you?”

“Will I be any less insulting?”

“No,” I said frowning. “I know the answer to that. I mean do you have any new ideas?”

“Yes and no. I asked Melhaus to conduct a test to see if the Orbs have magnetic fields and, if so, were they fluctuating in any definable way. Electromagnetic waves and the other forces associated with them are solidly within his field of expertise, so he was way ahead of me on this. He mentioned obtaining readings with a fluxgate magnetometer and two or three other, more sophisticated instruments. He began to explain the results, but quickly lost patience when I failed to appreciate the subtleties of advanced particle physics. The gist of the matter, to the best of my comprehension, is that the planet’s magnetosphere is in some manner interfering with obtaining valid readings on the Orb. He is not sure why, and he’s mired in his usual funk about it. On one level I can commiserate with him: One more challenge to his intellect, one more question unanswered.”

“At least he spoke with you.

“
At me
is a better description.”

“Where does that leave you?”

“A long way from home.”

“You’re not giving up?”

“You know me better. Besides, I have a secret weapon.”

“Namely?”

“Paul. Do I have to tell you how smart he is?”

“No.”

“I’ll tell you anyway. In some ways he is smarter than Larry. His approach is just low-keyed. I can’t tell you how many times he’s had a clarifying thought, some insight, which helped put me on the right path. But what about you? Are you really as pessimistic as you sounded? I don’t believe you are.”

“Depends on my mood. I’ll admit I may have exaggerated humanity’s failure to communicate with other species. There are notable exceptions: Angie and I.”

“Maybe we both overstated the problem. Consider the silkworm moth I alluded to the other day. I’m not an entomologist, but a few years ago I became fascinated with the creature. Did you know the male moth can detect one pheromone molecule per hundred quadrillion molecules of air and then triangulate to find the source? I’m talking about from ten kilometers away. Pretty amazing. Here’s something more amazing. Humans have developed the means to send a perfectly accurate virtual image thirty-thousand times as far in one second. Almost any form of communication found in nature, humans have either found a substitute, or have copied and improved.”

“Maybe the point isn’t just the type, speed, and accuracy of the message but what we do with the information when we get it.” I pointed to my head. “We’re still limited by what’s in here.”

“Yes, but do you know what Paul would say?”

“I have a pretty good idea…”

“We’re overthinking the problem.”

“Maybe
you
are,” I said. “Personally, I’ve never been accused of overthinking anything.”

My voice trailed off as I considered the fallacy in what I said. “I can see by your face you won’t let that one slip on by. There may be a few things.”

“And we both know what those are, now don’t we, Kyle?” Diana was doing her best to goad me into an admission.

“I guess so,” I answered. “Hey, it’s no big secret that the reason I joined this adventure is to find out more about myself, to step outside the confines of the box that I put myself in. I haven’t exactly stepped outside, but my box does seem to have grown larger.”

“Large enough to let someone wriggle in there with you?”

“I’m still in the process of overthinking that.”

“Less thinking, more feeling.”

I looked again toward the ocean, the sun’s glare off the water partially blinding my sight. Between me and the water was
Desio
. Not far away was the rest of the crew, working their experiments. I heard Angie bark once or twice. Looking past
Desio
, I could see her, paws in the water, standing on one of the huge stone slabs that inclined into the ocean. Hovering out on that ocean, closer to shore than when I last looked, were several Orbs. A large Orb appeared unusually close. Probably, I figured, why Angie had barked.

“My pooch needs dinner,” I said, and headed away.

In the time it took to utter those words, the Orb had moved next to Angie, towering over her, intention unknown.

Greatly concerned for her safety, I broke into a run. She, on the other hand, was completely unafraid and standing stock still—all except her short tail, which was vibrating in excitement. I called out—“Angie, come!” and again, louder, “Angie, come!!”––but to no avail: She stood transfixed.

What transpired next (unbelievable as it was) sent a surge of adrenalin through me.

I heard a small yelp, though not an expression of pain, and in one swift motion Angie was completely enveloped within the Orb, passing through its solid surface with no more difficulty than putting your hand into the ocean! As she disappeared from sight I reflexively yelled out “Angie!” while continuing to run, my entire being now focused on saving her. My objective was to use my body as a weapon, hurling myself full-force against the surface of the Orb, disregarding whatever perilous consequences might ensue. (Would I, too, be trapped inside?)

As I ran past
Desio
, I caught Thompson out of the corner of my eye, rapidly closing the gap between us. I assumed he was coming to my assistance. He was yelling:

“Somebody throw something!”

The next instant I heard a shout from behind me—“Kyle! Stop!”—and suddenly, inexplicably, I stumbled and fell. Frantic, trying to rise, I discovered I was being prevented, having been sent sprawling face forward onto hard stone, Thompson’s full weight on my back, pinning me down. Half-crazed, I desperately struggled to extricate myself, fighting against his superior position and strength, forcing him to use all his resources to keep me incapacitated. He won out, even as I resorted to yelling, “Get off me, you fucking bastard!”—my chin scrapping the rough ground in the process.

“Can’t let you. Wait!” I heard in return, and similar utterances with that ruinous intent, but the command, exhorted by a voice stretched thin with exertion and anxiety, only incited me to renew my struggle, futile as it was. In the end I remained helpless, forced to watch as the solitary Orb threatened the life of my little dog.

There was a moment of complete stillness. Then, exploding from within, the Orb burst into fantastic color, its surface transforming into a shimmering tapestry of sparkling silver flecks overlaid with scores of brilliant-colored narrow bands; each ribbonlike band erratically fluctuating in width as it circumnavigated longitudinally across the surface of the Orb; each band flowing in opposition to the next as they sometimes interlaced, other times streamed into spiraling eddies. The closest analogy to this spectacle: The dynamic atmosphere of Jupiter as seen outbound from Earth—only this was more resplendent, more colorful, and more dynamic. A poor comparison rendered wholly inadequate by what happened next. The entire Orb began quivering! Quivering like a struck gong, vibrating super-fast, like the plucked string of a violin—the tremulous motion sending concentric ripples radiating outward across the water, the ripples only dissipating upon reaching the other Orbs in the group!

As all this unraveled, in those few seconds, the situation became too much for Kelly to accept without intervening. She would have, too, except that as she advanced, brandishing a tent pole as a makeshift weapon, the Orb, still quivering, still in full display, spontaneously and entirely of its own accord retreated oceanward, leaving Angie, from all appearances, completely unscathed!

Only then did Thompson feel constrained to release me. In doing so he cautiously retreated two steps backward, surmising that the physical liberation of my seething anger might motivate me to take a swing at him. I wasn’t that foolish, but as I quickly straightened to retrieve Angie I shot him a look filled with contempt, which, judging by his somber expression, likely distressed him even more.

By the time I was on my feet, bruised and scraped from my hard fall, Angie had spotted me. Bursting with unbridled joy, she came running to me and then to Kelly, and together with Paul and Diana we crouched to welcome her with praise and affection. It was impossible to tell if she was more excited from the attention we lavished on her or contact with the Orb. Perhaps it was both, but beyond question she was one happy dog, the happiness contagious, and for a welcomed moment the shock of what had just transpired, together with the unresolved problems confronting us, faded into the background.

In that background, watching quietly, stood Melhaus and Thompson—and beyond them, the Orb.

“They may initiate even more threatening action against us,” I overheard Melhaus remark.

Thompson, alternating glances between Angie and the Orb, said nothing in response. Meanwhile, the retreating entity, its vibration and colors gradually abating, had rejoined the others.

“Are you kidding me, Kyle?!” Diana exclaimed. “What the hell just happened!?”

“Better yet,” Paul added, visibly stunned, “Can what happened, happen?”

I paid scant attention. My immediate responsibility was for Angie. Had the contact affected her in any way?

“She
appears
unharmed,” I said, primarily to Kelly, as together we knelt to examine her. As my knees made contact with the stone I flinched, discovering that both had been scraped bloody and raw from my fall.

“Your injuries need treatment,” Kelly remarked, but she stayed right beside me to perform a cursory physical examination of Angie for telltale signs of trauma.

“Nothing presents itself,” she advised. “No broken bones, no evidence of tenderness or pain. I can do more in the ship. Let’s go.”

“In a moment, doctor,” Thompson said, stepping forward. “If you please.”

With Angie seemingly OK, and taking into consideration that the planet was entirely devoid of pathogens, Kelly deferred to Thompson. I, however, holding fast to my resentment, was more reticent.

“What do you have in mind?” I said, more as an accusation than an inquiry.

“You’ve taught Angie a few commands, right?” Thompson replied, disregarding my hostile attitude.

“Of course.”

“Run through them. Let’s see how well she does.”

There was no reason to argue; the request was a sensible one. Angie was a clever dog and during the last few years she learned several verbal commands and a few by hand signal. In addition to the routine commands such as sit, paw, come, roll over, and play dead, I had devised a few more challenging, such as hide—and she would, any object I gave her—and find—bring the object back. I proceeded to go through several of these and she did all I asked of her. Flawlessly.

“She appeared to do exceptionally well,” Thompson commented, looking to me for confirmation.

“Never better,” I responded. It was a poor choice of words. I received five inquisitive stares.

“Better than ever?” Paul asked.

“A little faster. Then again, she’s pretty wound up.”

More stares.

“May I?” Paul inquired.

“Be my guest,” I said.

“Angie, bark!”

“I didn’t teach her that,” I said, frowning.

I know,” Paul said, looking down,

Angie looked up at him, happy, tail vibrating. And quiet.

“Damn,” Paul said, and laughed.

“Yeah, damn,” echoed Diana.

“Satisfied?” I asked Thompson.

“Yes,” he answered, then to Kelly: “How long do you need to dress Kyle’s wounds?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Meeting, everyone, in twenty.” Thompson paused. “Hopefully before something else happens.”

Kelly was treating my superficial injuries in the exam room, the cabin intended for Paul or Diana in the event their relationship imploded, when they walked in.

“So when are you going to apologize to Thompson?” Diana immediately asked me.

“What the hell for?” I snapped back, aggravated.

“For giving him grief when he was doing what anybody in his position would have done.”

“Screw that. He threw Angie to the wolves.”

“You prefer that he have a double standard? Did you forget what he said when Larry wanted to place himself at risk?”

“I was under the impression Angie was considered a member of the crew. Aren’t we supposed to watch out for each other?”

“And we do. Only Thompson has one additional problem.”

“Which is?”

“Making tough decisions based on the greater good for all of us. We love Angie, but can she help maintain
Desio’s
life support systems? Originate useful ideas? Compose a record of the voyage?”

“No. But she’s boosted moral, alerted us to the Orbs’ presence. And now … now she has probably made the first contact.”

“You think Thompson hasn’t considered her worth?”

“Dispassionately, maybe. As valuable but expendable cargo. Hard to judge otherwise based on what just happened.”

“You’re wrong. Let me tell
you
a story to set you straight. Think back several months ago, when you went in front of the Selection Committee. Back when you formally requested that Angie be included as part of the ship’s roster. Do you recall what happened?”

“Of course. They took a couple of days to decide, but they caved.”

“Sure, but do you have any idea why?”

“I told them, where she goes, I go.”

“And you were both going right back to New York, if not for Thompson.”

“News to me,” I said, staring at Diana in disbelief. “Care to explain?”

“We all were granted permission, and most of us took advantage of it, to bring a few personal objects onboard ship. I pressed my luck and even got away with taking a couple of small plants. Sterilized, of course. Angie, however, was quite another matter—the microbial problem, the food and water requirements, the additional waste products—it just wasn’t going to happen no matter how much the Committee wanted you, which they did. When Thompson was apprised of the Committee’s thumbs down decision he put his own butt on the line by intervening on your … no, yours
and
Angie’s behalf by personally arguing your case in front of the Committee. They still refused to budge—until Thompson concocted a little white lie. He informed the Committee that losing you was unacceptable because he believed your alternate to be insufficiently trained and, therefore, given the circumstances (and in good conscience) he could not and would not stay on to head the mission. Of course, everyone realized your alternate was quite up to speed and that Thompson saying otherwise was merely a ploy to give the Committee a handy reason to reverse their decision without losing face.”