Viking (5 page)

Heward’s voice was back again. “Hey, you guys see a green toggle at the left of the
control panel?”

“Yeah.”

“Flip it a couple times. We just lost your telemetry.”

Abbott moved it back and forth.

“That any better?”

“We still get nothing. You reading any instrument problems at your end?”

Rafa squinted at the instrument panel. “The miner says everything’s working.”

“Problem’s probably on our side then. We’ll check it out.”

Abbott nodded. “We’re almost there.” They were out of the mudslide now, and the
steady squelching of robotic feet through the mud and boulders had been replaced by a
broad swishing as grasses swept by, some even slapping the glass that enclosed the
cabin, two meters off the ground.

They lurched to a halt abruptly. Through two layers of helmet glass, Rafa still saw
the nervousness in Abbott’s dark face. He wondered fleetingly if his own face looked
the same.

“I’ll go out first,” he offered. “You hand me the stuff.” He didn’t like the thought
of blindly dropping into the deep grasses below. Anything at all could be out there,
and he’d never see it coming. A laser pistol like Heward’s might have been comforting,
but only the commander was allowed a weapon, for fear the vikings would use them on one
another. So he’d just have his bare hands. The biosurveys had no details about
dangerous fauna, which didn’t prove anything one way or the other. But somebody had to
go.

“Okay.” Abbott sounded relieved. Rafa took a deep breath, opened his door and
dropped awkwardly into the shoulder-deep grasses. The ground was soggier than he
expected, and he stumbled awkwardly in the heavy boots of his biosuit as mud oozed up
to his ankles. Above him, Abbott swiveled the floodlights and began to hand down
equipment.

The battery came last, and Rafa’s shoulders and back strained under its weight until
Abbott had clumsily lurched down the short metal ladder and helped him ease it to a
rest in the grass.

“Ground’s a bit too muddy to set this up properly,” gasped Rafa, somewhat winded
from the lifting. “Let’s go over to those rocks.” He waved a gloved hand toward an area
of jumbled boulders a dozen meters away, slightly uphill. Abbott nodded.

Together they carried the equipment and selected a spot with solid, level granite
underfoot, sheltered on one side by a stony outcropping several meters high. They used
explosive pitons to anchor a force field projector deep into the rock. Then they
powered it up, set the size and orientation of the field, and waited for
calibration.

In a few seconds the indicators winked a welcome green and the air around them began
its telltale shimmer. Overhead, the rain continued to fall—the fission battery only
generated enough power for coarse-grained repulsion—but but the storm seemed to quiet
slightly. Rafa found himself breathing a sigh of relief.

As they began erecting the dish and connecting color-coded cables to the battery,
the radios in their ears crackled.

“Just checking in, guys. How’s it coming?” Heward sounded as calm as ever.

“We’ve got everything unloaded,” Abbott replied. “We’re assembling it now. The force
field’s up.”

“How’s the storm?”

“This rain is terrible. Good thing the equipment is made to be out in the
weather.”

“We still aren’t getting any telemetry from the mining machine, and the robot that
Montaño sent out a few hours ago just went dead too. We were wondering if it got hit by
lightning or something.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Abbott said. “We could almost turn off our suit lights. The
flashes aren’t letting up.”

“The thunder is pretty nasty, too. I’m glad we’ve got helmets,” added Rafa, tracing
a laminated schematic. In a moment he nodded and flipped a switch on the control panel
at the base of the dish. The display glowed to life, and he knelt and pulled off his
glove.

“Hold on,” said Abbott. “We’re about ready to fire this baby up.”

Rafa started the diagnostic sequence and was quickly rewarded by more green
indicators. He pressed the “Acquire” button and watched as the dish swiveled smoothly
on its base and the console confirmed communication with the satellite overhead.

“We’re up!” he said. “The dish has a clear signal. Now let’s see if we can talk
back.”

Abbott nodded and activated the transmitter. As he did, lightning flashed several
times in quick succession, and Rafa, looking back toward the miner, was puzzled to see
a smooth arc of sky that remained dark. His visor was a bit fogged, and he pushed it
back to get a better view. The rain and the distortion of the force field made it
difficult to make anything out. His eyes strained.

Abbott, squatting cross-legged in front of the transmitter, grunted in satisfaction
without looking up. “We’ve got a stable uplink,” he announced. “Any minute now
earthside should be tuning in.”

Another streak lit the sky, and Rafa gasped in shock. What was between them and the
distant lightning looked like an enormous flattened jellyfish—at least a fifty meters
wide and half that high—with scores of tentacles dangling from its belly. A broad
undulating membrane rippled along the creature’s circumference, stabilizing and
propelling it steadily forward through the gusts of wind.

Abbott leapt to his feet at Rafa’s exclamation, and together they stared numbly out
into the blackness that had abruptly descended again. Rafa could feel his heart
pounding wildly. He squinted to adjust his eyes to the darkness. It was hard to tell
how close the creature had been. Too close, that much was certain.

The sky remained frustratingly dark. Beside him, Abbott’s breathing was heavy and
ragged.

“What is it?” Abbott whispered.

“I have a feeling we don’t want to find out,” Rafa muttered. Then he had an idea.
“Hold on! Can we aim the miner’s floodlights from here?”

“Yeah. Are you sure we want to arouse that thing’s interest?” Abbott said
dubiously.

Before Rafa could respond the lightning was back. The creature was above the miner,
and they had a quick glimpse of several tentacles tentatively exploring its
surfaces.

“Too late,” muttered Rafa grimly. As they watched the creature wrapped some feelers
python-like around the stabilizing struts and began to rock the machine back and forth.
The swaying rapidly accelerated.

“What does it want?” Abbott wondered aloud.

“Dinner? A playmate? Who knows. But it’s about to get a surprise.” Rafa was kneeling
while he worked with the transmitter on his wrist. He flashed through several displays
and finally stabbed impatiently at a button. They both watched as the machine’s
floodlights began to swivel. The brilliant beams slashed from horizontal to vertical in
wildly oscillating spirals until they hit the plum-colored underside of the monstrous
jellyfish.

It recoiled abruptly, streaks of pink shooting rapidly across its skin, released its
grip on the machine, and shot upward a dozen meters or so with a graceful flick of the
ever-moving rudder around its midline.

The mining machine teetered briefly on its back legs and finally righted itself with
a groan that set their teeth on edge. Almost immediately its servos had compensated for
the muddy tilt of the earth and its lights speared directly at the belly of the
creature.

For a few seconds it hung motionless except for the steady writhing of its
tentacles, perhaps confused or merely thinking. Then it began to swell, its blimp-like
midsection bulging outward till it had doubled its already impossibly massive girth.
Suddenly the entire central chamber of its body began a rhythmic contraction, and it
lifted with surprising speed until it disappeared into the murky night sky.

Rafa and Abbott continued to peer into the darkness above the mining machine with a
mixture of awe, dread, and relief, until they could convince themselves that their
visitor would not return. At last Abbott slumped back to a sitting position with a
sigh.

“Whew! Remind me not to wander off by myself. This doesn’t look like a very safe
neighborhood.”

Rafa shuddered in agreement. “Let’s hope we just saw the top of the food chain.”

“Amen to that!”

“I’ll walk the miner up close to the force field. The less we’re out in the open,
the better I’ll feel.”

Abbott nodded in fervent agreement.

* * *

Rafa was stripping out of his biosuit in the muddy equipment hold when he felt a
momentary buzz from his implants. He glanced at the small LCD on his wrist, which
informed him that he was now linked all the way through to Earth. But despite the
warning, he jumped at the disembodied voice that abruptly filled his ears a moment
later.

Good evening to all of you on the Erisa Explorer crew. This is Anton Bezovnik,
President of MEEGO in Houston. You may remember me from your orientation not long ago.
We’re happy to finally be in contact. We are receiving excellent signals from each of
you and will be introducing you to your individual controls shortly.

I understand from Mr. Heward that several vikings were lost when you touched
down. He tells me there was a mudslide and that there has been some equipment damage.
Please accept our condolences and be assured that we’ll do whatever we can to avoid
such accidents in the future. We’re confident that with your help, this mission can
still be a resounding success.

Because viking implants are new to most of you, let me review the protocols you
learned in training. Each of you will have one or more controls that will assign tasks
and monitor your work. Typically you’ll be linked with your control continuously during
work hours, though you are allowed an occasional short break to attend to personal
needs.

Mr. Heward is formally in command when you are not linked with a control, but he
reports to the team lead back on Earth and does not have authority to countermand
Earthside orders except with my approval. Right now your team lead is Dr. Satler; Dr.
Edvardsen will be in charge on alternate shifts. Remember that you are expected to
follow the instructions of Dr. Satler and your control to the letter.

Controls are authorized to use neural stimulation on a limited basis as rewards
for your cooperation. Do your work without complaint or prodding, and tell your control
what sort of stimulation you prefer. But don’t haggle or bargain for rewards;
government regulation requires careful logging and periodic audits of your stimulations
to prevent addiction, and MEEGO strictly observes legal pleasure quotas.

We also use neural prods for discipline. If you have not experienced a prod, let
me encourage you not to tempt fate. A prod is in a class of its own as far as pain is
concerned. I remind you that we expect—and enforce—civilized, law-abiding, cooperative
behavior from all of our crews at all times, even when you are off-duty.

Bezovnik’s voice cut out and was quickly replaced by a deeper, more
youthful-sounding one.

This is Dr. Satler. I just have a few additional items. Your wrist monitor
displays status information, including a control schedule and a list of assigned tasks.
It can also display a complete policy manual, a primer on safety and first aid
procedures, the assignments and whereabouts of your fellow crewmembers, and other
useful information. Please refer to it if you have any questions.

As you know, there will be a short all-hands meeting at the beginning of each
twelve-hour shift, for coordination purposes. Shift rotations run on Earth time and
will not coincide with your day-night patterns since Erisa Beta II has such a short
day. We’ve lost some time due to technical difficulties, so your first real meeting
will be in about five hours. Between now and then you’ll be introduced to your control
and do some brief preliminary tasks to prepare for tomorrow. Then you’ll be allowed to
sleep.

Stand by now while your individual controls connect.

Rafa yawned as he dropped the slippery biosuit in a corner. At the other end of the
hold, Abbott was stretched out prone on the bare metal, his heels resting in a muddy
puddle. The kid with the nose rings was sorting through the tangle of damaged equipment
created by their tumble down the hillside. As Rafa watched, he stiffened and nodded to
an unseen speaker.

At the same moment, a voice filled his own mind.

Mr. Orosco?

Rafa responded aloud. “Yes, I’m here. Go ahead.”

This is Dr. Satler again, the team lead. I’m actually more scientist than
administrator, at least by inclination. So I’ll be working with you to catalog the life
on the planet, identify biohazards, things like that.

“I see.”

I noticed that you have an academic background. That may be useful.

“Hope so.”

When Rafa did not comment further, Satler continued.
I understand you already
found our first biohazard for us.

“Abbott and I set up the communications equipment. While we were out there we saw
a... I don’t know what to call it... An enormous flying jellyfish thing. It looked like
a huge round blimp with tentacles.”

Did it attack?

“Not us. It came to check out the mining machine. Played with it like a toy.”

Act aggressive?

“Hard to say. It didn’t do anything all that violent—but then, cat and mouse games
usually look innocent until the cat gets bored.”

So why do you think it left?

“It dropped the miner like a hot potato when we flipped the floodlights on. Then its
belly puffed up like a balloon, and it took off. I think it was more startled than
scared; it’s hard to imagine real fear in anything that big.”

You could be right. I’ll go back and take a look at your vike feed a little
later. These pufferbellies sound interesting.

“Pufferbellies?”

We don’t come up with fancy Latin names until we can fill in the taxonomy a bit
with DNA analysis.