Silent Star, page 7
First, they glued rings into the UNOB’s surface—the glue held. Next, they looped cabling through the rings and then pulled the Interceptor’s docking chute into contact with the UNOB. As soon as there was contact with the hard exterior, Link fell toward the UNOB—there was gravity. Westbrook fell next to Link, and Ramirez landed on them both. The others hung from what were now the walls and ceiling.
“What’s going on?” Scooter called. “You look like you are being sucked into the UNOB.”
“Do you have gravity there?” Link asked.
“Gravity? The UNOB has gravity? That’s incredible.”
“Captain, I don’t remember this in any of the training scenarios,” Ramirez said.
Ramirez was right. All of their combat drills had involved a zero-gee gravity environment. Link tested the gravity. It barely brought him to ground. With their bulked up muscles the gravity was hardly noticeable.
“Well, we didn’t come all this way for nothing,” Link said, continuing to work.
With the UNOB as the floor, there was not enough room for everyone to stand, so Gains, Riley and Ramirez hung from the walls. Link and Westbrook now set to work cutting away more of the black material so they could apply cutting tools to the surface. The gravity pulled loose objects through cargo netting, so those not cutting restowed the gear to keep it from raining on Link and Westbrook.
“How much gravity is this?” Gains asked. “Maybe a quarter of Earth’s?”
“Less, I think,” Ramirez said, taking a clump of material and stuffing it into a bag. “Could it possibly be a natural effect? Anything with mass generates a gravity field.”
“Not a chance,” Gains said. “It takes all the mass of the Earth to create the gravity we’re used to. The UNOB has the mass of a small building. Its gravity field should be virtually undetectable.”
“Not so fast, Mr. Wizard,” Riley said. “It depends on what we find inside. There could be a microscopic black hole at the core of this thing.”
“That would make sense as a power source,” Gains said. “Imagine the technology that could contain a black hole.”
“That’s enough,” Link said to Westbrook, feeling the surface. “Let’s seal it.”
Tubes of resin were passed forward and Westbrook and link spread a bead around the perimeter of the ring, gluing and sealing at the same time. After two more passes Link was satisfied, calling for a drill. Westbrook put the bit against the hard surface and then paused.
“Scooter, give us half pressure,” Link said.
Link could not hear the pump but soon his suit lost some of its puffiness.
“Point five atmospheres,” Scooter said. “Or close enough. The pressure is steady so it looks like the seal is holding.”
“Start it up,” Link said.
Westbrook switched on the drill and leaned on it. Link stood by with an emergency plug, ready to jam it in the hole if they released anything noxious. The drill bit smoked as it gouged chunks of black material from the surface. Protected in the suits, Link and the crew could smell nothing. A few minutes later, Westbrook changed batteries and the bit.
“Is it titanium?” Link asked.
“Some kind of composite, I think,” Westbrook said, then resumed his drilling.
Suddenly bits of material erupted from the hole.
“I’m through. It’s pressurized.”
Westbrook leaned back as the little geyser continued, small particles shooting into the compartment.
“Scooter, bring the pressure up,” Link said. “Equalize with the UNOB.”
“You wouldn’t carry an atmosphere if it was a robot ship,” Westbrook said feeling the airflow against his glove.
Now Link could hear the pump. Soon his suit lost all of its puffiness. Finally, Westbrook put his hand over the hole.
“It seems to have stopped,” Westbrook said.
“That’s enough, Scooter,” Link said.
“Gains, send me a sample,” Scooter said.
A small pump was built in the interior hatch and Gains worked it now, sending a sample of the atmosphere into a vacuum bottle attached to the door. Scooter’s face appeared in the hatch window as he disconnected the bottle, taking it for analysis.
Now Westbrook shoved a camera-snake into the hole. Link held the monitor, the others arrayed around him watching the display. The snake had a small light built in. On the monitor they saw nothing but a brown glow. Westbrook pushed the camera deeper. A wall appeared—a flat brown surface.
“Is that a floor or ceiling?” Riley asked.
“Based on the pull, I would say it’s the floor,” Link said.
Working the snake around, they found other surfaces.
“That looks like a grate,” Ramirez said, her helmet pressed against Link’s.
The surface they were looking at was perforated and ran along the interior side of what Link guessed was the floor.
“Westbrook, can you estimate the dimensions?”
“We can stand up,” Gains said. “That’s the best I can do.”
“Good enough. Let’s make a hatch.”
Taking turns, they drilled holes into the UNOB around the perimeter of the docking chute and attached more clamps to secure the docking chute tight to the UNOB. In case of emergency, small explosive charges were built into the rim of the docking chute, designed to blow the Interceptor free. Next, they caulked the perimeter again and checked for leaks. In simulations, the docking chute contained two atmospheres without leaking. They were at .89 atmospheres.
Now Westbrook tested the cutting torches on the UNOB material. The material cut like steel but gave off a gray vapor. Inside their environment suits, their lungs were protected.
“Captain, good news on that atmosphere sample,” Scooter said.
Turning, Link saw Scooter’s smile in the hatch window.
“That sample was a mix of the UNOB’s atmosphere and ours. The mix was a bit rich in oxygen, and light in nitrogen, but not enough that you would notice. And that means the UNOBs breathe the same mix we do.”
“Bad news for Earth,” Riley said. “It explains why they want it.”
“Use your head,” Ramirez said, thumping Riley’s helmet. “You can’t conquer a planet with one ship.”
“Maybe, Ramirez,” Riley said, “but that depends on what we find in the UNOB. And stop hitting me.”
Ramirez smacked him again, Riley trying to grab her arm.
“What else did you find in that sample?” Link asked.
“CO2, CO, argon, and other trace elements.”
“Any unknowns?”
“Well, two or three,” Scooter said.
“Scooter, which is it?” Link demanded. “Two or three unknowns?”
“Four.”
“What about the bacterial and viral screens?” Link asked.
“There are bugs for sure but they could be ours. Sorting them out will take hours—days. Even if there are alien microbes there is no way to know what they will do to us.”
“I know,” Link said. “Just make sure everything is biological. I don’t want any nanotechnology loose in our ship.”
Westbrook ignored everyone and everything, continuing to cut a circular opening. As the torch neared the starting point, Link ordered weapons to be distributed. Everyone carried an XM8, configured as a short carbine, with the under-barrel either a shotgun or a 40 mm grenade launcher. The weapons could fire single rounds, three-round bursts, or fully automatic. Tension built as Westbrook finished the cut. Passing the torch up to those above, Westbrook inserted a spring tee-bar into the center hole. The wings folded to pass through the hole, and then popped open once inside. Then, Westbrook pulled on the handle end while Link sawed at sticking points with a hacksaw blade. The plug pulled out, leaving a dark hole.
“That’s a good sign,” Riley said.
“What is?” Gains asked.
“It’s dark,” Riley said. “That means there’s no one home.”
Link squatted, looking in. Suddenly, the interior lit up.
“Damn you, Riley,” Ramirez said, smacking his helmet smartly. “You jinxed us.”
Chapter 14: Entry
UNOB
Inbound
Approaching Earth
Nothing but static came over the helmet speakers as everyone instinctively held their breaths.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Scooter called, his voice like a shout in their helmets.
“Shhhh,” everyone said reflexively, even though Scooter’s voice could only be heard in their helmets.
They were all pressed against a wall, weapons ready, watching the lit-up opening. A minute passed. Then another. Then the light went out.
“What’s going on?” Scooter repeated softly.
“Shut up, Scooter, or I’ll kill you!” Riley whispered back.
Now Link leaned down, looking in the opening—too dark to see. Then he poked his gun in the opening and the light came on.
“Movement sensor,” Link said.
Sighs filled the helmets. Now Link leaned in, feeling gravity increase and then nearly fell face forward. Westbrook grabbed him, pulling him back out of the opening.
“I think we cut in through a wall,” Link said. “The gravity inside is different than out here.”
“Really?” Scooter whispered. “That’s incredible.”
“Scooter, do you have a death wish?” Riley asked.
“Nobody but you guys can hear me,” Scooter said.
“Unless whatever built this interstellar spaceship also invented radio,” Riley said.
“No unnecessary transmissions,” Link said.
“He means you, Scooter,” Riley said.
Sitting, Link put his legs in the opening. They were pulled at an angle. Sliding in, he let the interior gravity pull him through and down. The gravity was stronger inside than out. Absorbing the drop with his knees, he remained in a squat, looking left and right. He was in a curving corridor. It was featureless; no fixtures, no devices, no decorations. Link stood, noticing a meter of clearance above him. The corridor was three meters wide. Link tested the gravity—maybe half that of Earth normal.
“It’s clear,” Link said. “Westbrook, you next.”
Westbrook dropped in and then trotted a few yards down the curving corridor, his weapon ready. Gains came next, taking a position covering the other direction. Then Riley dropped in. Ramirez leaned in, cursing softly.
“That’s a gut wrenching experience,” Ramirez said.
“Secure the entry until I give you the all-clear,” Link told Ramirez. “Power down your transmitters to short range. We’ll lose communication with the ship but until we can secure it I don’t want anyone, or anything, to pick us up.”
“I’ll lose video,” Scooter complained softly.
“We’re recording,” Link said.
“Rent the DVD when we get back,” Riley said.
“Left or right?” Westbrook asked, looking down the corridors.
“Right,” Link said, reasoning that if it came to hand-to-hand combat, his right-handed crew would have a slight advantage with the corridor curving to their left. They seesawed down the corridor, Westbrook and Riley taking turns, one moving stealthily and then taking a position while the other one moved ahead. Gains covered the rear. Link remained in the middle, eyes straining to see around the perpetual corner. Segment by segment, the corridor lit up, the light coming from the ceiling. There were no panels, no light fixtures, just glowing sections of ceiling.
“I hope this wasn’t built for head-clearance,” Gains said, looking at the high ceiling.
Moving slowly, the corridor seemed infinite. In reality, they moved only about an eighth of the way around the circumference of the UNOB when they came to a door—two panels tightly joined; the doors two meters wide and slightly recessed.
“Doors, I presume,” Westbrook said.
Facing the doors, they felt for a switch along the walls on either side. The wall was featureless; no indentations, no markings, no switches, knobs, buttons, panels, or holes. They pushed, they poked, they touched, they pried, but they could not get the doors open.
“Ideas?” Link asked.
“Look here,” Gains said, pointing near their feet.
The floor was the same uniform brown as the walls and ceiling, and perforated along the inside wall, but to the left of the door was a darker oval. Gains stepped on it. The doors slid open. Jumping left and right, they flattened against the walls.
“Pocket doors,” Riley said. “I have the same thing in my bathroom.”
“And the point is?” Gains asked.
“Their technology isn’t that impressive,” Riley said.
“The artificial gravity impresses the hell out of me,” Gains said.
“Okay, except for that, it is not impressive,” Riley said.
“Except for artificial gravity?” Gains said. “Do you ever listen to what you say?”
Link leaned out, looking in the gap—it was dark. Link poked his rifle through the door. The room lit up. It was cavernous. With curving walls, the domed room could encompass a basketball court or two. The polished walls looked like black granite. The floor was made up of the same material. Perforated flooring ran from the corridor into and around the perimeter of the domed room. Light came from rings set in the apex of the dome that looked similar to the ceiling in the corridor. Stepping inside, Link could not see any features.
“Over there,” Westbrook said, pointing across the room.
Link spotted lines in the wall that ran up into the ceiling. If it was another door, it was large enough to drive a tank through.
“Gains, make sure this doesn’t close behind us,” Link said.
“There’s another foot trigger,” Gains said, pointing to the floor.
“Keep it open anyway,” Link said.
Using hand motions, Link sent Riley one direction around the perimeter and Westbrook the other. Link proceeded across the middle, risking the exposure. Reaching dead center, Link squatted. Here, the floor material was subtly different. Backtracking, Link saw the floor was made up of concentric circles, each of a slightly different composition.
“Sir, here’s another door,” Westbrook said.
Link and Riley converged on Westbrook who pointed to a barely perceptible crack in the wall. Link stepped along the edge of the wall and suddenly the doors recessed, and then slid into the walls. Again, they shrank back, weapons ready. Link used his rifle to turn the room light on and then peeked inside.
“This is what we came for,” Link said. “Gains, get over here.”
Wide enough for two men to enter at once, Link and Westbrook stepped through. Riley waited for Gains and then they followed. Every man recognized what they were standing in—a control room.
Racks of equipment lined the walls, most with display panels—all dark. Many of the panels were studded with clear crystals—no discernable pattern. A gentle slope led to a platform with three rows of curving, sloped, panels. Perforated flooring, like in the corridor, ran around the perimeter. Link walked up behind the first row. The surface was flat black. Shell-shaped sections were embossed with a variety of smaller shapes.
“That looks like a keyboard,” Westbrook said, pointing to one of the embossed sections.
“Kind of low,” Riley said, squatting so that the pad was at a comfortable typing height. “This could mean the builders are shorter than us.”
“Or they have longer arms,” Westbrook said.
“Or shorter legs,” Gains said.
“Or a little bit longer arms and a little bit shorter legs,” Westbrook said.
“If they have arms,” Gains said.
“Okay, I get it,” Riley said. “What I said was stupid.” Running a gloved hand over the console, Riley said “It looks more like a child’s teaching toy. My niece has one. Each shape makes a different sound when you push it.”
Riley reached out and tapped a shape resembling an asterix. Nothing happened. Now Riley used his gloved fingers to punch all over the panel. Still, nothing happened.
“Knock it off,” Link said. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“No worries, sir. Everything is dead,” Riley said.
“The lights work,” Link pointed out.
“The gravity works,” Westbrook added, “and the doors open. Try punching three buttons at once,” Westbrook said. “I think that’s the combination that sets off the self-destruct mechanism and blows us all straight to hell!”
“Touch that panel again and I’ll break your arm,” Gains said.
“Okay, take it easy,” Riley said, stepping back.
Westbrook dragged a finger along the top of the console, holding it up. His white glove was clean.
“No dust,” Westbrook said.
“So they build them tighter than we do,” Riley said.
“Or someone has been dusting,” Westbrook said.
The helmets hid all expressions so Link could not see if Westbrook was smiling.
All panels and consoles were sealed. The heads of fasteners dotted the surface, but no tool they carried fit the heads. Looking closely, Link could see four small holes in each fastener. They might be able to fashion a tool to fit the head but it would take hours and even if they could fit a tool to those holes, they had no idea of whether to push, pull, or turn—and which way? Eventually they would need to see the guts of the console, but dissection would wait.
Westbrook found another door on the far side and when they opened it; another surprise.
“Stairs!” Riley said, disappointed. “Is that the best they can do? Wouldn’t a gravity producing, space traveling, Earth-invading, bad-ass civilization come up with something better than spiral stairs?”
The stairs did spiral but seemed to be two distinct sets, one going down, and the other up.
“They are simple, efficient, and foolproof,” Westbrook said.
“And odd,” Gains said, squatting by the stairs. “Our stairs are usually a regular eight inch rise. These are maybe half of that, and every third stair is deeper than the two previous.”
“Built for a quadruped?” Westbrook suggested.
Link imagined an alien quadruped but could not picture a gait that would require stairs with steps of alternating size.
