“Okay.”

  James pans his gaze across the crew. Everyone looks tired and a bit scared, but he’s confident in them. “We’ve been in tighter pinches. Plan’s sound, we’ve got our tasks. Let’s get to it.”

  Willow and Ava sit in the Planetary Science lab opposite the quarantine area. Julian’s taking his turn sleeping, but he deposited the bionem blood samples before leaving. One of the samples rests in the atomic imager. Sitting beside the imager is Hitoshi’s gizmo, a gold parabolic dish attached to several ceramic blocks connecting to a portable computer display. Hitoshi’s been using it to blast the bionems with various EM waves. When asked where he got it from, he simply said, “Promise has a lot of communications arrays. It’ll be fine without one.”

  To their right, Ananke’s screen pulses from the nearest display. One of the perks of having her in their group is that she never sleeps and can monitor tactical remotely while working on something else.

  “The Eye’s transmission,” Willow begins, “was mainly radio with microwave and x-ray peaks.”

  “None of those frequencies can penetrate Promise’s hull,” Ananke says.

  “Maybe it wasn’t trying to communicate with the bionems inside Promise. They may already have their instructions.”

  Ananke ripples green. “That’s certainly possible.”

  “Okay,” Ava says. “Let’s start with what we have. They’re either hardcoded for one task and always on, or there’s a way to change their function or state. Let’s assume they can be activated. How could radio, microwave, or x-ray flip a switch on the bionem?”

  Ananke contemplates her question. “X-rays can ionize atoms, causing a net charge which could affect nano-scale circuits. Microwaves can induce currents in conductors and rotation in polar molecules. Radiofrequency radiation has similar effects to microwave, but on a reduced scale.”

  “Okay,” Ava says. “What conductors are in the bionems?”

  “The conductors in the bionems are gold, platinum and iridium.”

  Willow writes some notes on her slate. “What about polar molecules?”

  Ananke’s screen undulates green. “The only polar molecule in the bionem sample is silicon dioxide, which is structured as a silica xerogel.”

  “Interesting,” Ava says. “That’s a desiccant, the same stuff that’s in those little ‘silica gel - do not eat’ packets you get when you buy things.”

  “That’s correct,” Ananke says.

  Willow finishes her note. “Why are polar molecules affected?”

  “Polar molecules try to align themselves with an electric field. As the field oscillates, they flip back and forth. It’s how microwaves heat up food.”

  “Then let’s start with the microwave part of the Eye’s transmission and see if we get a response in our sample. We can watch the silica parts in the imager.”

  “Agreed,” Ananke says. “Uploading the signal now.”

  It’s just after lunch time and James is on the bridge standing beside Hitoshi. He holds a silver coffee mug in one hand adorned with the Hayden-Pratt logo. The bridge screen is a mosaic of camera views. In the first, a compact treaded construction vehicle with a spider-like assortment of arms diligently cuts hull plates on Promise’s starboard nacelle. Red script letters printed on the vehicle’s front read Betty II. Underneath the text is a picture of a woman drawn like nose art on an old World War Two bomber. Unlike its wartime counterpart, the picture isn’t drawn as a pin-up. It’s a smiling female pilot in a mid twentieth-century flight suit wearing an aviator’s cap and goggles. Betty Gillies, pioneering American aviator. James’s idea. Much better than Hitoshi’s original suggestions. Three of Beckman’s repair drones hover around Betty like a swarm of flies.

  In the largest bridge video feed, a satellite view of Astris slowly rotates. Wispy clouds obscure some of the desert landscape. Isaac reads from his display. “Coming into view now.”

  Even at this low magnification, the leafy field is an irregular green disk against the otherwise tan dirt. A reticule targets it and their satellite zooms, filling the screen with the overlapping fractal patterns of the alien lifeforms. The same red veiny spheres and purple ribbon structures carve colorful patches.

  “Ribbons are all wrapped up again,” Isaac says.

  James squints. “Can you lock on a few and take it to max?”

  Hitoshi taps his console and the reticule selects a fifty meter patch. When it enlarges, the image is pixelated, making it difficult to see details, but the screen is filled with the purple ribbon structures. Many of the ribbons have gaps between their slats, and metal gleams with reflected sunlight. Even with the pixelation James is able to pick out familiar shapes. The metal feathers of an Eye. The curved arch of a Blade. Gold flashes sparkle within some of the purple ribbons like firefly swarms.

  James furrows his eyebrows. “Give me a different purple ribbon patch.”

  When Isaac chooses another, the view is the same. He glances over. “James, I think they’re printers. Just like us printing repair parts, they’re printing more drones.”

  James takes a deep breath and rubs his chin. “That’s a problem.”

  “Then bionems gather the raw materials, printers make whatever they need.” He pauses. “You know the wrecked Boomerang we found underwater? I think this is what happened to them. Same thing that is happening to us.”

  “Need to slow them down,” James. “Need at least another day of repairs, maybe two.”

  “How do you slow down something that keeps recycling what it attacks you with?”

  “Have to break their printers.” He takes a last gulp of his coffee. “Come with me.”

  The two walk briskly off the bridge, heading aft. They cross through the habdeck, drone bay, and the sea of their own printers humming away in the fabmod. Crossing through the starboard portal they arrive in the cargo bay. Racks and shelves house containers of all sizes. In the center rests an overhead crane.

  James picks up the crane remote and activates the inventory roster, scrolling quickly with his index finger. “Beckman’s wish list for missions is usually a little over the top. There’s always stuff I end up vetoing.” He stops scrolling. “There it is.” He taps the selection icon. The crane comes to life and whirls along its overhead beams.

  Isaac follows it with his eyes as the robotic arms on the crane unfold, swing in, and manipulate the tie-downs on a piano-sized crate. Servos whine when they lift the crate and extract it from the rack, lowering to the ground. Once settled, the arms spin the lid locks open and slide it to the side.

  James approaches the crate. It was just a few months ago when Beckman handed him his recommended weapons load out. They both perused it over a cup of coffee in Hayden-Pratt’s Space Operations Center West Campus.

  “How much trouble do you think we’re going to get in?” James had asked him, arching an eyebrow.

  “Us? Trouble?” Beckman replied, sipping his drink. “We’re like a magnet.”

  “You really think we’re going to need this?”

  Beckman shrugged. “You may think you’ve got everything you need with the ship’s lasers, but things are going to go to hell in a heartbeat and you’re going to need something small and fast to go places Promise can’t.”

  James glanced at the slate and back to Beckman, waiting.

  Beckman shrugged. “If it’s all rainbows and daisies you can keep it in the box.”

  Back in the cargo bay, James stops at the crate’s side. Isaac approaches the crate from the other corner and they both look down. The craft inside is diamond-shaped with two circular wing cavities housing prop blades. Sticking out from the belly is a hint of a jet intake. The entire hull is a dark gun metal with the exception of the actual guns, which are twin black barrels protruding from the wings. Silver letters read Besra SC-24.

  “I was against it,” James says. “But after two missions I think I’ve finally accepted it. Listen to the man. Beckman’s gut is always right.”

  On the bridge view, the sun is low, filling the world with gold. Astris’s blue sky has taken on the turquoise tint it acquires a few hours before sunset. The entire crew is awake and at their stations.

  James wears a pair of clear safety glasses and has the Besra’s flight stick mounted at his console. An inset video on the bridge screen shows Betty II depositing the Besra at the aft of Promise.

  “Powering up,” James says. Telemetry scrolls on the inside surface of his glasses. “All systems green. Switching to vision mode.” His glasses opaque and a stereoscopic view from the assault drone appears overlaid with pitch, roll and airspeed indicators. “Props to speed. On your mark, Isaac.”

  “Thirty seconds until satellite is in range,” Isaac says.

  James slides up the power and the twin props accelerate. Sand blasts away from the prop wash. Steadily the drone lifts off the ground.

  When Ananke speaks, it is softly. He can’t see her through the drone interface, but he can feel her presence. The way she speaks is like a friend reaching out and touching his hand. “James, I wish…I wish there were another way.”

  James hesitates.

  “Ten seconds,” Isaac says.

  James straightens. “I wanted something better too, but we’re short on options.”

  A tone sounds from Isaac’s station. “Mark.”

  As James pushes the flight stick forward, the drone accelerates. It’s more like flying a helicopter than a plane. The sandy shore falls away from his view. “Now I just want to get us the hell off Astris.”

  In his goggles, the rock whizzes beneath the assault drone. The jet engine kicks in and the airspeed ribbons ticks up. James tilts his flight stick right and the horizon rolls left.

  “Got you on the satellite image,” Isaac says. “Two kilometers to target.”

  The cliff drops off and opens into the basin. James pushes the stick down, watching the rock rise up alarmingly fast. As he levels off, boulders streak below him. The field is a green and purple patch growing rapidly.

  “Approaching target,” Isaac says.

  James taps the acquisition button on his flight stick and reticules connect two-dozen purple-ribbon plant areas in a zig-zag line on his heads-up display. Hit probabilities increase towards one-hundred percent beside each target. Ananke doesn’t say anything, but her silence weighs heavy on him. He swallows and clears his throat. “Engaging.” He squeezes the trigger.

  Green muzzle flashes strobe and hundreds of red phosphorescent rounds strafe in converging lines. Fireballs stitch themselves in the sinuous path marked on the HUD as bits and pieces of the ribbon plants scatter like confetti. He swings the lethal rain along the last of the strafing run and pulls back on the stick, rocketing the Besra into the sky. As the field falls behind him, he turns in a tight arc and readies for another pass.

  “All targets destroyed in first path,” Isaac says.

  The Besra finishes its turn and lines up for another strafing run. James presses the trigger and lights up another burning line. He pulls hard on the stick and rolls into another high-gee turn.

  Isaac’s console chirps. “Activity,” he says. “Ribbons are opening.”

  As the drone levels, James sees them. He spins and prioritizes targets. A squeeze and the newly-blossomed Eyes burst. He steers his fire back onto the purple ribbon patch and leads the rounds towards the end.

  “Look out,” Isaac says. “Two are airborne.”

  James’s vision flashes white and resolves into flames and sparks, then the blue horizon tilts ninety-degrees and rolls upside-down. Damage alerts blink on his screen. He left wing is missing. He struggles with the stick, trying to aim where the drone falls. In an instant, the rock rushes up into his face and the video goes dark. He tosses his glasses.

  On the bridge screen, Isaac’s satellite feed shows a flaming field streaming black smoke pillars. The drone’s wreckage is its own dissipating fireball just to north. Two Eyes accelerate, heading in the direction of Promise.

  “Tactical,” James says.

  A three-dimensional model of the basin rotates with the two Eyes tagged and identified. Promise is three kilometers away along the beach adjacent the west sea.

  James transfers tactical controls to his console. When he taps the threat assessment icon, two concentric rings overlay Promise. The innermost is red and depicts the maximum range the Eyes were capable of firing during the last encounter. The outermost is yellow, an error estimation which assumes they have more range than they exhibited. The two Eyes change direction, turning in a wide arc to the southeast.

  “They learn,” Isaac says. “Looks like they’re going to approach from the starboard to stay out of the port laser’s firing arc. They remember the starboard emitter was down.”

  Willow looks over. “Nothing on communications.”

  “I don’t think they’re here to talk,” James says.

  The Eyes finish their turn from the south and angle back towards Promise, coming along a line which leads to its damaged starboard side. They separate, increasing their spacing. James watches as their blinking icons converge on the outermost yellow graphic encircling Promise. Five hundred meters. Two-fifty. Approaching maximum estimated range where the Eyes can fire on Promise. As the lead Eye is about to cross that line it incandesces green and cracks apart into sparking cinders.

  “Surprise,” James says to the falling Eye. “We fixed the starboard laser.” He taps the firing control again and Promise’s laser intersects the second Eye. It crashes and burns on a rocky plain.

  “No further activity at the field,” Isaac says. “Satellite moving out of sight. Next orbital will be over field in fifteen minutes.”

  “Launching recon drone. Parking it at the cliff’s edge. As long as the weather holds, should be able to keep a watch on our friends.” James sets the commands in motion and follows the recon drone on the tactical display. Once its telemetry spills on the screen, he takes a deep breath and relaxes, leaning back into his chair. After he collects his thoughts he glances at Ananke. Her screen is blue and silent, eddies falling like rain on a window. It’s not her usual serene blue, and it’s not Bernard’s Blue, but it’s somewhere in between.

  15

  Tip of the Iceberg

  At three a.m. in the Planetary Science lab, Julian and Ava sit side-by-side at a desk. They’ve dimmed the room so that only task lights accent key equipment. A few of the monitors live-stream the exterior view. Toliman sits high over the silver sea like a blazing moon, the starry sky surreal like a screensaver.

  Ava rests her head on her fist and types with her free hand. “Twenty-five kilohertz. forty-microsecond burst. Once cycle. Here goes.” She taps the control. A light blinks on the antenna pointed at the blood sample.

  The bionem in the atomic imager sits there, motionless.

  Ava punches in a new set of parameters. “This reminds me a bit of some all-nighters back on Providence Station, except nothing there was trying to digest me if I didn’t figure it out.”

  Julian takes a sip of his coffee. “It does bring a certain focus.”

  “You know, when we planned this mission, I thought we would find some simple life, and the idea of finding something intelligent was just a dream. If we did, I had this fantasy of how the first contact would go. I didn’t think we’d end up in an all-out shooting war with it.”

  “No one did.”

  “Ethically I’m uneasy. I didn’t want to kill the life we came to find.”

  Julian turns his palm up. “A tiger is not evil because it wants to eat you, but that doesn’t mean that you should let it.”

  “Do you think the alien is a predator?”

  “I do.”

  She presses her lips together, pauses, then says what she wanted to say. “Do you think we’re going to make it out of here?”

  Julian raises his eyebrows and leans in a bit, setting his hand on her forearm. “Of course. James is at his best when the chips are down, so to say. We’ve been in some tight places, but he always finds the ray of daylight to lead us out.”

  The warmth of his hand feels nice on her forearm, and she lingers a moment, fixes her hair, and turns back to the console. Julian leans back and turns his attention to the screen.

  “Okay, next test. Setting the transmitter to auto, stepping through all the twenty-four kilohertz frequencies, one cycle each,” she says. “Transmitting.”

  The tuning-fork jolts and starts wriggling.

  Ava perks up. “Whoah. That did something!”

  “Indeed,” Julian says. “It’s moving.”

  The bionem’s legs flail through the plasma like flagella. Ahead, the massive disk of a red blood cell is a hundred times the bionem’s size. The tuning fork latches onto the cell’s surface and wriggles. Ava and Julian watch it for a full minute until a smudge is visible between its forks.

  Julian reads his screen. “It’s collecting copper from the red blood cell.”

  “Okay, let’s test if it’s lost its appetite for molybdenum. Injecting.”

  They watch and wait. The bionem continues to collect its copper.

  “We have changed its directive,” Julian says.

  Ava smiles, excited. “Twenty-four-point-seven-one kilohertz. If one cycle toggles it on, let’s test if another toggles it off.”

  The light blinks on the transmitter and the bionem drops its copper collection, turning and swimming in the direction of the molybdenum.

  “Oh, yeah,” Ava says. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” She taps the bridge com. “Ananke, are you there? We’ve had a breakthrough and could use your help determining the test sequence.”

  Ananke responds. “Hello, Ava. I am currently in nacelle four with Hitoshi configuring the induction controller. Can I join you in twenty minutes?”

  Julian glances at the time, then motions with his eyes towards the aft. “Perhaps this is a good time for a break and a snack.”

  “Perfect,” Ava says. “We’re going to grab something from the canteen. Meet you back here.”

 

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