Langrange Point near Petria (Lunara III)
Lunara Star System
Days Elapsed: 1
Fuel Consumed: 61.5 kg
Fuel Remaining: 438.5 kg
Captain’s Log, June 23rd, 2330. Intrepid emerged from grav jump at Petria without complication. We’re currently passing through a debris field at the planet’s L1 point which is blocking communications with the science outpost. The crew will take advantage of this small delay in our mission plan to survey the asteroid collection for useful materials and conduct post-jump maintenance.
“Tell me what I’m seeing here,” Grace said as she perused the sensor readouts in front of her.
Heller pointed to a series of magnetometer returns as he explained, “at first blush it looks like your everyday iron asteroids – small amounts of nickel and cobalt as well, but nothing you can’t find in a hundred other places in the Settled Systems.”
“At first blush?” Grace probed, “so there’s something else?”
“Indeed there is,” Sarah added. “Look there.”
She pointed out a small irregularity in the field results, explaining, “tungsten. Not what I’d expect to see in an iron asteroid field.”
“So…” Grace said, “unusual asteroid capture or man-made object?”
Heller shrugged. “It could be either, but I’d lean towards man-made. I’d expect to see other tungsten returns, at least trace ones, if it was naturally occurring. Might be a wreck or a smuggler’s cache.”
“OK, let’s take a closer look. Sam,” she said, turning to the navigational plot, “adjust course to make a close approach on the object. Let’s see what’s hiding out there.”
When Intrepid pulled alongside a few hours later, there wasn’t any question about the object being man-made – it was clearly a freight shipping container. Standing on the observation deck, Grace and Moara considered the floating object.
“Thoughts?” she started.
Her first mate seemed to consider for a few moments longer before saying, “scans are coming back with copper. I think we’re looking at a mineral shipment that got jettisoned and ended up drifting into the lagrange point.”
“Is it worth the effort salvaging it?”
“Hard to say without taking a look inside. Worst case scenario, it’s just raw materials that we can sell on when we get home. Safety protocols in force, of course.”
Which was to say, Grace knew, that Intrepid‘s crew would have to do a spacewalk to check the container for contamination or booby traps before taking it aboard. It was a risk, but a necessary one – an explosion or a release of chemical or radiological hazards inside the cargo bay could end their mission very quickly.
Her first inclination was to lead the EVA party herself, but Moara vetoed that idea.
“Sorry, Captain, we need you in the ops center coordinating the operation. I’ll take Jazz out with me and handle the hands-on work.”
Defeated by good advice and common sense, Grace resigned herself to merely supervising the operation. At least, she acknowledged, another one of her sacrifices on the altar of Walter Stroud would pay off. The engineers at Stroud-Eklund had managed to make a very serviceable copy of her personal space suit Tenebris, and Jasmine and Moara were putting them to good use outside the hull.
Step by step the EVA party checked the container, ruling out one threat after another, before finally opening it for an interior inspection. After they confirmed it was free of any threats, the team attached mooring lines and started the process of pulling it into Intrepid‘s starboard cargo hold.
The final unboxing and inventory was something of an anticlimax. As the sensor readings had promised, the box contained copper. Literally, copper ore.
“Not really what I was hoping for,” Grace admitted after Moara and Jasmine returned to the ops center.
“Don’t sweat it,” her first mate countered. “This is exactly the sort of nice, safe, encounter we want to see lots of in the first phase of the mission. Gives the crew lots of practice without the high stakes we’ll be facing once we jump out to the deep frontier.”
“I still would have preferred it we pulled in something interesting after all that work. But you’re right – the practice and the confidence boost was its own reward.”
“Exactly,” Moara agreed, “your old Constellation hands are one thing, but the other half of the crew is new, and even though they have experience they need to learn the ship… and learn to work together as a team. This was a big win – no complications, no friction, smooth sailing. Take the win.”
Grace nodded. “Point taken, consider the win accepted. On to Petria then?”
A few hours later, Sam’s voice carried over from the pilot’s station, “that’s the last of the big rocks. We’re clear to move to full power for orbital insertion.”
“Excellent. All ahead standard, maneuver for orbital entry. Cora, any contact with the science outpost yet?”
“Negative, Gra- um, Captain. They’re still under the horizon and there aren’t any comm satellites in orbit to relay a signal.”
“Alright,” Grace said, “looks like we’ll be coming in as surprise guests. Sam, plot an approach that gives them plenty of visibility so they don’t think we’re sneaking up on them. Barrett, scan report on the planet?”
As the thrusters rumbled through the course adjustments, Barrett relayed his findings.
“Definitely not the worst planet we’ve ever visited. Standard atmosphere pressure, slightly higher than standard gravity. No signs of life though. Big water deposits around the poles, copper, flourine, tetraflouride compounds. Lots of helium-3 on the moon. With a little up-front investment for water purification systems the scientists are probably more or less self-sufficient – just need a food supply.”
“Copper, huh?” Grace said. “I assumed that cargo container was from a ship passing through or coming in to visit the planet, but maybe it got dropped on the way out. Interesting.” She couldn’t quite put her finger on what that felt ‘off’ to her, but Grace made a note to stay cautious.
“Lin,” Grace said a moment later, “why would a science outpost be exporting copper?”
Grace’s old mining boss shrugged. “Cash, probably. Copper’s everywhere – you know that – but if nothing else there’s always a demand for zero wire, and that needs copper. As common minerals go, the credits-to-kilograms ratio is pretty good.”
“Fair point,” Grace acknowledged. “Maybe that’s the deal for their food supply – traders bring in provisions and leave with copper ore. I guess we’ll find out one way or the other.”
Captain’s Log, Supplemental. We’ve touched down safely near the Invictus Biochem outpost shortly after establishing radio contact. Sarah Morgan and I will make a courtesy visit to the outpost on behalf of Constellation and Stroud-Eklund. At a minimum we’ll help build goodwill between our organizations and if we’re fortunate the scientists may have information or trade goods that can support our mission.
“I thought you said the atmosphere was breathable,” Grace said to Barrett as he pointed the way to the suit lockers.
“Breathable? No. Standard pressure, sure, but it’s methane-based. Zero percent oxygen. That and we’re still on the night side and its negative 44 outside. You do not want to go out there with just your bomber jacket to keep you warm, trust me.”
“Besides,” he said as the two of them kept walking, “these new suits fit like a glove. They’re not like those bulky old clunkers we used to have to put up with.”
“You don’t have to remind me of that,” Grace pointed out, “seeing as they’re copies of my Tenebris.”
“Exactly, so no complaining.”
“I really wanted some fresh air,” Grace muttered as they reached the suit lockers, finding Dr. Tannehill already waiting for them.
The good doctor, dressed in a neoprene apron and some sort of strappy leather thing that looked like it belonged on the dance floor at the Astral Lounge, offered Grace a first aid kit.
“Here you go, Captain. I know this is just a courtesy call, but you never know when you’ll run into trouble.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Grace acknowledged, before adding. “Have you considered, um, wearing pants when you’re on duty?”
“Considered? Yes,” she answered, before clarifying, “considered and rejected. Last thing I want to do is spill chemicals on my nice dress pants or get bloodstains on them.”
“You know, I could order you to dress professionally,” Grace pointed out.
Tannehill gave that mutually innocent and incorrigible grin she seemed to have perfected. “You certainly could,” she agreed, “and I could get on the next shuttle back to Akila. I need to be able to work comfortably, not dress up for a boss.”
Groaning internally, Grace accepted the first aid kit before starting to don her space suit. “We’ll discuss this further in the future,” she said, a promise that Tannehill seemed unbothered by.
Sam had done a good job picking out the landing zone, and Intrepid‘s rover covered the distance to the outpost quickly. As they covered the distance, Grace saw Sarah admiring the landscape.
“Something standing out to you?” Grace asked.
“It’s just that… there’s a non-zero chance this planet was once thriving with life. This geology… there was water here once. And there are ample examples all over the Settled Systems of life-forms that can live in temperatures like this.”
“But they’re all gone now,” Grace observed. “Not even a trace on the scanners as we came down.”
“That doesn’t mean there aren’t holdouts in sheltered niches… but yes, I think once the surface water had fully receded to the polar caps that was the end. But what I would give to travel back to see Petria in her prime.”
“Careful what you wish for,” Grace said, her mood shifting down a couple gears, “time travel never turns out the way you imagine it.”
The Constellation chair snorted, “as if you know better than anyone else. I choose to imagine with optimism, if you please.”
Grace didn’t say anything further on the subject, choosing to keep her own experiences – and her own trauma – to herself for the time being.
The rover’s scanners were at work during the trip, documenting surface deposits of copper and lead, as well as at least one large subsurface copper deposit. The data they gathered would feed into Intrepid‘s data banks on their return, further enhancing the survey data they’d already been collecting during their aerial approach.
That was one thing that Sarah had emphasized during the preflight briefing: while the big prize was the Vytinium deposit at Enlil, the team needed to be constantly recording data and looking for opportunities to exploit. Sam and Andreja had seemed decidedly unimpressed with that mercenary turn, but Barrett approached it with more equanimity.
“You’re not selling out, Sam,” he explained, “but if we’re ever going to build the Dauntless, we need every advantage we can get. Whether that’s selling survey data to LIST or staking claims on rare materials, it’s all a step closer to our goals.”
“Maybe,” Sam had said, “and don’t get me wrong – I’ll hold my nose and play ball – but I wish Walter was a little more willing to dip into the Stroud-Eklund funds. He paid for that Kepler monstrosity, why not Dauntless?”
“Because someone bought the Kepler. He has shareholders he answers to and they will not allow him to just give away a vessel on the scale of the Dauntless to Constellation. We wouldn’t even have Intrepid if it wasn’t for the funding Captain Varley brought in from UC SYSDEF.”
That conversation had gone back and forth a few more rounds, but in the end everyone was clear: this voyage was not a ‘not-for-profit’ venture, and the crew needed to keep their eyes out for any potential gains.
So with that goal in mind, Grace and Sarah headed first to the outpost administrator’s office but took careful note of the provisioner’s warehouse with the full intention of visiting it next.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone out here… I’m glad you stopped by,” Dr. Yasoman said as we met outside the office hab module.
“You’re with MAST,” Sarah observed. “I thought this was an Invictus facility.”
“It is,” Yasoman confirmed, “but it’s funded by a MAST grant. We’re looking at breeding cold- and drought-resistant plant species to help colonize marginal worlds.”
“I see,” Grace said, “and I suppose it’s just coincidental that Lunara is located right in the middle of the Freestar Collective?”
Yasoman shrugged, “that’s a cynical take. And besides, you know that neither of our governments recognize volumetric territorial claims like that, no matter how good they look on a map. But I didn’t mean to get into politics – I really am glad to see you.”
“Oh?” Grace asked, “is there a problem? Something you need help with?”
Dr. Yasoman pointed to the horizon. “See those clouds moving? The haze underneath them? There’s a sandstorm moving in. The whole crew is going to have to hunker down in the habs and ride it out; we just don’t have the kind of protection against abrasives that we need. But we also really need to collect a subterranean sensor cluster – the data is time sensitive. And it looks like you two are outfitted well enough to make it through the storm.”
Grace knew she was right about equipment. While the Tenebris II suits were more calibrated to resist temperature and radiation hazards, they were resistant to corrosive and abrasive hazards. She paused to let Sarah weigh in, at least in part because she preferred to let her handle any dealmaking. However, the response was simple and to the point.
“Yes, I think we can help you with that,” she said. And just like that, the scientists headed for their sealed shelters while Grace and Sarah returned to the rover, doing their best to cover good ground before the storm fully rolled in.
Captain’s Log, Supplemental. On the theory that one good turn deserves another, Sarah volunteered to help retrieve time-sensitive data that the local scientists won’t be able to reach in time. We’re proceeding overland to a site northwest of our landing zone. Our goal is to return promptly to the outpost, but regardless of the sensitivity of the data if the incoming sandstorm becomes too severe we’ll either shelter in place at the cave or detour back to Intrepid.
While Grace drove the rover, Sarah played navigator, referencing the scanner data Intrepid had collected during its landing approach to plot an efficient route to the cave that concealed the underground sensors.
Notwithstanding a few protests from Sarah as the rover bucked on the broken terrain, the two of them reached the sensor site quickly. By that point, the leading edge of the sandstorm was starting to howl down into the valley, and Grace wasted no time in getting into the protective cover of the cave.
If the entrance to the cave had looked unassuming, the interior quickly put that to the lie. Steaming vapor rose up from deep crevices, and a quick scan of Grace’s sensor revealed not only copper and flourine, but a sulfur tetraflouride vent deeper within.
“Interesting,” Sarah commented. “Barrett’s sensor readings only showed large tetraflouride deposits near the poles.”
Grace nodded, “looks like we aren’t the only ones looking for natural resources to exploit. Should we pull a sample?”
“Yes, I think we should. Let’s find a safe way down.”
On a planet with low gravity they might have just jumped down, but at 1.06G that would have been a recipe for broken bones. Instead, the two of them carefully clambered down a steep but navigable rock slope until they were at the bottom of a large cavern.
“Look at that,” Sarah said, pointing to a section of wall near the sulfurous vent. “What is it?”
Grace shined her light left and settled on a ropy mass of slimy yellow fibers.
“I don’t know,” she said, “but I think we were premature in saying this planet was dead. Let’s get scans and samples of everything.”
Further examination of the cavern revealed many more of the alien… roots? Plants? Creatures? And ultimately the sensor array they’d been sent to locate.
“Ah, and there’s that,” Sarah said. “Do you think this is here for the tetraflourides, or the life forms?”
“With Invictus and MAST involved, I’m guessing its the life forms. Sulfur-based, if the initial readings are any indication. So not so much ‘drought resistant’ as tolerant to chemical intrusion into the a water supply that might be poisonous to other biochemistries. I wonder how widespread these holdouts are?”
“Let’s see if we can beat the storm back to the camp and find out,” Sarah suggested.
That proved a bit more challenging than they’d expected, with the rocky slop doing them no favors under high gravity, but eventually Grace and Sarah clambered out of the cave and got the rover started up. The churning leading edge of the storm had passed them by, but a sandy haze severely limited their visibility.
One particularly vigorous bump elicited a grunt of pain from Grace, and Sarah turned to her.
“Are you alright?”
Grace gritted her teeth, answering, “you know that little spill I took while we were making our way out of the cave? I think I bruised something.”
Sarah sighed loudly, “and you didn’t think to tell anyone? We should detour to the ship so Dr. Tannehill can look at you.”
Grace shook her head, “no, we’re almost back to the outpost. We’re going to have to go inside anyway if they’re still sheltering in place, I can take a look at my leg there.”
“You’re back,” Yasoman greeted us as we cleared the airlock. “Did you get the data? And… are you limping? Are you injured?”
Sarah offered the sensor logs while Grace unsealed her suit. “Yes and yes, I think,” she said.
“Oh, thank you, this data is… but I’m forgetting my manners. Let’s get you looked at first.”
Yasoman led Grace over to a woman in a doctor’s coat who wasted no time in starting an examination. Once she got down to Grace’s thigh and elicited a sharp ouch! from the captain, she nodded in fulfilled expectation.
“Ah yes,” she said, “nasty little contusion you managed to get yourself. First time spelunking in high gravity?”
Grace smirked, “first time in about a lifetime, maybe. I clearly need more practice.”
“Well, as they say, time heals all wounds, but until then you should have your ship’s surgeon put an elastic bandage on the bruise; it’ll help speed up the recovery. Can you make it back on your own?”
Sarah interjected, “she can… because I’ll be driving.” She didn’t give Grace a chance to protest, adding, “no arguments, Varley, I won’t be responsible for you injuring yourself further just because you insist on being behind the wheel. Now sit down and take a breather while I talk to their provisioner.”
Grace stewed for a bit while the last of the storm passed. At length, Sarah returned, offering a kebab of unidentifiable protein.
Urged on by her stomach to not waste any time, Grace ate one of the nuggets before asking, “is this what I think it is?”
Sarah nodded, “not rotten eggs if that’s what you’re asking.”
Grace responded with a glare that prompted, “yes, it’s the sulfur-based life forms. They’re a kind of megalichen and they’re chemically compatible with human metabolism.”
“It’s… something. But it needs, hmm,” Grace thought for a moment, “sour cream and red onions, I think.”
Sarah thought on that for a moment, before opining, “I don’t think I’d like that. But dill, maybe? That would work.”
Grace shrugged. “Either way, it seems like they’re onto something with this research. If MAST can transplant this to other environments, it really might open up some more worlds to colonization.”
The two chatted a bit longer, with Sarah explaining that the outpost had offered a spare helium-3 tank (now sitting in the back of the rover) as a thank-you gift. It wasn’t much, Grace considered, but at least they weren’t leaving empty-handed.
Back at the ship, Sarah parked the rover and Grace immediately started trying to evade getting medical attention for her bruise.
“I’m fine!” she protested as Tannehill escorted her to the ship’s infirmary.
“No, Captain, you’re contused,” the doctor corrected. “You need to put a bandage on that injury.”
“It’s just a bruise,” Grace countered. “I’ll be fine by the start of next shift.”
“If you put a bandage on it. Now on the topic of who should and shouldn’t be wearing pants, drop ’em.”
Reluctantly, Grace submitted and let Tannehill work her magic. Afterwards, sipping some orange juice in the galley, she secretly admitted to herself that the doctor had been right.
Captain’s Log, Supplemental. Doctor Tannehill received the samples of the sulfur-based megalichen with great interest, a fact that has largely spared me from any further ministrations. She will be compiling her own report on the life form to attach to our expedition logs. I doubt this knowledge will do much to directly support the Dauntless project, but if nothing else it may give us a leg up in sourcing provisions for future outposts. Once the current storm system has fully passed, we’ll be departing Petria and moving on to Jaffa – our last stop before the big jump into the unknown.
End Log
Days Elapsed: 1
Fuel Consumption: 61.5 kg
Fuel Obtained: 8 kg
Fuel Remaining: 446.5 kg
Injuries Acquired: 1
Lifetime Injuries: 1
Epilogue
After Doc wrapped my thigh, she put me on light duty till the end of my shift. Basically exiled me to the ship’s office to catch up on reports and paperwork while Sarah and Moara took care of everything else. That’s not to say that I went without interruption. A few hours before I finally hit my bunk, Jasmine Durand walked in – not looking especially happy.
“Got a sec, rook?” she asked. I swear to God, not only do I hate that nickname, but I hate the fact that Jazz knows I hate it.
“For you, sure,” I said, gesturing to a chair. “What’s on your mind?”
She didn’t waste time with small-talk. “Why did you ask them to let me out of prison?”
“Because you’re the best, and we needed you,” I said, lying not by uttering a falsehood but by substituting a different truth.
Jasmine peered at me for a moment before saying, “I don’t understand how you can trust me. You betrayed me… all of us. Don’t you think I’m going to get revenge on your for that someday?”
“Maybe,” I conceded, “but I doubt it.”
That… kind of pissed her off. Slapping a hand on the desk she hissed, “do you think this is a joke? SYSDEF… you… killed so many of my friends. I don’t even know if Naeva is still alive. And even then at least I had the closure that my life was over, and all I had ahead of me were the four walls of my cell. And then you had to take that away from me.”
I… couldn’t come up with a good answer, not without spilling the beans. And so I did just that.
“Do you want to know the real reason I asked them to let you out?” I asked.
Jasmine just glared at me.
“Do you believe in past lives?” I asked.
“Oh, no,” she started, “I am not turning this into some kind of religious bullshit session.”
“No, seriously, do you?”
She shook her head, “no way.”
“Well I do. Because I’ve lived them. The first time, at least the first one I remember, I turned down Ikande when he tried to recruit me. That sack of shit Mathis found the Legacy, tried to steal it, and touched off a civil war where just about everyone on the Key – you too, I assume – died.”
Jazz looked at me like I was insane, but she didn’t interrupt me.
“The second time, I volunteered to go undercover. I found the legacy, gave it to Ikande, fought with the marines to take the Key, drilled a hole in your chest with my rifle. Your last words were, ‘I’m sorry.’ It fucking broke my heart.”
She shook her head, staring at my uncomprehendingly.
“The third time – that time my name was Grayson Varley, I was a man, and I had a twin brother – I went undercover with the Freestar Rangers rather than SYSDEF. Sarah Morgan was with me the whole time, and I killed you again. It’s like you were just fated to die and there was nothing I could do about it. Same last words, by the way.”
“You’re fucking crazy,” she muttered.
“The fourth time, the world was very different. I don’t think you even existed in that world, and that was probably a good thing. The less said about that world, the better.” I shuddered a little, remembering the horrible vindication of Rupert Breckenridge’s thesis.
“And now I’m reliving my life again, for the fifth time. This,” I gestured around me, “the Intrepid, I’m doing this because I’m not in a hurry to be reborn again. I need to process what I’ve experienced, to see new things instead of just repeating the same patterns over and over again, I need… well, I digress. Things are different this time. In my first three lives, Cora Coe was born in 2318. She was twelve years old. In this life, she was born in 2312.”
“That’s…” Jasmine started.
“Barrett found the artifact on Vectera this year, in 2330, in my first three lives. In this life, he found it – we found it – in 2328. Walter Stroud had already built the Kepler when I joined Constellation in ’28; in my second life, I was part of the team that designed it… in 2331. The jury’s still out on whether I’m going to kill Ron Hope, but he has it coming, so I doubt that’ll change.”
“Wait, kill Ron Hope? The philanthropist?” Jazz was barely keeping up.
“Yeah, behind all the public relations he’s a bastard. Corrupt as they come. But the other change in this world is that you lived. And not because of anything I did. After you sicced your robot on me, you ran away and hid, and when I got back from talking with Delgado, there you were right next to Shinya Voss, surrendering.”
“Yeah,” she said quiety, “Voss convinced me to give up. He said the only time when there’s no hope is when you’re dead.”
“Smart guy. The thing is, this mission – the Intrepid, the Dauntless, whatever comes after it, they’re not just to see new places. The real mission is to understand what’s different in this universe, why it’s different, and what it means. Victor… well, I’m sure you’ll meet him eventually, but Victor told me he was completely certain that we’re always – one hundred percent of the time – reborn at the moment we originally touched the artifact. That the instant of contact is our point of divergence and because of quantum effects we can never access universes that diverged before that point.”
She started to say something but I plowed over her. “He’s obviously wrong. My third life proved it already, but that God damn fourth life just hammered it home. I still have nightmares about that life. I have to understand what it means. And part of that is… well, I have to understand why you lived. And I can’t do that with you rotting in a jail cell.”
Jasmine shook her head, sputtered a little, then laughed. “Fuck, Captain, I thought you were going to tell me that you secretly had a crush on me and wanted to steal me away from Naeva, like my knight in shining armor or something. But this… fuck. Do the others know?”
I shook my head. “No, and I’d prefer you don’t tell them.”
She snorted, “I can imagine.”
“It’s not just the crazy part. I’ve been with them through thick and thin a bunch of times now and I’ve seen how things change if they find out about me too soon. There’s a right time for the big reveal, and it won’t come for a long while.”
She just stared at me for a while. “I need to process this. Honestly, Captain, ‘you’re crazy’ is pretty high up my list of explanations. But it’s edging up higher than ‘you’re crazy and you did this to hurt me,’ and that’s something.”
Yup, it was something. There was some awkward silence between the two of us before Jazz stood up.
“Thank you for getting me out of jail,” she said, and then she left.
I sat there for a long time, wondering if I’d done the wrong thing by opening up. But eventually I started to feel the hours lying heavy on me and when I turned in for the night I got the best sleep I’d had in years. I think getting my secret off my chest, even just sharing it with one person, was good for me.
And if we’re being really honest, I think saying out loud how much Jazz’s death hurt me was therapeutic, too.
So there you have it. I bet you thought I was being poetic when I talked about past lives at the start of these logs, didn’t you? Don’t worry, you’re just scratching the surface. I – literally – contain multitudes, and if I haven’t committed it all to paper by the time I start my next life, then I’ll have failed in my mission. So buckle up.