was the feeling of falling. They were falling into the ship.
“I hope this isn’t their idea of hospitality,” Hector said in his gravelly voice.
Professor Caldwell, the geologist, replied, “Never mind that. I just hope this isn’t how it eats.”
Then the iris shut behind them and all was dark.
Chapter 9:
All In
It was pitch black inside, and the first thing Marcus Donovan noticed was something thumping all around him. One-two, it beat slowly, rhythmically, like he was trapped inside a massive water drum. He could feel it thumping in his chest, where his heart echoed the beat. One-two, one-two.
“Base to Donovan, what’s your status? Please respond.”
“We’re alright. Just a little disoriented. Let’s get some lights on,” he said, and their pale blue head lamps flicked on, illuminating helmets and precious little beyond. The lamps were only on a moment before the walls all around began to glow. They were dim and red-orange at first like a finger in front of a flashlight, then gradually brighter until the light settled into the warm amber of autumn at sunset.
“Was that in response to the words or the lamps?” Faulkland asked.
“Or something else?” Marcus added.
Before he could invest himself in that question, he noticed another puzzling thing. They were in a long corridor with glowing walls, broken into equal segments by an interconnected lattice work of curving, molded columns that might have been structural supports. The puzzling part was that Marcus and his team were sitting on the floor.
Rao looked to be mulling over the same thought. He detached the lamp from his helmet, held it out at arm’s length and let go. The lamp fell down with a clatter.
Marcus’ mind raced. Maybe there was a simple answer he couldn’t see from his perspective. “Mason,” he said into his microphone, “Zebra-One didn’t start… I don’t know… spinning, did she?”
“No, sir. I’m looking at her right now, and she’s as still as a stone.”
“Artificial gravity,” Rao said in a reverent voice. He sounded like he was whispering the secret name of God.
“How?” Marcus asked.
“If I knew that, I assure you I wouldn’t be here right now. I’d be sitting on a solid gold toilet, sipping cocktails and counting the decimal places on my bank statement.”
“Always with the gold toilet,” Marcus said as he climbed to his feet. It felt just like Earth gravity, and after five months of simulated half-gravity in the Shackleton’s habitation pods, that was too heavy for his taste. His legs felt weak and unsteady, and he thought he might collapse at any moment. Then he grew lighter until it was just right.
“Get some environmental readings, Juliette.”
She stepped up beside him and drew out her probe again. “Atmospheric pressure at a hundred and one kilopascals, temperature steady at thirty-two degrees centigrade. I’ll have spectrograph results in a minute.”
“She’s bending over backwards to make us comfortable,” Faulkland said. “I’ll bite.”
Marcus turned just in time to see the ship’s commander crack his neck-seal and lift the helmet from his head. He blew out and took one hesitant whiff, then began to breathe normally. With a smile, he lipped something Marcus couldn’t hear and gave a thumbs up.
“You reckless son of a bitch,” Marcus said, well aware that Faulkland couldn’t hear a word he said. Not to be outdone, he unlocked his own helmet and did the same.
The air that rushed in was warm and moist, and when he took his first sniff, he detected a faint hint of something metallic. It smelled of fresh blood.
Commander Faulkland flagged him down after he’d had a chance to take a few breaths. “I said it smells kind of funky, but it’s not bad.”
Marcus inhaled deep and filled his lungs. He was already growing used to the smell. “Not bad,” he agreed. “A little oxygen rich, but not bad. My freshman dorm smelled worse.”
He looked at Juliette through her clear mask, and wasn’t surprised at the furious face she was making. It’d been years since he’d seen that expression. She said something, and he didn’t need to hear the words to appreciate the message.
Marcus plucked the headset from inside his helmet and hooked it over his ear. “Should I be glad I missed that, Doctor St. Martin?”
“Nothing I haven’t called you before. Damn it, Marc… I haven’t even tested for microbiology yet.”
“When you do, I’ve got a hunch it’ll turn up positive. Draw up a quarantine procedure when you get a chance.”
“Done. I’m also going to check you two every ten minutes, whether you like it or not.”
Marcus groaned. “Understood. Everybody else, keep your lids on until further notice. At least we know this stuff’s breathable if we have an emergency.” He glanced around, and decided that this spot looked as good as any. “Let’s set up base camp here,” he said, and the team began unpacking their equipment.
“You put a good spin on that,” Faulkland said to him after a moment. He was affixing his own headset.
Marcus unloaded the mission transponder from his back and set it down. “Thanks. You’ve got me wondering, though… how the hell have you survived this long?”
The commander chuckled. “I steer boats, Doctor. This walking around alien spaceships business is new to me. What’s your excuse?”
“I’m competitive and prone to fits of idiocy,” he said, and they both laughed. “Just do me a favor. Gimme a heads up next time you plan on doing something stupid.”
Faulkland snapped a salute. “Aye aye, sir.”
Juliette finished assembling her med station and walked over to the two men with her probe firmly in hand. “Do either of you feel different? Warm, short of breath, light-headed?”
“No, no, and no,” Marcus said.
Faulkland said, “Ditto.”.
She waved the probe in front of Marcus’ face, and used the light to test his pupil response, then did the same to Faulkland. “The first sign of anything strange, and I mean anything, you will tell me. No more cowboy shit, understood?”
“Yes ma’am,” they both replied.
Satisfied, she returned to the small foldable medical station and started looking over the results.
The pressure suit helmets weren’t designed to be carried, so Marcus removed the lamp from his, and set the bulky thing down next to the transponder. Faulkland did the same.
“So, what kind of emergencies did you have in mind?” Faulkland asked.
Marcus shrugged. “Beats me, but as far as I’m concerned, we’re out among the many moons of Mongo now, and I won’t pretend I know what’s ahead of us.” Then a thought occurred to him. He glanced left then right down identical corridors stretching into the distance. “How’s this for starters, though… where’d the iris go?”
Faulkland took a long look around. “Good question. Damn good question.”
“Yeah. I thought so.” Marcus ran through some possibilities, but the word “possibility” was quickly taking on new meanings. He needed more information. “Donovan to Base. Be a pal and tell me where the mission transponder is located right now.”
“One moment… Showing right on the other side of the iris, Doc.”
Marcus took that as good news. It meant the doorway was still there but hidden. This was much better than finding out he’d been mysteriously shuttled to some distant part of the ship. Unless Zebra-One was falsifying sensor information. Best not to consider that, he told himself. That line of thought could only lead to madness.
He decided to worry about the missing door some other time, and turned back to his work. The base camp was assembled, the teams were itching to get started, and he was burning to know what was around the next corner. Time had come to start exploring. “Alright, there’s no time like the present. My team will head aftward. Rao,
