“Does it resemble the craft at Area 51 in any way?”
“That’s minuscule by comparison. So far I don’t have anything to compare.”
Jane inspected the smooth material that lined the alien craft. It was a gloomy color, not quite beige, not quite green, and darker than she would expect for a vessel in deep space from a purely psychological point of view—it didn’t reflect light. But the passageway itself was spacious.
“It seems to be roughly human in dimension, doesn’t it? If we were to construct a vessel of this size, wouldn’t our hallways resemble this in size and shape?”
Bergen’s eyebrows shot up as he considered. “Not really. You’re comparing it to structures on Earth with gravity—where people are standing upright. I’d expect something a bit smaller for us, to conserve space and air. That looks to be about two and a half to three meters from floor to ceiling. I’d design something closer to two, or even less for a hallway.”
Jane stayed alert, hoping someone might still come forward. If the vessel were manned by a skeleton crew and the controls to open the hatch were far away, they could arrive any minute.
The bizarre sensation she’d felt before hadn’t lingered. What had that been? Some physical manifestation of fear? She considered that until she looked up and saw that Bergen was studying her intently.
“What are you thinking about, Doc?” he asked softly.
“I…well, I was thinking about when we opened the hatch. I—I felt so strange there for a few minutes. Did you—”
A hiss of static came over the comm and they turned toward the others. It was a broadcast from Houston, the voice of the NASA Administrator, Gordon Bonham. “Providence. Houston. Acknowledged. Received audio transmission. Awaiting video transmission at this time. Our recommendation: proceed with caution. Operation: Delta Tango Uniform. Houston out.”
Jane shook her head. The message was in code, telling them to explore the ship with weapons drawn—expecting hostiles. Walsh would follow this order to the letter, she was sure.
Jane and Bergen eyed each other, both openly skeptical, as they lined up. They all would go in except for Compton, who would stay behind to guard Providence.
Walsh made a show of handing Jane a weapon. She refused it, as he knew she would. She had always objected to any contingency that called for weapons use.
Jane blinked hard. The buzzing had returned, though it was softer this time—a little easier to ignore. Something about it niggled at her. She’d never felt anything like it before. Not when she was struggling to drag her colleagues to safety by canoe, deep in the Amazon River basin, flushed with fever and starving, forced to push on despite the death of their guide. Not when she’d encountered giant snakes or carnivorous insects that swarmed over a person’s body while they slept, nor when she’d stumbled upon hostile tribesmen who would just as soon deliver a poison dart as a greeting. Even in those horrifying, desperate, exhausted moments she’d never felt a fear like this, that tapped into her ability to reason.
Walsh and Gibbs were poised near the meter-wide portal between the two vessels.
“What color would you call that, Jane? Split pea? Bilge green? Puce? Ugly as hell,” Gibbs commented with a wink, gesturing toward the Target.
Jane nodded distractedly. She couldn’t answer Gibbs' call for levity. He was too excited to look disappointed.
Walsh pushed off and half a second later, Gibbs did as well. She pulled herself closer.
A strangled cry and a yelp resounded in her ears as Walsh and Gibbs crashed into a heap on the surface that housed the greenish lights.
The floor, evidently.
“Shit,” Bergen muttered, his blue eyes lighting up. “Artificial gravity. Wasn’t expecting that.”
“Really?” Jane asked. “I was sort of—”
Compton shoved his way in, pulling Ajaya to the opening as he repeated, “Walsh, Gibbs—report.”
Ajaya’s fine features were pressed into a mask of worry. “They’ve passed out. Clearly. They shouldn’t be out long. I dearly hope they haven’t broken bones.”
Bergen huffed through tight lips. “We have no idea how many G’s that is. Even if it’s only one-G—they’re wearing 230-pound suits. They’re going to have a hell of a time getting up. If that’s more than one-G, this could be a serious problem. We still don’t know if that’s breathable air in there.”
They peered into the Target, helmets gently tapping.
“They’re so close. Shouldn’t we try to pull them out?” Jane asked the others.
Ajaya frowned. “We could try—but I suspect we would pass out before we could get a hold on them. Let’s give it another moment.”
Walsh moved his arm.
“Walsh, report,” Compton barked.
“Ffffthff,” was all Walsh could manage. Then he groaned, “Dammit, Gibbs, get off me.”
Gibbs didn’t respond.
Ajaya leaned in. “Commander, are you hurt?”
“Just my pride. Bergen, were you keeping this as your special little secret for me, or what?” Walsh wheezed.
Bergen was miffed.
“He was just as surprised as you are, Dr. Walsh,” Jane put in.
“Would it have killed you to throw something in here to test for it?” Walsh groused.
“What should I have thrown?” Bergen countered. “This million dollar instrument or that—”
Jane placed her gloved hand on the side of his face shield and he went quiet, visibly stewing.
“Oh, man—that was a rush!” Gibbs sprung up suddenly, his startled, dark-skinned face looming close to the opening before he fell back toward the floor and jounced around, out of control—at one point landing squarely on Walsh’s abdomen.
Walsh let out an “Oof,” and scrambled back. “Son-of-a—someone’s playing around with the settings on this gravity-thing and it’s not funny!”
Bergen pulled closer, clearly intrigued. “What’s going on in there?”
“A bouncy-house comes to mind,” Gibbs said, grinning. He righted himself and took unsteady, springy steps toward the hatch, his smiling face bobbing up and down in front of the opening. He gestured at Compton, “Ha! Come on in, Pops. Tell us how this compares to the moon.”
Compton, always good-natured, snorted. He’d never been on a Lunar mission, but had been selected to the astronaut program late in that era.
“You ok, Ronald?” Ajaya asked.
“Oh, fine, fine.” Gibbs chuckled softly and glanced back at Walsh, who was getting to his feet. “Walsh broke my fall. It felt like a lot more than one-G when we fell in. Now it feels like a lot less. It just changed on a dime.” Gibbs would know about the transition to gravity. He’d been back and forth to the International Space Station three times in his career.
“Huh,” Bergen uttered, his eyes roving back and forth, analyzing what that might mean about the technology, Jane supposed.
“They must be observing us.” Jane whispered. She turned to Bergen. “They don’t know what to expect from us any more than we know what to expect from them. They adjusted the gravity when they saw it distressed us—it was a friendly gesture.”
Bergen looked unnerved. “Either that, or they’re enjoying toying with us.”
Gibbs’ smile faded. “I like Jane’s idea better.”
“Me too,” said Ajaya. She hovered on the lip of the hatch, ready to slide in to check on her charges. “Commander, do we move forward now, or regroup?”
Walsh’s expression was grim. He turned away from the capsule. He raised his weapon. “Forward.”
One by one they slipped inside, springing uncertainly, cautiously, like kids on their first trampoline, down the hall. Jane reveled in the feeling of gravity tugging on her again, even though the effect was small. She could feel the long muscles in her legs stretching in a way only gravity could replicate and wished she could get out of the suit so she could fully enjoy it.