“How’s she feel, Marc?” Rao’s voice crackled over the radio.
“Real,” he said. He looked at the wall directly in front of his face, and now he was sure it had changed. On their approach, Zebra-One had been the same dull yellow-green she’d been throughout the previous day’s survey. Now, the wall in front of him had become a vibrant, living green. It was the green of fertile hills after spring’s first rain. And there was something else.
“The color of the wall is changing, Doctor,” Faulkland said.
“Yeah, think you’re right,” Marcus replied, while something even stranger had caught his attention. Around his hand, there was a flickering pattern that branched out from his finger tips. He waved the hand back and forth, and the pattern followed, pulsing and waving, slowly growing in strength. It reminded him of the chintzy plasma globe he used to keep on his desk. “Now that’s interesting.”
“What?” Rao asked.
“I’m not sure. Galvanic skin response maybe. One way or another, she’s reacting to me.”
The rest of the crew were finally unhooked from the life-raft, and Rao came up beside him. As he approached, the rich green colored area expanded to surround him as well. He reached out his hand toward the wall and lightning-like patterns appeared around his fingers, their ends disappearing into the mysterious depths of the alien material.
“Surface temperature is rising,” Juliette St. Martin said with a little worry in her voice. Marcus turned to look over his shoulder, and found her behind him with a multifunction probe in her hand. The pen-like piece of metal was attached to her wrist by a thin cable, through which it transmitted information to her heads-up-display.
“Rising? How quickly?” Marcus asked.
“You’re not going to be barbecued anytime soon, if that’s what you’re wondering. In fact, it’s leveling off now at… thirty-six degrees centigrade.”
“Human body temperature,” Marcus said.
He thrust backwards and watched the color of the artifact fade to dull green-grey again, while the vibrant circle around Rao persisted. He stopped only a few meters away. “Ideas?”
His question was met with silence. “Alright then. Donovan to Base, still reading us?”
“Crystal clear, Doctor. We’re receiving mission data from all units.”
“Good. We’re proceeding to the iris.”
“Roger. We’ll be watching.”
The structure dubbed Iris Charlie was one of the smaller irises; all of them were identical in shape, but differed in scale. They were elliptical, and this one measured twelve meters by a little over seven. Its dome protruded out from the smooth surface by four and a half meters. These features, just as every part of Zebra-One measured so far, related to each other by the golden ratio.
As they moved toward the iris, the finer details became apparent. There was a convex ring surrounding it which was broken into five equal sections, each covered in a tiled pattern of overlapping scales. Marcus couldn’t decide if the pattern was biological or mechanical, of if such a distinction would even make sense to the race that manufactured it. The iris itself was the same color as the wall and was just as smooth. It was so smooth, in fact, that it might as well have been a bubbling liquid frozen in place.
The team came to a stop in front of the iris and waited. Marcus was studying the bubble, looking for any clue to its purpose, and it occurred to him after a moment that everyone else was waiting for his move.
Rao broke the silence. “Well?”
“I don’t know,” Marcus said. “Should I say open sesame?”
He was hugely glad the door remained closed. He’d already had plenty of “strange”, “alien” and “amazing”; he wasn’t in any mood for “ridiculous” to join the party. Options started running through his head, and before he noticed, he was brainstorming out loud. “If it’s a door, there’d be some way to open it. A handle, a button, maybe a remote control we don’t have. If it’s an eye, it’s watching us right now. Not much of a show, I’m afraid. I guess it could accommodate some internal equipment that needed the extra space, but when the damned ship is already most of a kilometer wide, I can’t imagine another four meters making much of a difference.”
“Maybe,” Hector Pacheco said, breaking Marcus’ rambling stream of consciousness, “you should try knocking.” As usual, the grizzled crew chief had managed to be serious and joking at the same time. It was a fine talent, and one of many that Marcus envied.
Fighting against the stiff shoulders of his pressure suit, Marcus Donovan shrugged, then maneuvered toward the iris. He raised his hand and curled his fingers, then reached out to rap on the surface.
Just as his knuckle was about to collide with the iris, the glossy material shrank away from his hand and raced toward the edges, like hot wax poured over glass or a soap bubble popping in slow motion. Inky darkness waited inside.
Marcus was glad no one could see the look on his face. “Or maybe it’s automatic, like bloody near every door on our entire planet. Should we go in?” he asked.
Before anyone could answer, the decision was made for them. The doctor and his fifteen companions were all drawn into the cavity at once, and the force that attracted them was accompanied by an oddly familiar feeling. It 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.