Marcus and Commander Faulkland were in one of the habitation pod dining halls, which stretched the definition of “hall.” It was a tight compartment just a smidgen bigger than any other on the ship. The men were seated on either side a metal table, where they were sipping reconstituted sludge from small plastic sacks. It was supposed to be coffee, but the resemblance was faint. Marcus had come to really enjoy that sludge, but it was an acquired taste.
He nudged the deck of magnetized playing cards on the table, which had been shuffled but otherwise ignored for hours, and Commander Faulkland waved him off.
“Couldn’t focus on a game right now,” Faulkland said.
That was the last thing Marcus expected to hear from the greying and hard-faced commander. “Way you tell stories, I figured you could play a hand of poker with your pants doused in burning napalm.”
Faulkland chuckled and took a slurp of his black sludge. “It’s not the mission. I’ve got a weird feeling. Something’s not right.”
Marcus felt a pang of guilt. He’d hardly felt them at all since they left Earth orbit, but now they were coming back with a vengeance. He decided it was finally time. “Listen… can I come clean about something?”
“I know ya been cheating at cards, Marc. Buy me a steak when we get back home, and I’ll think nothing of it.”
Why did everyone always think he was a cheater? “No, no… About the mission.”
Just then, the intercom lit up and produced an F-sharp. “Commander needed on the bridge. We’ve arrived at Waypoint Lambda-Five.”
“Roger that, bridge. On my way.” He flashed a toothy smile at Marcus and said, “Showtime. Whatever you wanted to tell me can wait for later.”
“Probably not,” Marcus muttered, but the ship’s commander was already through the door. Marcus had no choice but to follow.
The bridge was like the rest of the Shackleton, except another inch more spacious, and every surface covered with a dizzying array of switches, dials, readouts and other things Marcus had no business fiddling with. It was also the only part of the vessel with a view of the outside, which at that moment was filled with a vast field of asteroids looming in the dark.
Faulkland climbed into the captain’s chair and strapped himself in. The rest of the bridge crew were already at their stations and fastened down with five point harnesses. “Take a seat, Doctor.” The last word had a sarcastic sting to it, as it always did. “You don’t want to be floating free during this.”
The commander grabbed a black handset, pressed the button on its side, and in response, the F-sharp rang out again. As he spoke, his voice echoed through the halls. “Attention all crew and passengers. We are now preparing for final deceleration before entering the asteroid field. Find a suitable harness and strap yourself down, or you’ll be in for an unpleasant ride.”
Marcus clicked his belt, and then his eyes were filled with those asteroids. He picked through them trying to find his target, wondering if she might be visible from this distance, but it was no use. Zebra-One was still too far out to identify, if she was visible at all.
“Alright, that’s long enough. Mr. Macek, bring us about one-eighty counter vector.”
“Roger,” Macek called back. As soon as the word was out of his mouth, the ship began to spin along its axis and the view of the asteroid belt ran from Marcus’ hungry gaze. “Maneuver complete, Commander.”
The commander tapped his personal display and scratched his beard, then looked up and said, “Sixty-percent thrust for 326 seconds, on my mark.” The room was silent as a tomb while waiting for the command, and Marcus imagined the commander was stalling just for drama’s sake.
“Mark!” Faulkland barked.
Then it began. The entirety of the Shackleton was filled with a roar as its engines magnetically accelerated ions into space. The sound was shocking at first, but it was so constant and pervasive that Marcus numbed to it quickly. He was reminded of a class field-trip to a hydro-electric dam in the fifth grade. He’d been impressed enough by the massive structure itself, but the trip took on legendary proportions when he stood beside the dam’s thundering outlet. It was only then that Marcus began to understand some fraction of the billions of metric tonnes of water held on the other side, and the almost unimaginable force contained within.
Now he was in the depths of space, imagining that dam’s immense strength at his back, straining against the Shackleton’s momentum. He started to wonder how the ship’s reactor compared to the dam, but abandoned the math. Better to enjoy the ride, he thought, and so he relaxed and stared out through the thick polycarbonate panes. He was pressed into his seat with a force equal to Earth’s gravity, and with a little effort of imagination, he was lying on the ground back home, watching the glittering night sky. During an earthquake. Next to a waterfall.
The engines’ fearsome thrust lasted for just under six minutes, and then cut off as abruptly as it had begun. The sudden absence of noise left Marcus feeling hollow and reverent, like sitting in a church as the bells finished ringing.
The ship came back around and the windows were again filled with a field of charcoal black stones that stretched into the distance. They were closer now, close enough that the size of the asteroids could truly be appreciated. As Marcus stared on in amazement, he wondered how humbling that view might be to the architects of the Foundation’s cathedral.
“Not very,” he mumbled, only to realize he was talking to himself out loud.
Faulkland glanced over at him. “Come again, Doctor?”
Marcus looked a little sheepish. “Nothing, Commander. My internal monologue slipped out.”
At the start of the voyage, a comment like that would have been followed by an uncomfortable silence, but Faulkland was accustomed to the Gypsies’ eccentricities after five months together. He just nodded and said, “Understood. A view like this is liable to shake the best of us.”
The commander took another moment to admire the view, then grabbed the intercom mouthpiece and announced that it was once again safe to move about the ship.
With the very talented Mr. Macek at the controls, The Shackleton slipped into the asteroid belt like a surgeon’s scalpel, using only the lightest thrusts to carve a path to their objective. The passing asteroids grew to even more fantastic proportions as the ship progressed, many dwarfing the largest mountains on Earth.
Rao entered the bridge compartment quietly and found himself a spot next to Marcus. A glance at his face revealed a scientist in rapture, suddenly closer to the subject of his research than he’d ever thought possible. He was the first in his field to view these asteroids with the naked eye, and Marcus thought he could hear Rao’s heart thumping madly in his chest.
Faulkland indulged the eager scientist and asked, “Would you care to tell us what we’re looking at, Doctor Rao?”
“Of course.” Without skipping a beat, Rao moved closer to the windows and started pointing out features on the asteroids, the way a tour guide introduces animals in his zoo. “These are largely C-Type asteroids, composed of silicates, sulfides…”
Then, 228 days after Marcus made his presentation at the Foundation headquarters, after a half-hour of Rao’s excited lecturing on the composition of rocks, The Shackleton Expedition finally arrived at Zebra-One.
Chapter 5:
Contact
As the Shackleton Explorer approached its destination, there was nothing ahead of it but empty space. The atmosphere on the bridge had been peppered with excitement and discovery a moment before, but it was now thick with confusion.