SCIENCE FICTION NOVEL
INFINITY 7
Now on Audible, Amazon Kindle
CUSTOMER REVIEW FROM AUDIBLE.COM
Well Wrought Hallucinatory Space Fiction!
Friday, August 21, 2020
"I greatly enjoyed listening to Charles R. Hinckley's novel INFINITY 7, a novel that falls loosely in the territory of the near-future science fiction of films like 2001 and the original SOLARIS.
The near-future tech is convincing and well visualized. I especially enjoyed Collins' dealings with AI and holographic technology, which add some humor to the story without being overplayed, in particular his issues with an errant floating video camera.
Tuesday, August 18, 2020
Psychic Detective Novel, Dream State is "funny", and sharp, with "great characters."
https://www.amazon.com/Dream-State-Sleeping-Detective-Book-ebook/dp/B01M5CO8UC/ref=mt_kindle?_encoding=UTF8&me=
Reviewed in the United States
I quite enjoyed Charles R. Hinckley’s novel, Dream State.
"The psychic detective genre, in general, is a tricky one, a
mash-up somewhere between Raymond Chandler and Doctor Strange. Hinckley pulls
it off by writing well. He grounds his characters solidly in a New York I could
recognize, and gives them realistic, often humorous dialog. This makes the
fantastical excursions into August Chase’s pre-cognitive “dream state” more
compelling. On top of that, the writing is extremely visual, forcefully
propelling Chase through a complex series of interrelated encounters in both
this world and the next, and bringing it all to a satisfying resolution. It’s a
book worth your attention."
Sunday, July 19, 2020
Infinity 7 now on audible!
Editorial Review
"Powerful and compelling, "Infinity 7" by Charles
R. Hinckley is a riveting psychological sci-fi adventure that readers won't
soon forget! When suspicious
communication comes from the Metis 3 Space Station requesting a team to
investigate malfunctions and the possibility of alien life forms, astronaut and
astrophysicist John Collins knows he is headed back to space. Developer of the Metis Space Program, Collins
has dedicated his professional career to this project, at great personal cost, and
will do whatever it takes to keep the funding flowing for this research. Discovery
of alien spores found in soil samples have been mishandled by Forrest, one of
the techs, putting the entire station in danger of contamination. Strange behavior from the crew and the mainframe
computer system suggest alien forces have taken over as an entranced crew
member is determined to destroy the space station. Fighting hallucinations and madness caused by
exposure to the spore toxins, John Collins is in for the fight of his life and
the future of the earth. This story is a
fantastic read! I really enjoyed the
writing - Hinckley has a talent for creating vivid, colorful, life-like
descriptions in every paragraph, and not a word is wasted. The plot-line is
complex without being overwhelming; the various layers of the story are
sophisticated and round out the entire story as a whole. The author's imagination seems limitless as
the creativity displayed in the scenes and the settings compel the reader to
plow through the pages..."
Tuesday, May 26, 2020
Rusty Bullets are Just as Deadly
12 Bullets
That night he drew up near a large pine tree and sat with his
back against it. He was too tired to start a fire, but knew he must. As he
gathered dead leaves and straw in the area around him, he noticed a piece of
broken glass. He held it up to the setting sun and saw it sparkle, a blue hue
in the sunset. He thought about the time he’d loaded small rocks and glass into
his musket, because he had no more balls to load but still had powder and
wadding. The glass killed a boy up close. And he once again saw the face of the
boy as he took the shot. His stomach turned over thinking about it. He put the
glass in the small cartridge box on his belt, just in case he ran out of lead.
The nine cartridges he carried were still intact and he was glad of it. The
three load in his revolver made twelve. A dozen rounds to defend his life. He
didn’t want to fully load his pistol for fear he’d waste one or two shots.
Better to wait and load them if he had to.
The fire was small and smoky. He had nothing to eat but
venison jerky, and he drank an extra swallow of water to stave off hunger
pangs.
He thought about burying coals and sleeping on them, but the
ground had too many pine needles and he worried it would burn him in the night.
The wind had picked up at sunset, then died down just as the chill air began to
descend from the hills. It was a wet air and soon he was sitting in fog. The
yellow glow of the fire surrounded by fog.
A feeling on loneliness ran through him as he stared at the
flames. The face of the boy he’d shot came to him, blood spattered, half torn by
glass. Then, the many battles he’d been a part of raged in his head. Each
memory, a small snippet of moving images, like galloping on the back of a
spooked horse, speeding through his mind’s eye: Running through the lines at
the battle at The Wilderness. Trees exploding with shot. Dead men lining the
trail as he ran over them. Blood and gut-spattered trees.
He stood up and paced, wishing the images away. He held his
hand on the sap covered bark of the pine and smelled the pitch on his hands.
His fingers stuck together with the pine pitch, but the smell made it better,
brought him out of his memories.
He stoked the fire, laid out his bedroll, then rested his
head on a small sack stuffed with his extra clothes. He fell asleep seeing the
boy’s face as he’d died, cold and lifeless. Then he dreamed of his yellow haired
girl, Jilly. She was soft and gentle and had a straight smile. She stood in a brown
grass field, in the summer sun. Her whispers caressed his parched lips.
Jilly wanted what he thought all pretty girls want. A good
husband, a home and children. A man to come home and take care of the family
after a hard day’s work. And he had a mind to give her just that. The thing he
remembered most was her soft smell and the touch of smooth skin. Soft as butter,
and smelled of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It calmed him,
that smell. Her lips were the color of wine when you mixed it with water and
held it up to drink. He’d lost her exactly three weeks and two days ago. His
Jilly. She’d left town suddenly, and under mysterious circumstances. As far as
he was concerned, she was kidnaped. Witnesses saw it. Bad men took her by force
and rode west. He’d been on her trail ever since.
Holding his bedroll in his arms, her in his arms, he was
finally able to doze off.
*** ***
That night, the Wolves came into camp. He couldn’t figure why
they didn’t shoot him dead, but instead, they accepted his nervous invitation
to chew some jerky. There was six of them. Bad men. He knew they were bad the
minute they approached. Good men don’t come at you in waves, sending the
kindest looking one first. Good men don’t scare you by the look in their eyes. Dead
men reflected in those eyes.
It was the Tall Man who walked into camp first.
A shadow slowly came out of the foggy wood. A black mass.
Then he stepped into the light, and Brett thought he was staring at Abraham
Lincoln’s ghost. He wore the same long coat, top hat and beard, and had the
same wrinkled, worn-out face.
The Tall Man removed his stove-top hat and held it in his
hands, a dull twinkle in his eye. “Can you spare any food, mister? Been on the
trail for a while.”
Brett held a hand on his revolver, but the Tall Man had a slow,
kindly look about him, so he left it by the tree.
The Tall Man continued. “Yes sir, I seem to recall a time on
the trail I helped a man and his son. They were half-near starved and cold as a
block of ice in sawdust. I saw that in San Francisco. Big city. Ice in sawdust.
Have you seen that type of ice, sir? They say it’s the coldest.”
There was a rustling in the bushes and a horse whinnied.
“Who’s that?” Brett asked.
Slowly the men appeared in the camp, legs spread apart, hands
on their weapons.
“Just a few compadres. Drawn to the warmth of your fire. No
anointing need be.”
A small man in buckskins stepped closer. “Shut your
bone-box.”
The Tall Man bowed slightly and placed the hat upon his head.
Brett wanted to reach for the revolver, but it was too late.
“That one there cuts the long bow. Pay no mind, neither.”
The small man looked around the camp, like he was checking to see if anything
was out of sorts. He nodded and said, “We got rum. What you got for trade?”
Brett said, “Not much.”
“What food you got?”
I got jerky. I’m just out of mystery bags. Ate the last for supper.”
“Month of Sundays since I ate a good jerky. What ‘er they?”
“Venison.”
“That’s a good taste. Mind if we join yah?”
The men walked into the light of the fire and Brett saw
there was too many for it to end well for him. He held out the pouch of jerky.
The Small Man took it and smiled, a nearly toothless grin. He chewed on a
piece, grabbed two more and passed the bag to the Tall Man, who grabbed a fist
full and passed it on. By the time they were done, there was nothing left and
the bag was ripped out. Small Man handed the bag back and smiled. Brett noticed
him staring at his cavalry hat by the tree.
“That’s tasty, right there. Got coffee?”
“Nope.”
“Beans?”
“Nope.”
“Well, then what else you got in that bread bag? Don’t want
no hard-bread. Had enough of that to last.”
Brett frowned. “I’d be happy with some hard-bread. I was
expecting that jerky to last me a while.”
“You got any shot?”
“Just for my own use.”
“Share some.”
“I need my shot.”
“I don’t give a fart what you need.” They stared at each
other. Brett felt the blood rise in his face. “You need yer bag of bones healthy,
yah?” A few of the men took a step forward. Brett slowly nodded. “Then we do
this my way, the friendly way, or we break yer bones. Now, give me yer shot.”
Brett handed over his cartridge box. The Small Man counted
the contents.
“Two, four, six, seven…nine. That’s it?”
Brett nodded. Small Man took Brett’s Spencer repeating rifle
and slung it over his shoulder. “You got any coin?”
“No. And please don’t take my rifle.”
“Please? Search him, if you please!” Small Man laughed.
Tall Man grabbed Brett. Two others went through his clothes.
They found the five silver dollars he’d saved and had stashed inside his breast
pocket. Another two men searched the rest of his belongings. When they were
done and had everything they wanted, they mounted their horses and rode away,
not saying a word.
Brett stood by the fire and collected himself. They’d taken
his Colt Bowie knife, his coin and his Spencer Repeating Rifle. He could kill them,
one by one, and vowed to get his things back. He wondered why they hadn’t just
slit his throat, then he remembered Small Man looking at his cavalry hat. A
veteran maybe?
After a while, Brett sat back by the tree and brooded. He
felt hollow. Violated. Like he’d been punched sideways when not looking. The
thieves were long gone, having been on horseback. Brett had a feeling he knew
where they’d go, though. The only town within a few miles was Collins. Best to
get in a few hours rest. They’d left his bedroll and his clothes in a heap. He
gathered them up into a bed and after a while nodded off.
Daybreak came quickly and Brett awoke with a start. A tree
branch snapped nearby. He sat up and listened. An animal walked in the leaves.
Could have been a squirrel or something larger. Brett pulled out the Colt
Revolver he’d kept hidden by the tree and cocked the hammer. He was glad they
didn’t find his Colt. It had been with him since his darkest days in the war.
Rode into battle with it in his left hand, the right being the horse’s reins.
He’d shot men dead with that pistol. And as sick as he was of killing, now he
would do it again, so help him almighty.
Brett stood by the tree and stared out at the trail. The
Tall Man stood not ten-feet away, clutching his side. Blood covered the back of
his hand, and he appeared near falling.
*** ***
Small Man’s name was Roscoe Hunter, and he didn’t like weak
men. He’d seen his share of cowards in the war. Turn tail runners, he called ‘em. But that man giving up his
Spencer last night, he could tell, was no coward. He’d stood his ground and was
polite about it. He respected that.
As they turned up the hill away from the game trail and
headed ‘round the slope toward the town, Roscoe Hunter turned his horse and
watched for Jeb Castor. He was a lying, fool talk’n, no good, sod busting
coward if he’d ever seen one, and he’d grown tired of having to tell that fool
what to do. Jeb approached slowly from the rear, riding that tall mare, came up
lame every other day. When Jed stopped a few yards back, that stupid look on
his face, Roscoe had had enough.
Jeb stood his ground, and Roscoe almost respected that, but
he knew it was only out of confusion, not bravery.
Roscoe pointed at the mare and said, “That horse slowing us
down a’gin. I ain’t have’n none of it. You get off that hoss and let’s see that
rear hoof she bin favor’n.”
“It’s a loose shoe is all, Roscoe. I was gonna mend it first
thing.”
“Git.”
Jeb dismounted and walked back his hand to the right rear
hoof and lifted. Roscoe was close enough so he could see a nail had come loose
and had torn out part of the hoof. “Let me see that.” Roscoe slid off his mount
and took hold of the hoof. “You no account Jonah. How you let this animal be
like that?”
Roscoe grabbed the nail, twist it out and in one swift
motion, ran it into Jeb’s gut. When Jeb bent over, Roscoe slapped him on the
face and kneed his forehead. Jeb fell back, the nail still stuck in his side.
“I can’t abide sloppy. I can’t abide cruelty to animals. Now
get your ass out of here.”
Jeb sat up dazed, holding his side, a dumbfounded look on his
face. “But Roscoe.” His upper lip quivered. “I ain’t done nothing to deserve
that.” Tears filled Jeb’s eyes.
Roscoe turned away in disgust. “You ain’t done nothing….”
The other men gathered their mounts around in a circle.
They’d seen this show before. Just last week Roscoe kicked a boy out of the
group for being stupid with the gun powder, and now he was even angrier at Jeb.
“How long you been riding with us?” asked Roscoe.
“You know how long. I joined you all…”
“I joined you all…” Roscoe mocked.
Jeb turned to the other men for sympathy, but met stone
faces. “You all know me.”
“How long, you tall-tale jawing, bone box yapper?” Roscoe said,
waving the air the way Jeb did when unfurling a long winded story.
Jeb rubbed dirt into his palms, as if to sooth him somehow.
“Since Charlottesville,” he said, almost like it was question.
“My horse’s teat! All the way since then. That’s been half a
year or more, and I swear to God you been slowing us down ever since. You lazy!
Let your mount rot under foot.” Jeb started to answer, but Roscoe continued.
“I’ll tell you what fer. You a lazy, malingering, son-of-a-bitch, and I’ve had
done with you. We called The Wolves. Not the Lazy Malingering Jaw-box’s! Now,
go on. Git.”
Jeb started to get up, and Roscoe kicked him in the ass. Jeb
fell back and the men laughed. When Jeb limped toward his mount, Jeb stepped in
front of him.
“Oh, no. You done with this horse. Now go!”
Thursday, November 8, 2018
Infinity 7: What do you hear when aliens call?
Get yours today!
Infinity 7: What do you hear when Aliens call?
Science fiction thriller.
https://www.amazon.com/Infinity-What-hear-when-aliens-ebook/dp/B07K7ZY8ZS/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1541740100&sr=1-1&keywords=infinity+7%3A+what+do+you+hear+when+an+alien+calls%3F
Sunday, October 14, 2018
Infinity 7 A Sci Fi Thriller
Here is an excerpt from my new novel. Enjoy.
Infinity 7
by
Charles R
Hinckley
“Is all that we
see or seem,
But a dream
within a dream?”
Edgar Allan Poe
“Zeus lay with
Metis but immediately feared the consequences. It had been prophesied that
Metis would bear extremely powerful children: the first, Athena and the second,
a son more powerful than Zeus himself, who would eventually overthrow Zeus.”
The Theogony of Hesiod
1
Metis 3 Communications
Center, San Diego, CA
Assistant ground controller, Hailey
Cantwell, stands in front of a command-and-control screen in the sterile communications
room at the Metis Communications Center. The plain white carbon
reinforced polymer and steel box is adorned with Roman Tuscan architectural columns,
intended to create spatial tension, and as an artistic distraction from its
tepid decor. Hailey wears a heavy cardigan under a white knee-length lab coat to
help keep herself from shivering in the cool environment. All rooms are kept at
sixty-seven degrees Fahrenheit to insure the computers run at maximum
efficiency.
In
front of her is a free-floating hologram. The image depicts a brightly lit
black box, about three inches square, slowly rotating from left to right. She
touches the space bar on the air keyboard and the box stops spinning. It begins
to pulsate, expanding and contracting at regular intervals, as if breathing.
“Hey,
Jeb. Come here and look at this.” A similarly dressed man wearing black-rimmed
glasses walks over to her console.
“What
have you got?”
“It’s
a message from Metis 3.”
“Odd.
When is our next scheduled communications link-up?”
“Not
until 10.00 a.m. tomorrow.”
“That’s
what I thought.” He leans in closer to inspect the holographic image. “That
looks like an old-fashioned screen saver.”
“Yes,
but it came in from Metis.”
“Why
would they send that in a communiqué?”
“I
was about to ask you that question.”
“Whose
signature is on it?”
“There
isn’t one.”
“There
has to be.” He punches in a few more commands on the airboard. The box begins pulsating
more quickly now, turning purple and expanding in size. “Is this a joke?”
Hailey
laughs, as if suddenly getting it. “It’s Forrest. Forrest has to have sent this.”
“Or
Greely. He’s a joker.”
Hailey
rolls her eyes. “She’s a joker. She’s
a she.”
Jeb
hits the space bar again. “Of course. I know that…”
The
box turns scarlet, then bright yellow. Hailey smiles. “Rainbows.”
Jeb
types in a few more commands, but the box is unaffected. “Are you sure it’s from
Metis 3?”
“I’ve
checked the frequency twice.”
A miniscule
signature code appears at the bottom of the box. “There it is. But, I don’t
recognize the point of origin.” He tries to magnify the image, but the font remains
small and illegible.
The
box continues to expand, evolving into a shade of dark blue. As it reaches about
ten-inches in diameter, there is a sudden and colorful explosion. The box fragments
into a thousand miniature slow-motion fireworks streaming and falling, then
fading away. As the dots dissolve, tiny red numbers emerge from the bottom of
the message. As the numbers grow in size, it becomes clear they are an equation.
Jeb
runs his hand through his well-trimmed hair. “This is a bad joke. A waste of time!”
He wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead and adjusts his glasses. Finally, he
stands back from the screen and sighs. The equation grows until the font is
about eight inches high, transitioning from blue to yellow to orange.
4Al + 3O₂ = 2Al₂O₃
The
equation rotates, like a roast on a spit. “What the hell is that supposed to
mean?”
Hailey
punches a few keys on the airboard. “Computer. What is the origin of the
equation in this communiqué?”
Jeb
scribbles on a small airpad with his finger. “O usually stands for Oxygen…The A
means…”
A soft,
feminine voice fills the room. “The communiqué originates from Metis 3 Space Station.”
Jeb
rolls his eyes. “We realize that. Who on board sent it?”
“The
message originates from the Metis 3 Space Station mainframe.”
“The
Metis 3 computer sent this?”
“That
is correct.”
Hailey
looks at Jeb, who shrugs. “What’s with the equation?”
“That
is not within my knowledge base.”
Hailey
keys in more commands. “It’s definitely a formula, but for what?”
Jeb
scribbles furiously on his airpad, as if an unspoken rivalry between them spurs
him on to finish first. “It’s an equation. It has an equals sign.”
Hailey
clears her throat. “Right. I knew that. Computer, who at Command has authorization
to read this communiqué?”
“Level
3 clearance and password is required.”
Jeb
frowns. “I’ve never heard of it.”
Hailey
smirks at her coworker. “Computer, who’s authorized at Level 3?”
The
computer voice drones, “I do not have that information.”
“You
don’t know who is at Level 3?” Hailey asks.
“That
is correct.”
Jeb
runs his hand through his hair. “Damn it. Computer, forward this communiqué to command
headquarters…and stop wasting my time.”
“I
am not authorized to forward Level 3 communiqués.”
“More
craziness.” Jeb clears his throat. “Computer, connect me to Metis Program
Headquarters.”
Almost
instantly, a young woman’s face appears in the center of the room. The computer-generated
communication hologram turns clockwise until it faces them.
“Metis
Program Headquarters, how may I be of assistance?” The young woman speaks in a
pleasant, but obviously artificial tone.
“This
is Jeb Craine at Communications. Badge number 314159. I need to speak to…” he
turns and frowns sarcastically at Hailey, “…a Level 3 person.”
The
woman’s eyes blink twice. “Please repeat?”
“I
have a Level 3 communiqué from Metis 3. I need to know where to direct this.”
After a few minutes, the woman’s face lights up.
She smiles and turns toward Jeb, who is now sitting behind a white desk across
the room. “The Director’s Office asks that you download the encrypted message
into a holovessel and hand deliver it to Metis Command. You are to arrive in
person, no later 3:30 p.m. today to deliver this vessel. Thank you for calling
Headquarters. How may I further assist you?”
“Okay,
that’s fine. End communication,” he says. The face fades away. Jeb takes off his
glasses and wipes the lenses with a white hanky. “I guess I’ll have to run this
over myself.”
“I’ll
go, if you like,” Hailey says, trying to contain her enthusiasm.
Jeb
looks at his airpad, busying himself with the equation. “All right. You go.”
After a slight pause, as if reading a cue card, he adds, “But I want a full
report. And come right back.”
“It’s
a long ride up the La Jolla, Jeb. Heavy traffic. How about I just head home
after I report?”
Jeb
sighs and looks up at her. “Fine. But first thing in the morning let me know
exactly what they said.”
“You
got it, boss.” She winks at him, and his pale putty face reddens.
2
Metis Mission
Headquarters
Mission Director Dr. John
Collins, PhD in astrophysics, stands on a small stage in Lecture Hall 1. He’s finishing
up a promotional lecture on the Metis Program. The room is darkened. His handsome
face is bottom-lit from a screen in front of the podium, giving him an ethereal
orange glow. Behind him is an enlarged three-dimensional holographic image depicting
carbonate globules attached to a moon rock. Various speckles of colored shapes dotting
a forest-green rock surface shimmer like fool’s gold. The same image hovers in
front of each seated audience member, their eager faces aglow from the visuals before
them.
“Various
structures we’ve identified, tiny carbonate globules, are indications that some
form of life did exist in these rocks, it is estimated as long as thirty thousand
years ago. We’ve found many types of magnetites in several morphologies. But these
in particular,” the scientist points to a few gold-colored globules in the
slide, “were found on the first dig by Metis Team 1, near Theophilus on the moon’s
surface. As you may know, Theophilus is a huge crater near the center of the moon’s
disk.”
A holographic
image of Theophilus appears and rotates above them, revealing various angles
illuminated in shimmering sunlight.
“Sixty-four
miles in diameter, the crater is enclosed by peaks of eighteen thousand, and
sixteen thousand feet. The circumference is nearly three hundred square miles.
A little too much for us to explore at present,” polite laughter ripples from
the audience, “however, by the end of next fiscal year, our Heavy Equipment Dig
Program will be in full operation.”
The
image changes to a full shot of the moon from space, then resolves onto the moon’s
surface, looking across a huge desert expanse, luring the viewer’s eye up to
the rugged mountains resting beneath an inky-black sky.
The
next hologram reveals heavy mining equipment. Colossal drills and
excavators hover a few feet off the ground on the moon’s surface. Near
the equipment, troughs of ore move through the center of a large, clear tubular
structure. Sparkling debris glitters as it passes through the tunnel. “Of
course, with any luck, this computer-generated mining equipment will soon be
replaced by the real thing.” More chuckles emanate from the captive audience.
A
3D holographic image of Metis 3 Space Station materializes into view, replacing
the moon hologram. It has an appearance similar to a slowly spinning spoked
wheel. “Metis 3 Space Station. She’s approximately one hundred-seventy meters
in length, comprised of specialized modules.” In the center of the station is a
core module to which all other modules are attached, linked together by a
tubular outer walk.
Dramatic
music resonates as the station glides effortlessly in lunar orbit. “Metis 3 has
reached our moon in record time and will continue to probe the mysteries of its
mineral-rich soil. And now, with the advent of the Heavy Equipment Dig Program,
we will begin to excavate even further below the surface, eventually branching
out further into the mountainous regions.”
The
image behind the doctor changes to that of a vast, colorful space nebula. Its
black heart is reminiscent of the pupil of a gigantic eye. Blue hues of
variable chromatic tonalities, surrounding and uniformly shooting out from the dark
center, complete the impression of the iris in a colossal human eyeball.
“It’s
our mission, as it was in the beginning, and always shall be, to explore our
universe, search for evidence of life forms, and comprehensibly study them. And,
of course, ultimately share those discoveries with you.” He pauses, stares into
the darkened auditorium until he has everyone’s full attention, then continues.
“In knowing what’s out there, we can learn more about our origins, and the
planet we call home. Remember, the Metis motto: Discovery is Our Business.”
The
familiar image of Earth; the white and blue marble surrounded by the blackness
of space, appears behind him.
The
lights come up. The audience enthusiastically applauds, then begins to
disperse.
A
voice emerges from the exiting attendees. “Dr. Collins, isn’t it true that the
mission statement you just read is only partially accurate, since most of your
funding now comes from mining interests?” A few attendees linger to hear a
response.
John
has heard this question every day for two years, ever since his private
foundation became partially endowed by the Plutus Mining Company. After a small
glitch in the moon rover set back the project, and tragically resulted in a
fatality involving one of the mission crew, the funding began to dry up. The
money has to come from somewhere, and off-world mineral extraction is a very
real and profitable challenge. John considers it inevitable that the search for
natural resources would fund a portion of the Metis missions. However, off-world
mining capabilities are still in their infancy, and something he doesn’t expect
to come to full fruition in his lifetime.
“Our
mission has not changed.” John smiles. “Science and exploration are our top
priorities.” Amid enthusiastic follow-up questions, he heads upstage and ducks
out a back entrance to the service area.
In
the hallway leading to his office, he is assaulted by the shrill voice of Dr.
Beck. “John, John!” He turns to see Beck blustering down the hall, his puffed-up
belly leading the charge, his unfashionable tie swinging like a pendulum.
John
stops and asks, “What is it, Dr. Beck?”
“Something
is happening on Metis 3.”
Beck
stares at John, waiting for his cue. Beck always does this: makes him wait,
then wring it out of him. John wants to shake him. He takes a deep breath and
takes the bait. “What’s happening on Metis 3, Dr. Beck?”
“We’ve
received a coded message.”
John
lifts an eyebrow. “Coded?”
“Level
3, they said. I’m not aware of a Level 3. What is that? Why don’t I know about
it?”
“Not
here. In my office.” Beck’s eyes flutter and his mouth gapes open. John ignores
these facial tics. “Come.” The men turn together and stride purposely down the
hall.
A conference
room attached to John’s office holds a long, thick glass table surrounded by six
chairs. There awaits the woman from Communications. John glances into the room
and recognizes Hailey Cantwell. Her evaluations, he recalls, reveal her to be smart,
ambitious, and loyal. Mandatory qualities for consideration at Metis. John and
Beck enter. Hailey practically bows to John as they approach. This amuses him
slightly, but that amusement is quickly displaced by concern. “I hear you have
a Level 3 communiqué?”
“Yes,
sir. We received it this morning.” She hands him a small metallic ball. John
looks at it, then walks to his desk and plugs it into a slot. A hologram of a red
ball appears, hovering approximately eight inches above the desk. This ball has
a crystalline quality to it, smooth and reflective with cut edges.
“You
may leave now. Thank you.” John nods to Hailey and she turns hesitantly, as if
not sure where to find the door. “Is there something else?” he asks her.
She
turns to him. “No, no, I…”
“Yes?”
“Nothing,
sir, thank you. It’s just…” Again, she hesitates. “I’ve never heard of a Level
3, and…”
“Hailey,
I want to thank you again for this, and for alerting me to the anomalies you
observed in Metis Station’s recent lunar orbit reports. Your initiative and
loyalty will not go unrewarded.” Hailey beams. He walks over to her, extending
his hand, which she takes. “We need to set up a meeting. I would like to
discuss your future here.” He shakes her hand while leading her to the door.
“Thank
you, sir.” She nods and bows, walking backward out the door. “I’ll stay on top
of those trajectory reports…” She continues to stick her head inside the
breach, pulling it back just in time.
“Thank
you, Hailey. Thank you.” When the door finally latches, the smile quickly falls
from his face, as he turns to Beck. “Call the Committee. They should see this.”
Beck
nods and scurries from the room.
*** ***
In the conference room,
Dr. Michael Lee, a man of distinction with dark rimmed glasses, sits at the end
of the table opposite John. To his left is Dr. Beck. Next to him is Dr. Elaine
Susman, and across from her is Dr. Andrew De Flanders, who sits stroking his
mustache. All the scientists are middle-aged, with graying hair.
The
red ball that hovered over John’s desk now floats ten inches above the long
conference table. “Read Level 3 communiqué. Authorization: Collins.” The ball
opens up, a bright and dazzling holographic light brightens the room, then resolves
into the ghostly image of a female head, over which layers of deep-red liquid spreads
down into a cascade of dripping goo. The liquid quickly solidifies and coalesces
onto the face of a beautiful woman with cherry red skin, flaming red hair and
dark blue eyes. The woman blinks a few times, then opens her mouth to speak.
“Freeze
message.” John turns to Dr. De Flanders and smiles. “Dr. De Flanders, your
three-dimensional holoskin looks fantastic. Do you anticipate a breakthrough in
the skin tones?”
“They
shall be resolved soon,” De Flanders replies in a thick French accent. “We
don’t want anything too human, but subtle enough to not be a distraction.”
“Well,
it is a bit distracting.”
To John’s
alarm, De Flanders looks crestfallen. “Well, these things take time,” he says
hastily. “I’m loving it so far. Shall we have her pick up something from the
table?”
De
Flanders turns a pale shade of high-blood-pressure red and shifts in his chair.
“Yes, by all means. Have her pick this up.” He tosses a small I.D. card onto
the table.
“Messenger,
please pick up that card.” John points to the thin plastic object on the table.
The
holographic image, who now has half a body and two arms covered in the shiny
red holoskin, reaches out and fumbles the card in her fingers. The scientists eye
the hologram in worried anticipation. She tries again to retrieve the card,
this time firmly grasping it, then holding it up in front of her face.
“Incredible!”
says John. “Your formula and software are almost complete, Doctor?”
De
Flanders, who is now almost as scarlet as the hologram’s hair, clears his
throat and says, “Indeed. With your permission, John, I have software ready to be
uploaded to Metis 3. Also, a canister of holoskin to be used in trial. I’d like
to see what they can do with it, in practical terms.”
“Absolutely,
Doctor. As would we all. Tech Greely would love to get her hands on your
prototype.”
More
excited murmurings arise from the group.
“Indeed,
indeed,” says De Flanders, who nods and smiles, taking in the group’s adoration.
He hands John the small metallic square containing the prototype holoskin and
John places it on the table in front of him.
“Excellent.
So, now that this incredible demonstration is complete…” John turns to De
Flanders, who is still beaming with pride, and nods, then looks to the others,
his smile instantly falling away. “The reason we are called…the message from
Metis 3. I have to confess: I’ve already watched it. Without the skin, of
course.” De Flanders chuckles and appreciative murmurs arise from the group. “However,
before we watch, I want you all to consider our current financial situation, which no doubt may soon change if this
holoskin is practicably marketable. Let’s dim the lights, shall we?”
The
scientists look at each other in bewilderment, a faint grumbling rising as the
lights fade.
John
nods at the holographic woman. “Continue message.”
The
eyes of the beautiful face above the table blink twice, then begins to speak in
a calm, serene voice of harmonic triads so musical, it immediately relaxes the
gathering. “The crystalline organisms found on the lunar surface at 4.59
degrees south, 137.44 degrees east, in Crater 255, may be active. Metis 3
requests investigative analysis team on board. Further onsite testing requested,
within strict stabilization parameters.”
The
scientists glance at each other. Dr. Lee smiles. “Organisms? Can you be
specific?”
“Crystalline
structures similar to the ones found on Asteroid 752 last year.”
A
projection of several small, blueish crystals appears above the table.
“Ahhh…more
crystals,” says Beck, a tinge of excitement in his voice.
“And
they want us to send up a team?” asks Susman.
The
hologram’s eyes blink twice, then it turns to face Susman, who leans back in
her chair, somewhat flustered by a three-dimensional newly skinned hologram
staring at her. “Metis 3 Space Station has requested a team arrive as soon as
convenient.”
“What
makes the Metis 3 crew think these are living organisms?” Susman asks. “Did
they indicate if these specimens could just be more potential fossils?”
“I
am not programmed with that information.”
Dr.
Lee clears his throat. “What tests do they want to run? They have a full
complement of protocols there already.”
The
holographic woman’s eyes enlarge until they appear as projections of the testing
procedures. A list of requested names and protocols is superimposed over an image
of scientists in white lab coats performing tests.
Dr.
Susman addresses the group. “A full team is out of the question. Our budgets
are tight now; we all know this. Why the urgency?”
The
hologram appears to think for a second, then turns to Susman. “I do not have
that information.”
Dr.
De Flanders clears his throat. “I understood, John, that all messages would
include biomedical information of the crew. I am not seeing this.”
John
responds directly to the hologram. “Give me the biological data of the crew.”
“All
crewmember biosigns are within normal parameters.”
De
Flanders has a look of concern. “That’s rather a broad statement. Who sent this
message?”
“Metis
3 Space Station.”
“Yes,
yes, but who among the crew sent this message?” asks Susman, her cheeks flushing.
“I
do not have that information.”
“This
is highly irregular,” Susman continues. “Why the urgent request for a team?”
“This
request comes from Dr. Brie Thompson.”
Susman
shakes her head. “I don’t understand the meaning of this. We speak with the
crew weekly. Why this strange message? What specifically requires this breach
of protocol?”
“I
do not have that information.”
John
says, “I would suspect, Dr. Susman, that secrecy is the motive for this mode of
messaging. We all know our communications are monitored by outside entities.”
De
Flanders chews on a laser pen, then points it at the hologram. “But this is
shit, John! All samples are to be properly transported here, to this lab. And a
blanket statement of the crew’s health is absurd.”
The
scientists stir in their chairs and talk to each other in low tones. John raises
a hand to stop the chatter. “I’ll go to Metis 3. And I want Dr. Lee to come
with me.” He looks at Dr. Lee, who sits up. “A two-man team is better than no
team at all.”
Lee
taps his hand on the table. “I agree.”
Dr.
Beck leans forward. “I understand the latest search for indicator minerals for
gold—arsenic, antimony, tellurium, and selenium—have been found in Area 19.
What are we doing about that?”
John
feels his pulse surge and his face flush. “We’re talking about alien life here,
Beck. Not your search for gold.”
“My
search, as you so dismissively argue
against, time after time I might add, is what pays the bills around here. I
think it best you keep that in mind on your trip to Metis 3.”
“How
can I forget it, Dr. Beck? This miserable reality stares me in the face at
every meeting.”
Beck’s
eyes widen. “I will not be insulted by—”
“Easy,
Beck.” Dr. Lee places a hand on Beck’s shoulder.
Beck
stands and addresses the group. “A full report of the trace minerals and indicator minerals must be sent to
Plutus Mining as soon as possible. I’m sure they will want to have a hand in
your latest adventure to Metis 3. In the meantime, I want all mineral reports
on my desk forthwith. This alien thing, which I’m sure we all know is another
false alarm, is simply just another excuse to delay exploratory excavation
efforts.” Beck straightens his tie, pulling it off his ample belly and
smoothing it with his hands. “Presently, I have a conference call with Plutus.
Good day.” He leaves the room with hurried steps.
The
remaining members of the group sit in silence. Dr. Lee smiles at John and says,
“I think the hand that feeds us needs a few strokes, John.”
John
can’t help but smile. “Indeed…We all know Beck is a company spy for the mining
interests, brought on board at their insistence when they took on a substantial
amount of our budget. I can barely stand to look at him, not only because he is
a spy, but because he’s an over-educated social disaster. An unlikeable fellow
with a perpetual sneer on his lips.” John looks around the table. Reading his
colleagues’ reactions of shock and astonishment, he hastily admonishes himself.
“I’ve wanted to say that for months. Forgive me.”
But
each member of the group is smiling now. John can hardly contain his
excitement. So many emotions are rifling through him, it’s hard to pin one down.
He finally settles on happy. The
excitement of getting back into space and the prospect of finding alien life
are simply overwhelming.
“Beck
is a spy sent by greedy landlords to highjack our mission to the moon. But Beck
can be handled. Perhaps he is nothing more than an irritation to be salved and
smoothed over. However…finding alien life…now
that changes things!” He pauses and looks round, seeing his own enthusiasm
mirrored in his colleagues’ eyes. “Funding from the government will return. Private
money will no longer be an undue influence. The Metis Foundation will prosper. The
real mission, the one that inspired The Metis Program some thirteen years ago, to explore our solar system, will
continue as intended. After all, space exploration and the development of
scientific investigation are our founding principles.”
The
group bursts into spontaneous applause. Dr. Lee leaps to his feet and pumps John’s
hand with vigor.
As
John basks in the moment, the contents of the hidden coded message remains
troubling. The part of the message he hadn’t shown the committee was most
troubling indeed, and must remain a secret, for now. He’d be damned if he was
going to see his course changed by a lack of funds.
“Beck
needs his reports, Dr. Susman. Make sure you give him everything…related to
minerals. The other information, anything along the lines of say, alien life,
omit from his reports. Understood?”
Susman
smiles and nods her approval.
John
leans in toward the group. “Our mission has not changed. The spark that lit
this company has grown into a flame. I’ll not see it extinguished by greed.”
They
all nod. The electricity in the room is palpable.
“Yes,
we have an obligation to Plutus Mining. But that cannot, will not shape our future.” John stands and the others follow suit.
“We leave as soon as practicable.”
John
looks at the hologram above the table. She is frozen in an obsequious smile.
“Message received.”
The
woman blinks twice and vanishes in a brilliant flash of lightening. A snapping
thunderclap quickly follows, leaving small bits of translucent holoskin on the
table.
Dr.
Susman frowns. “Who the hell set that contraption to those ridiculous settings?”
She looks around the room to vague smiles from the men.
Lee
finally says, “I think he already left the room.”
*** ***
In his private office, John
sits behind his huge blonde maple desk. Dr. Lee sits off to the side in a
rather uncomfortable white plastic polymer chair. They both stare at the
equation as it floats above the desk.
4Al + 3O₂ = 2Al₂O₃
Lee points at the hologram
with his unlit pipe. “What’s this, again?”
“This
is the rest of the Level 3 message, Dr. Lee. I wanted to share it with you
privately.”
“Oh.”
Lee leans in toward the image, hesitates, then leans back. “And the others?”
“They
will know. Eventually. However, you may not reveal anything you see here until
I give clearance, understood?”
Lee
nods. “What’s going on, John? Secret messages?”
“The
moon rover problem, Doctor. You remember the beating we took on our funding
after that fiasco. If the press gets a hold of the real reason we are going to Metis
3, it could spell disaster for future funding.”
“Has
something gone wrong on the station?”
John
nods at the holographic equation. “Does it look familiar?” The equation slowly rotates left to right, above his desk.
“Not
really. It’s an equation. But why?”
“I
wanted a code word to be sent by the Metis 3 mainframe the minute it detected
something wrong with one of the onboard systems.”
“Which
system?”
“Have
you reviewed any recent orbital path reports from Metis Command?”
“Yes,
but I haven’t noticed anything out of the norm. I thought all systems—”
“Variations
in the Metis trajectory reports and ground trajectory reports are…troubling.”
Lee
shakes his head, and clenches the unlit pipe in his teeth. “I see. But I
haven’t seen anything—”
“I’ve
intentionally kept it quiet. Not a huge problem. But, one that needs
resolution.”
“I
see. And this message?”
“It
arrived today with the other one.”
“No,
I mean, which system is malfunctioning?”
“Well,
this particular equation is an indication of a navigation problem.”
“The
mainframe sent this?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps
it’s the mainframe that’s malfunctioning?”
John
stands and walks to the large window overlooking the parking lot. The sun is
bright. The grass is lush and green. The sky is clear. It’s a beautiful,
cloudless spring day. “Think of this message as my version of Amazonian frogs.”
“Frogs?”
“A
canary in a coal mine, as it were.” John turns to Dr. Lee. “There’s something
going wrong on Metis 3. I chose you because you are a medical doctor as well as
a top-notch engineer. Not a word of this to anyone, Dr. Lee.”
Lee
nods his head. “Of course.”
John
frowns. “I think the orbital reports we’ve been getting are inaccurate.”
“How
so?”
“Computer,
show me the telemetry reports for Metis 3’s last dozen lunar orbits.”
Above
the desk, next to the equation, a five-inch diameter holographic moon appears,
then a smaller Metis 3 Space Station appears in orbit. As the space station moves,
a series of three-dimensional lines trail from it, tracing the lunar orbit. The
yellow lines are wide enough to display trajectory data, illuminated in small black
font on each trail.
“Rather
dramatic visual…What am I supposed to be seeing, John?”
“Computer,
starting with this month’s calculations, speed up the orbit and align the data
for the third day of this month with each day of this week, and overlay those
numbers on the graph.”
The
moon and Metis 3 appear at eye level above the desk. The hologram representing
Metis 3 rapidly orbits the faux moon. Each orbit lines up with the next until a
single yellow line appears to ring the moon. They match up precisely,
indicating no variation or orbital decay.
“They
appear together, as one,” says Dr. Lee.
John
looks concerned. “Precisely. Now watch this: Computer, match all identical data
in telemetry reports from Metis 3 for the past month. Increase speed by ten.”
As
the holographic Metis 3 Space Station moves furiously around the moon, more
orbital data aligns until it is apparent most of the orbits are identical,
wrapped like a single yellow ribbon of overlapping data.
John
leans in toward the hologram and points. “The orbits appear identical because
they are. Most of these yellow lines are repeated calculations. No new orbital
data has come through in weeks. This…glitch,
for lack of a better term, is apparent in most of the navigational reports.”
“But
our tracking—”
“Granted,
these are the figures from Metis 3 only. Our Earth tracking station has the
more accurate telemetry data, but I won’t bother superimposing those now. Most
of the differences are nominal, but they are there.”
“What
does Command have to say?”
“We’ve
had several meetings. Maneuverability tests show she’s in great shape. There
doesn’t seem to be a major concern at this time. It’s just a strange anomaly we
need to investigate.”
“I
see. So, you’ve spoken directly with Mission Commander Davies?”
“Of
course, and I’ve noted this information to him personally. We’ve gone over it
several times with no absolute conclusions. He seems to think it’s a simple
systems failure and offered to have it fixed in a day or two. That was two
weeks ago. The reports are still the same. Since then, I’ve spoken to him and gotten
a similar response.”
“And
you’re thinking he’s doing this intentionally?”
“I
don’t know what to think.” John looks again at the hologram, then sighs. “Perhaps.”
“For
what purpose?”
“To
cover something up. A problem with navigation, the thrusters perhaps. As of
now, not life-critical, but he knows our funding is at a crucial stage. If this
mission does not succeed in all respects, we’re done.”
“I
see. So, you think it’s a matter of self-preservation on his part…”
“And
now we get this urgent request for additional team members to analyze potential
alien life forms.”
Lee
rubs the side of his face and frowns. “Do you think the request is genuine?”
“Our
daily communications, as you know, have been limited due to various glitches, sunburst
activity, and hardware issues. At this point, I can only take the request at
face value.”
Lee
pulls the pipe from his mouth and examines it, as if looking for answers.
“I
want you on board, Doctor. For the crew’s sake.”
“So,
you think Dr. Kern is…what, unreliable?”
“On
the contrary. She’s been a formidable team asset, up until now. But, I want all
her records examined. Currently, her medical reports are within standard protocol,
just like the orbital reports. The crew appears
to be in fine health.”
“Appears?
Are you saying the medical reports are duplicated as well?”
“I’m
not sure. I don’t know what purpose that may serve, but I was hoping you’d have
a close look at them.”
“Yes, of course. I understand.” Lee sits up in
his chair. Sweat beads on his forehead.
“I
want you ready by Thursday, next week.”
“That
soon, huh? That gives me what, seven days?” Lee removes a hanky from his back
pocket and wipes his face.
“Are
you all right, Michael? You seem a bit unnerved.”
“No,
no, it’s just…”
“Look,
I know this is short notice. It can’t be helped. Your readiness reports are all
good. You’re in excellent physical health.”
“Yes,
yes, of course.”
“But?”
John sits on his desk, and stares at Dr. Lee. “It’s Aiko, isn’t it?”
“She’s
having a tough pregnancy. Her delivery date is only a few months away. She’s
going to be very upset.”
“I
understand…” John’s voice trails off.
Visions
of his own wife’s smiling face pop into his head. She’s in her spacesuit, ready
to head into the Source 1 capsule. She turns to him, a broad smile upon her
face as she mouths the words, I love you.
Her lovely lips form the words as if captured by a slow-motion camera. But she’d
actually said it that slowly. Or was that just in his mind? Perhaps she hadn’t
said it at all. It was just a memory and memories can be unreliable, haunting.
This one usually comes to him at night, as he lies in bed. He imagines her as
she died, engulfed in flames, her smile melting like wax. He shakes his head, trying
to dislodge the image, and nods, as his focus returns to Dr. Lee. “I’ll ask Dr.
Harper, she’s ready—”
“No,
no. I’ll go. I want to go.” Lee’s eyes shine with the same intensity John saw
when he first interviewed Lee for the program. The burning hunger is still
there. “Of course I’ll go. She’ll be upset for a time, but this is…”
“Important.”
John says finally.
“Yes.
Of course it is,” Dr. Lee offers, somewhat unconvincingly. “She knew I was an
astronaut…”
“You
are my first choice. My only real choice, Michael, actually. Dr. Harper has
never been in space. I need your expertise in evaluating the crew in their
current environment.”
Lee
sucks on the unlit pipe, a look of concern etched on his face.
“Honestly,
Michael, when I speak with my chief science officer, Dr. Thompson, she says
it’s all fine, but I know the navigation/telemetry reports were generated, then
sent as duplicates. The Metis programming has so many fail-safes. I find it
impossible to believe the computer could or would generate these duplicate
reports without a human hand involved.”
“So,
you think Commander Davies is hiding something. What about this message? There are
no alien life forms, then? The message was a fake in order to get you up there?”
“Oh,
no. That message is very real. They do believe they may have found alien life.
Although the message, as you saw, was vague. Again, everything is vague. Not
like the crew at all. Completely unacceptable.”
Dr.
Lee stands up slowly, as if the gravity of the information is weighing him
down. He turns toward the window. John joins him, and they stand side by side
looking out at the parking lot. A small, sleek podcraft pulls into the lot. Its
aerodynamic egg shape and clear polymer dome allow the passengers little
privacy. An attractive young woman and a toddler get out of the craft. The little
boy stoops to pick up something off the fresh green grass. On the curb, walking
a few steps ahead, the woman stops and encourages the child to hurry. The boy
stands up, delighted by something he holds in his hand. The mother leans down
and speaks and the child releases a butterfly into the air. They both look on
in amazement as the insect flutters away.
“Alien
life,” says Dr. Lee. “Amazing…”
John
puts his hand on Lee’s shoulder. “The mission stress studies you’ve authored in
the past are crucial to informing our crew re-evaluations.”
“Thank
you. And thanks for your vote of confidence. I’ll begin preparations
immediately.”
“One
other thing, Michael.” John stands directly in front of Lee and looks him in
the eyes. “This is classified information. The telemetry, the crew evals, all
of it is top secret. No one is to know of our deeper concerns.”
“Yes,
of course.”
“That
includes the Committee.”
Lee
nods. “I understand, John. You can count on me.” His face brightens. “I do have
a question, though.”
“Yes,
I’m sure you do.”
“About
my filming the mission. I have an idea. You know I’m an amateur documentary filmmaker?
I’d like to take a new camera I’ve been using. To document our journey.”
“A
new camera, huh?”
“This
thing is amazing, John. I call it Smarteye. It does every type of filming you
could ask, and it downloads directly into an editing program, even making the
edits on its own, if you want that. I prefer to edit things myself, of course.”
“I’d
have to give approval before any recordings go public.”
“Of
course. Who knows, if there is alien life aboard Metis, it would be a huge
media event, and we’d already have a good visual document.”
“You
realize Metis is already loaded with visual and audio equipment? Each
compartment is covered.”
“I
guarantee you, Smarteye will amaze you.”
“Smarteye,
huh? Well, I can see you’re enthused by the idea. How can I say no to that?”
“Thank
you, John. You won’t regret it.”
“Excellent. Your new camera may record, but
only I can approve what will be released.”
Lee nods.
“And
say hello to Aiko for me.”
“I
will.” Dr. Lee walks to the door. Not bothering to look back, he adds without a
hint of cynicism in his voice, “She’ll appreciate that.” But John knows it’s
there. He knows Aiko didn’t want Dr. Lee to go on any of the three missions he’s
already undertaken in the last five years. Lee stops and turns, looking again
at the holograms. “So, that equation. Are you going to tell me what it is for,
or am I supposed to work that out for myself?”
John
smiles and says, “Besides it being an alarm
code, you mean? I’ll tell you when we’re aboard Metis 3.
Continued...
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