Lokians 1: Beyond the End of the World (2 page)

A resounding
Ohhh
was howled by the
others. Swain, who was a little older than the rest of the crew
stated that with age came wisdom. Before his mission aboard the
Phoenix
, he had made many of the modifications on current,
exploration technology. It was his expertise that captured aerial
photographs of the dig site. At closest range he snapped pics two
miles above, revealing a perfectly circular area with no plant
growth. It was believed some form of radiation was probably leaking
out, stunting the growth of plant life in the vicinity.

O’Hara nodded to his crew as he passed them
on the way to the latrine. He entered with his tactical armor in
tow and promptly sat on the john. The bright, white light made the
floor tiles radiate a blinding reflection. He shut his eyes, trying
to relax.

“
C’mon now, we both know as soon as I
put this suit on, you’re going to want to go. Let’s just do
this.”

He often talked to himself, especially in
such a situation, griping about intestinal distress, which surfaced
every time something major was at stake, but that was just the way
it was. He chuckled.
Maybe I’ll just start putting on my chest
plate
, he thought,
bet that’ll get me going
. A knock on
the stall door broke his concentration.

“
Ten minutes to landing, Cap,” Martinez
said, his voice echoing in the steel latrine.

“
Acknowledged,” O’Hara replied as he
finished his business. “Now, number two is no longer my number one
priority.”

“
Glad you told me,” Martinez
snipped.

Ensign Martinez was an ordnance specialist
and possibly the craziest member of O’Hara’s crew. He was a tiny
Puerto Rican, who knew everything there was to know about
explosives and demolition. Word was, he once rigged himself with
some concussive, blast caps in order to blow his way through a
training exercise. Naturally, he wound up in sickbay with a mild
concussion. Martinez was barreling through the ship’s steel
corridors then, rounding up everyone needed for the mission.
Shortly thereafter, they all met in conference room B. Oddly
enough, there was no conference room A, a possible oversight about
which the crew enjoyed asking the AMS.

The conversation usually proceeded as
follows:
AMS, we need to meet in conference room A, please
confirm the room is available for use.

Searching, locating, error; room not found.
Please, restate query.

Check conference room A for availability.

Searching; no scheduled usage for said
location.

Good, give location please.

Searching, locating, conference room A is
located 730 miles to the northeast.

That would place me outside the Phoenix. How
can the room be outside the ship?

Error, checking logs, error; attempting to
communicate with servos. No response.

Though the foolishness had simply been a
device to break the monotony, Swain proposed reprogramming the AMS
to reroute all requests for room A to room B, but they voted
against him, so, in room B, they eagerly awaited their captain for
mission objectives. O’Hara entered moments later, wearing his full,
battle dress, gray and black armor with strategic plating to
protect the vitals. All his men were lined up at attention also in
full gear. Battle dress was composed of a thick, airtight material.
The suits not only provided strategic, defensive plating, they also
provided an automated, life support system calibrated to their
specific needs. O’Hara nodded to his crew and the scientists as he
made his way to the lectern. The scientists, who also grew up on
the same, militarized colonies, weren’t Navy men, something their
civies reflected.

Room B was a small room with a steel desk in
the center bolted to the floor. A lectern with control panels stood
opposite the door at the other end of the room also bolted to the
steel floor. There were many panels in the walls and ceilings,
which either displayed images on a screen or projected some three
dimensional schematics. Some panels were for sound or lighting.

“
Roll call,” O’Hara announced, “Becker,
DeReaux, Fitzpatrick, Imes, Martinez, Nandesrikahl, Swain,
Zakowski.” They all replied,
present
, so he proceeded to
call the civilians. “Chadwick, Levine, Mickelson, Nicholson,
Royce.” They, too, replied,
present
. “Alright,” O’Hara
chirped. “Let’s begin with the aerial photograph provided by
Swain.” He pressed a button on the lectern, causing a screen to
lower from the ceiling. It stopped halfway and he cursed under his
breath. After gripping it and tugging while the others choked back
laughter, he finally shook the piece of crap loose. He then dimmed
the lights and pressed another button. The photograph displayed on
the screen. “As you can see, we have a large circular area with no
life signs. Our instruments haven’t detected any radiation, but
we’ll try to see if we can pick up anything on the way
there.

“
Now, none of our equipment functions
in this location, so we’ll have to do everything by hand. The first
thing we’ll do is set up a mobile camp one mile from the dig site,
which is far away enough from any possible exposure. Once the camp
is set, DeReaux and Fitzpatrick will escort geologist Mickelson to
the dig site where he’ll collect surface samples. The three of them
will promptly return and begin studies. Yes, Nicholson?” he asked
when the nerd fidgeted, uncontrollably

Nicholson awkwardly lowered his hand to
shoulder level, looking ruffled. “Uh, Sir, I’m not a
geologist.”

O’Hara grumbled, “I said Mickelson, dude;
that was Mickelson, DeReaux and Fitzpatrick. They’ll return and
begin studies on the soil sample. With any luck, we’ll conclude
zero danger of radiation. Should this not be the case then we
employ Chadwick, Swain, and Nandesrikahl for a thorough
cleaning.

“
I guess we have an ionized compound or
something Chadwick threw together. It’s supposed to soak up any
surface radiation. If, for whatever reason, it isn’t necessary,
we’ll move straight to the second step; clearing away as much
surface debris as we can to obtain further soil samples for
composition studies. That’ll probably round out the rest of the
day, so we may as well move out.”

****

Day had taken the helm, guiding the ship
towards Eon. She slowly penetrated the atmosphere as Roberts, a
young, black woman, gave out readings, regarding angle of descent
and deceleration speeds.

“
Estimated time of landing, three
minutes,” Roberts stated.

“
Acknowledged. Adjusting for wind
speeds. Decelerating,” Day replied.

****

Beyond the atmosphere’s periphery, the AMS
recalibrated for excessive wind speeds. By the end of the third
minute, the
Phoenix
extended eight, hydraulic stands to
evenly distribute its weight over brownish soil. The ship’s hull
was reminiscent of a red and silver bird. Its paint job made it
look like a phoenix, a scaly phoenix, due to innumerable, tiny
plates fashioned to allow for structural changes resulting from
various, atmospheric pressures; it was a special vessel designed
specifically to land on other planets, bodies exhibiting radically
dissimilar environments.

****

“
We’re here,” Roberts
cheered.

The surrounding crewmembers applauded the
successful first landing ever, a feat no less amazing than the
first moon landing. At the other end of the ship, O’Hara and
company exited conference room B, entered the service elevator,
went down to the loading zone and waited for the all clear. While
O’Hara was in charge of Phoenix Crew, Admiral Lay, who was
stationed back on colony Alpha-6, managed O’Hara, and the
Phoenix
itself. From the colony, the admiral maintained
command and gave all orders to the spec ops team.

The captain and crew traversed the spacious
loading area. Heading for the bay door rather than the personnel
egress, they clomped through the expanse, snatching up what little
they required for erecting base camp. Then, as soldiers and
scientists waited, they stood as a family for one, tantalizing
moment.

“
We are go for mission, Admiral,”
O’Hara spoke through the comm. link he wore on his left
ear.

“
Acknowledged. You may begin. This is
your mission, O’Hara. Route any findings back to the colony when
you have solid results. Out,” Admiral Lay disconnected.

The bay door opened, releasing hydraulic
pressure with a hiss. An orange glow wormed into the loading zone,
paled by artificial lighting. Holding their breaths, the crew
stepped down the loading platform and onto Eon. For the first time
in their lives, they took deep breaths of real air. The oxygen on
Eon was a little more concentrated than that of Earth, but not pure
like the oxygen pumped through the vents on ships and colonies. It
was quasi-euphoric with a peculiar, almost living, scent. Nicholson
sneezed.

“
Alright, everyone take in the sights,
but move quickly. We plan on arriving outside the dig site in an
hour. Move out,” O’Hara ordered.

The ground was level, an easy terrain to
traverse, but what made it odd was that their combat boots didn’t
squeak on the natural ground; a peculiarity they found extravagant,
and they carefully scrutinized each step for the first few minutes.
Everyone there had been raised on the Alpha-6 colony. Since it was
located on an asteroid in the Alpha belt, everything there was
synthetic. The air, the ground, and the light were all artificial
constructs. Any mission or training exercise that took place
outside the bunkers or buildings required special, synthetic
gravity equipment. Food was grown in dirt, but that dirt was
precious and kept in pots in greenhouses. No one ever dared
covering a floor with dirt and walking on it just to see how it
felt. What they experienced that fateful day was different; soft
ground gave way with every step.

Above their heads, the lit, purple expanse
looked so far away. It was disorienting. They were all used to
ceilings above their heads. Outdoor training exercises required
space gear, and travel outside only revealed an ominous, black
void, or the occasional star speckled void. Optimistically, they
pressed onwards.

The next thing they noticed were sounds on
Eon, different than the sounds of a vessel or colony. The buzzing
was intermittent and organic unlike the cold, calculating hums of
machinery. There were no voices, either, something rarely
experienced. The air moved of its own accord, too. Finally Martinez
broke the silence.

“
Go-od damn,” he shouted, unable to
contain his excitement. “I can’t believe how amazin’ this is, Cap.
Ma-an, I never thought I see somethin’ like this.”

Everyone nodded in agreement. No vids or pics
had prepared them for the realness of the situation. Twin orbs of
faint, orange light burned dimly, semi-lighting their way,
providing a twilight sensation too real for words.

“
I’m afraid I’ll wake up back inside
the ship,” Nandesrikahl said with a thick, British
accent.

Though he was of Indian decent, his
grandparents were from South Africa, so he had one of those
accents, which belied a condescending facade. It was an illusion,
however, one he often played to annoy his mates. In reality, he was
always respectful of everyone.

“
Let’s hope this is for real. I’m
anxious to get started,” Mickelson remarked.

The two mile hike took about forty five
minutes. None of them felt the passage of time. There were so many
sights, sounds, and smells, they nearly went into sensory overload.
Plants of all colors swayed from breezes, which caressed their
faces. Some of the golden trees were immense in stature, and small
organisms scurried up and down trunks. The ship relay
communications unit finally dinged, and Swain checked their
position.

“
Crap! We’re already here, Captain,”
Swain announced.

“
Right,” O’Hara heaved. “We’ll begin
setting up camp. DeReaux, Fitzpatrick grab Mickelson. You guys got
five to break then move out.”

The two snapped to attention following with a
salute, which O’Hara returned. DeReaux was a refined man of French
descent, tall, thin, and swarthy. He always seemed to be sniffing
the air, maybe for fine wine, or maybe for fine women. His
confidence, borderline, arrogance simply gave such impression.

As a handsome man with thick black hair, a
great sense of humor, a lady magnet for all intents and purposes,
he had good reason to be confident. His skills weren’t lacking,
either—the military skills nor the lady killer skills. He was the
finest sniper the academy had seen on Alpha-6 in over thirty years,
rivaled only by Admiral Lay himself.

There was no expectation of battle during the
mission, but O’Hara mandated a degree of security. Having the top
sniper was a good idea. Having the top spotter accompany him was a
better idea. Fitzpatrick was a manly, Irish woman. She and O’Hara
were family friends. Their familial ties dated back to the initial
colonization of asteroids. Helen Fitzpatrick was not a homely
woman, but she was tough and butch. She sported a buzz cut, cussed
more than Marty, and had been caught checking out a few ladies.

She was known to spot the slightest change
over any horizon. If there was movement, or a visual incongruity,
her eagle eyes picked it up. She was also fairly good with a rifle
herself, though she preferred setting up for DeReaux rather than
shooting, so they made a great team.

“
Alright, Frenchie, lets grab the doc
and move out,” she said.