Beyond the Event Horizon - Episode Two Page 8

  “Are the weapons onboard combat-ready?”

  “Yes, sir, but you have no authority to use them.”

  “Not even in self-defence?”

  “Authorisation to use weapons in the atmosphere of Mars was revoked.”

  “Damn! How far away is EMC1906?”

  “Seven million kilometres, sir.”

  Steve did a quick mental calculation of the time needed for a signal to the ship and back. Roughly figured, about a minute. Plus reaction time.

  “Good. If we take off, can they shoot us down?”

  “It depends what class of weapons system they have.”

  “And if they are not military? Could they have something that could shoot us down?”

  “I do not have sufficient information to answer that question, sir.”

  Steve quickly glanced at the countdown. Time was passing relentlessly, a decision must be taken. If he took off, there was a risk of being shot down. In using weapons, even if Toshi had time to send the authorisation, he risked firing on his own side – ‘friendly fire’. If he did nothing and the approaching group were not ‘friends’, they would get their hands on a brand new drone, and Steve would probably pay for it with his life.

  “Is EMC1906 in line of sight?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Send a message. Text. This is Steve. Landed on Mars. No-one at landing site. Group of unknowns approaching me. Request unblocking of weapons for self-defence purposes...” dictated Steve, and then he thought for a second. “Can you reliably confirm that the message is from me and that I am alone in the cabin?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Send confirmation too. OK, send it!”

  “Message sent, sir,” replied the computer after a few seconds.

  “How will I know that the weapons are unblocked?”

  “I shall inform you as soon as I receive the permission, sir.”

  “If we have to take off, when would it be safest to do so?”

  “The relief of the land on the group’s heading has a small area of low ground. If they do not change direction, they will lose direct contact with us in one and a half minutes. That moment will be the optimum for carrying out the departure.”

  “So this is how it will be. Stay as we are, don’t shift, they don’t need to know we intend to take off. As soon as the weapon unblocking permission arrives, immediately contact the APC and order them all to stop. Warn them that if they do not obey they will be fired upon. And keep aiming at them so they’ll know we’re not joking. Three warnings at five-second intervals. If they don’t obey after the third, one warning shot. If that doesn’t work, shoot to kill.

  “And if there is no permission, leave as soon as we are hidden from sight.”

  “Sir, take your place in the seat.”

  “Take off the spacesuit?”

  “The spacesuit increases the risk of damage but gives a chance of survival in the event of an emergency seal breach. Therefore I propose that you close the visor and take your place in the seat.”

  Steve was in the seat quicker than he’d realised it himself. At times of mortal danger, perception of space and time alters. The brain takes and carries out decisions faster than its owner has time to realise it has happened. The eyes begin to see, and the ears to hear, only what is important; the rest ceases to exist.

  The seat again pressed on all of his body. The seconds, which up to then had been flashing by at a mad speed, suddenly slowed their tempo. It seemed to Steve as if the computer had slowed down the clock on the monitor.

  “Bogey two kilometres from edge of low ground,” reported an electronic voice. “ETA 34 seconds.”

  Steve did not take his eyes off the screen, which was relaying the image from the external camera. Two harriers headed the column, and there were others at the side of the APC.

  “ETA 15 seconds.”

  The camera was operating at such high magnification that the torsos of the harrier riders could be seen. One of them made some sort of gesture towards the drone.

  “ETA 10 seconds. Prepare for sudden manoeuvre. Sudden manoeuvre in 8, 7, 6...” the computer began counting aloud. Steve hunched up into a ball. He knew that the drone would start with such an overload that he might lose consciousness, and wake up only when they were in near-planet space. Or in the other world...

  “Authorisation arrived. Contacting bogey. Locking on to target. Locked on.”

  The lights of braking engines flared up in front of the APC. Almost simultaneously with this, the riders reared up and stopped uncoordinatedly. The whole group stopped dead. An instant later, the dust storm it had created caught up with it and hid it from sight.

  The visible spectrum image screen showed a picture in the infrared band. People were clearly visible, standing still, only turning their heads different ways.

  “Sir, they are replying to the warning.”

  “Switch on.”

  “Calling drone pilot, calling drone pilot. Over,” said a quiet voice from the loudspeakers.

  Steve took a few sips of water through the straw in his spacesuit, coughed and signalled to the computer.

  “Pilot online,” he said, trying to speak in as low a voice as possible.

  “This is Colonel Anderson. I have orders to meet you and escort you to the base. How do you read me? Over.”

  “Submit your cryptographic key for identification.”

  The colonel said nothing.

  “Sir, the identification was successful. The key submitted is valid,” confirmed the onboard computer a few seconds later.

  “Weapons on safety. Put me online again,” commanded Steve. “Identification accepted. Approach.”

  The rider at the head of the column was clearly seen making a sign to the others. The group moved off again, and a few seconds later was hidden from view in the low ground.

  Steve gestured for the microphone to be switched off, swung back his visor and took a deep breath, as if there was not enough air for him in the spacesuit. Closing his eyes for a second, he suddenly realised that he was devilishly tired. And he still had an eight-hour flight and contact with the aliens ahead of him. What a day!”

  # # #

  END OF EPISODE TWO

  Episode THREE is now available on Amazon

  --Live contact of civilisations

  --Getting to know another race

  --Meeting in a floating city

  --Taking the bull by the horns

  US link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00T57O4E2

  Thank you for reading my book. The next episode will be published shortly.

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  MY OTHER BOOK:

  Entangled (a short story)

  Aaron has cheated death once more... the heart attack didn’t kill him, just made him contemplative, walking the corridors of his life’s memories. Read Aaron’s incredible journey, written in a comfortably lazy, lyrical style that evokes all the senses – all the tastes, aromas and sweet touches of life.

  Entangled is now available on Amazon for free

  US link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00J9GV08M

  An excerpt from “Entangled”:

  Aaron came to, opening his eyes with some difficulty. He could dimly make out the contours of the room. His surroundings lacked any distinct detail, just random grey-coloured silhouettes and strange shapes which, when looked at more closely, merged into familiar objects.

  He tried to raise himself up off the bed to see more but was unable, his arms were not up to the task - his muscles simply refused to do their job. He would have to settle for just moving his eyes. Moving his head also proved impossible. An impotent weakness enveloped his whole body.

  OK. Now he understood. It was a hospital. Aaron had absolutely no memory of how he had ended up there, which meant it had happened again. His doctor had warned him that sooner or later it would happen, and it looked like that time had come.
He had had a heart attack. The second in two years.

  Aaron could feel his teeth chattering as if he were freezing to death. But he was well covered, he was warm, so it was not from cold. It had been the same last time. Maybe fear? No, he was not scared of death. The worst was already behind him. The very fact that he was lying in a hospital bed looking at a hospital ward meant that this time around he had survived again. Everyone died at some point, and one day it would be his turn, but not this time. This time he had pulled through.

  In a way, he was already getting used to the thought of his death. After his first heart attack, he had not been himself at all. Back then, the first time round, when he had also come to in a hospital bed, the doctor had told him what had happened and he had almost broken down. He knew that his life would no longer be the same ever again. Tears had run down his ageing, wrinkled cheeks and he had been unable to stop them. This time, however, it was bearable.

  Suddenly, the door swung open and a doctor came into the ward, followed by a nurse. Aaron could barely make out the outlines of the newcomers, but he could distinguish the silhouettes and hear steady footsteps. In a hospital, only the doctors walk with such confidence. The patients are too weak and visitors tread softly, trying not to make too much noise. They practically walk on their tiptoes. The doctors, however, are a different matter. They stomp around like soldiers on parade. Also, he could smell them. A smell that only doctors in white coats give off. Even with his sense of smell, dulled by noxious vapours after forty years in a factory, he could tell them a mile away.

  "Good morning, Aaron! How are you feeling?" said the taller and leaner silhouette. His voice was encouraging. The atmosphere in the ward seemed to lose some of its melancholy and become more welcoming.

  "Sister, would you open the window please? It is a little stuffy," said the doctor.

  Aaron watched the second, smaller silhouette obediently move over to the window, pull at the sash cord and open it with a rattling screech. Noise from the street burst into the ward. The twitter of birds, the conversation of passersby, the clicking of heels on the pavement. After a moment, Aaron could feel the cool air flowing in from outside. First it touched his cheeks, then it blew down his thinning, grey hair to his shoulders, and soon it enveloped him completely, hugging him in a cold embrace that he could feel even through his warm blanket. The chilly freshness was more than welcome. It had a particular smell, which for some reason he always associated with the smell of watermelons.

  Suddenly he saw an image of himself many years before, also springtime, arriving home from work with a bag containing an enormous, stripy watermelon. He had only been married for a short while and he and his wife had just moved into their first apartment together. Their firstborn could already sit up unaided, and Jessica was pregnant with their second. Hearing the front door close, she popped her head around the kitchen door.

  "Ah, it's you. Wash your hands and sit down. Dinner’s on the table already," she said to him, her words coming out in a rush. In one hand she held an empty baby bottle, having only just finished feeding the baby.

  The food was already waiting for him on the table, and there was a wonderful smell rising up from the steaming plate. Jessica rocked their child in her arms. The baby was looking at the enormous watermelon in his father’s arms wide-eyed, as though it was an unknown miracle.

  Aaron washed the stripy fruit, wiped it dry and took out a large knife. No sooner had he sunk the knife through the thick skin when a crack appeared along the back of the watermelon. The small kitchen was immediately filled with its aroma, an aroma that was the very essence of freshness. He cut off a small slice and tasted it.

  "How sweet it is. The baby will love it. Do you want some?" he asked his wife.

  "Go on then."

  He cut two pieces from the very middle and carefully removed all the seeds, then gave one to Jessica and held the other out to his son. He opened his mouth obediently and Aaron fed him a piece. The boy ate the juicy fruit noisily and happily. As he chewed, he looked at both his parents in wonderment.

  "Do you like it, my little teddy bear?"

  Their teddy bear reached out towards the table where the fragrant watermelon sat.

  "You want some more?"

  The child laughed. It would have been impossible for him not to have liked the sweet delicacy. Aaron cut another piece. They stood like that in the small kitchen and watched as their tiny little son ate watermelon for the first time in his life. Aaron hugged Jessica from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder and stroking her stomach. In her seventh month of pregnancy, she was gradually starting to look like a watermelon. And that is what he called her - my little watermelon.

  Jessica came up with the nickname herself. Six months ago when they had been planning their holiday, Aaron had not been able to get time off at the beginning of the summer as he had wanted, only nearer the end. His wife was already pregnant, so did not like the idea of having their holiday three months later than planned.

  "I'll be bobbing about in the sea like a watermelon," she’d said at the time, and Aaron had laughed, imagining what she was going to look like. It really had been funny, and her description proved to be spot on.

  Now, however, he was standing embracing his wife and looking at their son. Jessica tilted her head back slightly and her brown hair brushed against his face. He could smell her hair and feel the warmth of her body. And in her arms their first son sat quietly, unable to tear his eyes away from the watermelon. Aaron knew he would remember this moment for the rest of his life.

  * * *

  US link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00J9GV08M

  Albert Sartison, 2015