Moving at a relatively slow pace, the space elevator lumbered along the side of the space station. This protracted down time allowed for the alien deputy to reconnect with his previous occupation. Namely, the art and science of building things.
“Book 58,” Joseph rattled off the journal number which corresponded to the transportation tube’s design characteristics.
“58?” Justine stared at the deputy while he milled around the compartment. “How many of those books did you have again?”
“But to be honest,” blinded by the past, he ignored her question and excitedly pointed to a pair of small bracing struts which ran parallel with the heavily plated floor. “For a lift system, it’s old-fashioned. You see the small rivets bolted into the floor, here and here.” Justine and Foster both nodded in unison. “They’re made from a material called Dunami.”
He stomped down on one of the rivets with his boot. But the show of force couldn’t even scuff the dull metal. “Strong, durable, some of the older survey ships still use the stuff. But most modern vessels require a much heavier alloy.”
“Joseph,” Justine’s attention was diverted away from the alien’s structural explanation by a small control panel that continuously displayed the elevator’s position in reference to a crude diagram of the station. “Why do you say that every time we ask you a question?”
“Say what?”
“Book 4… Book 58”
The burly deputy shot a quizzical look at her before hoisting himself away from the floor. “I thought I explained back at my house, Agent Rushing. The journals help me sort through the memories I’ve collected. Saying the numbers make retrieving things I’ve learned over the years easier.”
“I understand that.” She leaned close to the panel. “But is it necessary to say the book number out loud every time you recall something?”
“No,” Joseph supposed it wasn’t. “I usually edit that part out. But I’ve been living secretly for the past twenty years on your planet. It’s just nice to be able to acknowledge what makes me… me.”
“I get it,” she said warmly. Being a science fiction nerd, that last part of his explanation made Justine smile. But before she could acknowledge the connection further, her chance slipped away. Because Joseph quickly went back to scouring every corner of the spacious compartment for construction flaws.
“Hoover,” her eyes shifted back to the panel, as her excitement continued to build with every second the elevator rose. “What is this level called again?”
“According to this elevator’s extremely limited control device, this level is designated by a series of 25 numbers and 8 symbols. I could try and translate it for you directly. But for the sake of my time and your sanity, let’s call it Level two.”
Foster leaned up against the opposite wall with his arms folded across his chest. “And what does the Commodore 64 say about what’s on level 2?”
“It says nothing, only the level designator. I guess whoever built this station didn’t plan on welcoming tourists.”
“That’s a shame.” Justine rocked back and forth on her heels as the dot that represented the elevator’s ascension climbed within a hair’s breadth of their destination. “This place sure could have used a concierge desk.”
At those words, a light began blinking near the top of the control panel as the diagram dissolved into a thick white line. Soon, the elevator made an unsettling lurching sound before coming to an abrupt halt. As if running on instinct, all three of them tensed and waited for the doors to open.
“Do we have to do anything else?” Justine asked cautiously. “Or is this thing like a normal elevator?”
A new book number on his tongue, Joseph’s diatribe was preempted by the doors opening with a hiss to reveal nothing but utter darkness.
“Hoover,” Foster eased forward, being careful to stay within the small shaft of light coming from the elevator’s internal lighting. “Are you picking up anything?”
“No,” Hoover replied, after a minute of scanning. “The PDS is detecting some low-level EM signatures, but nothing I would consider complex enough to be a computer system.”
“Are there any kind of lighting controls?”
“Not that I can detect.”
Foster looked back at Joseph, who for the first time since arriving on the station, was at a loss to describe what to do next.
“Standard procedure is to design a ship’s lighting to be motion activated. That way, you don’t spend half your trip looking for a light switch.” He eased forward, and together they stared into the seemingly endless darkness. “But like I said before, this design is antiquated. Maybe it’s time for your tiny disco ball.”
“Yes,” Justine raised her Slinger and chirped excitedly. “I really like the way that thing hovers.”
“You do, huh?” Foster procured the sphere from his satchel and began to shake it. Without looking, he could tell Justine’s face was practically beaming with eagerness.
“You know…” He flipped his wrist. The device sailed into the air and hung silently on an invisible perch awaiting instructions. “You don’t have to be so excited every time we’re about to jump off a metaphorical cliff.”
“Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” Justine retorted a little too loudly. “It’s one of my favorite movies.”
“You know,” Hoover couldn’t help to chuckle at her cinematic admission. “That explains a lot of what’s wrong with you.”
"If by wrong, you mean what's awesome. Then yes, that movie does explain a lot about what's 'wrong' with me."
"Explain it to me again, Foster. How did you end up in the loony bin and not someone like her?"
"Like me?" Justine almost sounded hurt.
"Stop it, both of you." Foster interjected coldly before refocusing them on the task at hand. "Seven feet, Hoover, and let's try not to smash into any more walls."
“It’s not my fault the PDS has PMS.”
“Excuse me,” Justine never considered herself a feminist, but this was too much. “What do you mean… PMS?”
“I mean that sometimes it can be a little temperamental for no good reason.”
She didn’t even have to look at Foster for him know how pissed off she was. “Tell your little program, Foster, that if he doesn’t cool it with the PMS jokes. I’m going to reprogram that tablet of his, so it runs on DOS.”
“She wouldn’t even know how to do that.”
“Would she have to know how to do that?” Foster clutched at his satchel a little tighter. “She could just shoot the damn thing.”
Surprisingly, the 8-ball ignored Foster’s warning by rotating back and forth on its x-axis. Maddeningly, the device seemed to weigh its options before rising approximately two feet before stopping abruptly. Remembering the mini-sun, Foster asked, “Are you sure there isn’t a way to activate only a few lights on that thing?”
“No… but I could strobe them so fast that your brain might be fooled into thinking it’s not as bright. Though, if anyone’s prone to seizures, it could get messy.”
“I don’t think we need a medical emergency right now, Hoover.” Foster tried his best to make out anything in the darkness. When he couldn’t, he said. “Just crank them down as far as you can.”
Hoover remotely triggered the ball’s fiber optics, and soon everything within twenty feet was bathed in a sea of harsh light. Temporarily blinded, it took a minute for their eyes to adjust. Eventually, the change in illumination evened out enough for the intrepid explorers to see what mysteries lay ahead of them.
“I don’t get it.” Justine slowly lowered her gun as she took in her meager surroundings. “You said this place was a mile and a half long.”
“That’s how the math works out.”
Before them, lay a small ten by ten room that consisted of four, weathered, greenish brown walls. Being careful not to look at the 8-ball directly, Justine eased toward the center of the small room. She looked up, half expecting to see some strange contraption hovering above them or a never-ending ceiling of stars.
What she got was a ceiling made from the same brown and green dissatisfaction. “That was monumentally disappointing.”
“Well, I guess we can check level 2 off our list of places that human prisoners could be hiding.” Foster cautiously joined her. “Maybe level 3 will hold more answers.”
“Not so fast!” Joseph scrambled into the room, spun around, then began quickly searching for something that should be there. “Book 73,” he exclaimed upon finding a piece of poorly welded sheet metal affixed to one of the walls. “I haven’t seen one of these things in a long time.”
“Is that a human long time? Or an alien long time?” Foster asked, only half joking.
“Now’s not the time for jokes, Foster.” Justine admonished.
“That depends on the joke,” Hoover responded in his friend’s place. “Besides, he’s not even listening to you.”
They looked at the deputy who was indeed ignoring their conversation. Instead, he prodded the piece of metal until something broke loose. Then, with a little effort from him, the dinged-up flap of metal slid sideways revealing a piece of grated plastic that bore a striking resemblance to a small air vent.
“Usually everything is separated by a bulkhead or two.” Joseph examined this new section before pressing his palm firmly against the metallic mesh. Almost immediately, a soft sucking sound began to emanate from the edges around his palm. This elicited a huge grin from the deputy. “This is a liquid airlock.”
“A liquid what?” Justine’s brain tried to wrap around the glaring dichotomy of that statement.
“A liquid airlock,” the sucking sound vanished, and behind them, the elevator doors ominously closed. Joseph giggled a little too loudly.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“You see, this panel samples a traveler’s DNA pattern then configures the space to their specific needs.” Justine looked at him with unsure eyes. “Not everything in the universe breathes oxygen, Agent Rushing. Or for that matter a gas. Some species live their whole lives in a liquid environment. And when they want to travel from planet to planet, they are required to take some of that environment with them.”
“Liquid environment,” Justine’s chest tightened slightly. “You mean this room is going to fill up with water?”
“No,” Joseph said hastily. “This specific type of airlock was designed for a hybrid species. So, it handles both air and water.”
“Hybrid species,” Foster heard a succession of metallic clicks coming from the far side of the room. He turned around in time to see the once sturdy looking wall begin to slightly shift inwards. After a second, the askew segment slid silently into the subfloor, revealing a much larger section beyond. “What kind of creature is a hybrid species?”
Joseph hurried toward the new opening, stopping just short of crossing over as an unfamiliar aroma blasted his senses. “Hybrids are a species that can’t decide which way to let evolution take them. My people would often call them the ‘Cheater’ races.”
“Cheaters…?” Foster’s nostrils scrunched up in protest at the same odor that was currently attacking the deputy’s nostrils. He pulled out his small, upgraded phone then slid his thumb across the touch screen. The 8-ball quickly adjusted course and silently floated forward into the larger chamber. Once inside, it initiated a grid search to determine the boundaries of the new room. “Why would you call them cheaters?”
Joseph clamped down on his nose to block the mysterious smell’s effect. While somewhat effective, this approach failed to get rid of it completely. “We call them cheaters because that’s what they do,” he said, in a nasally voice. “They can’t decide what to be, so they don’t.”
Justine, who had managed up until now to tune out this little morality play, took long exaggerated breaths while stalking the hovering 8-ball like a hunter would shadow its prey. “Don’t you guys love this smell?”
“No,” they both chimed in unison behind her. “We don’t.”
“Well,” she said wistfully, “I can’t get enough of it.”
The sphere’s light tracked a steady course until the appearance of another, slightly more damaged, flat green wall halted its progress. Surprised by the amount of water damage, Justine held out her hand to run her fingertips against a rather large section of oxidized rust. Pieces of the once pristine wall flaked away then drifted to the floor like faded leaves in the fall.
“How long ago was this place flooded?”
“What do you mean flooded?” Foster shook the upgraded phone, and its darkened four-inch screen flickered to life. The display contained four small icons and a series of tiny readouts. Each icon represented a way to record data from ambient temperature readings, moisture concentration, to elevation, and position. “And how would you know this place was flooded?”
“Besides the smell,” she wiped her hands clean of space rust. “Look down at your feet.”
As she suggested, both men bowed their heads and were surprised to see streaks of brown rust and calcified lime beneath the soles of their feet.
“That’s weird.” Not seeing the desired app, Foster shook the phone again. Instantly, the previous screen pushed over to reveal ten new ones. On the last row was an image of a microphone, titled only by the word PING.
“Right? The only thing this place is missing is some barnacles.” Vivid memories from her youth swam through her head, and Justine laughed. “Some pirate treasure would be nice also.”
“This isn’t right.” Joseph removed his fingers from his nose long enough to peer up into the shadow-filled ceiling. “That room shouldn’t have ever been flooded with water. That’s not how it’s built.”
“What do you mean?” Justine swiveled her head around. “I thought you said this was a liquid airlock. Why wouldn’t there be water in here?”
The deputy drew closer to the wall but stopped short of touching anything. “This part of the system was designed for communication between an air and water species.” The perplexed look he received from Justine told him to make his explanation relatable. “You’re a cop. Just think of this room as a visiting area where two people separated by the law can speak to one another.”
“Like the part of the jail with the phones and the bulletproof glass?”
“Exactly like that.”
She searched around for any signs of weird technology. Maybe something that could be used as a communication device. But everywhere her eyes roamed, nothing but decay and corroded metal could be found. “So, if this is a visiting area, where are the phones?”
“More importantly, where’s the glass?” Foster pressed the PING icon and instantly, the room filled with a loud belching noise.
Pouring forth from inside the 8-ball, the sound wave washed over everything in its path before quickly disappearing into a fading echo. Before anyone could question his actions, Foster happily pocketed the smaller phone, satisfied that the techs at Meade had gotten something else working correctly.
“Glass,” Justine saw the emitters on the larger tablet begin to cycle to life. Excited by the prospect of something new on the horizon, she drew closer to get a better look at the weirdly hypnotic startup orb from the mobile lab. “What about the glass?”
Foster pressed on the large blue sphere, and it morphed into a large rectangular screen full of hundreds of different icons. Directly in the middle of this sea of choices flashed a small folder which read NEW DATA. “Face association, Agent Rushing.”
He tapped the icon and watched the hologram dissolve away, revealing an accurate depiction of the 8-ball, only smaller.
“I know that unlimited texting has trained everyone to tweet out their thoughts. But it used to be important to hear the words someone was saying to you. And I think a species, especially one so far removed from their intended contact, would not only want to hear that person’s voice, but see their face.”
The small digital orb briefly pulsed again as lines shot outward from its center resembling ripples on a pond. Then, like paint spilling over a blank canvas, these sonic ripples fashioned a simple 3d model of the room they were now standing in.
“There,” Joseph pointed to the now finished holographic model. “You see how there are openings cut perpendicular into the ceiling. That’s where your glass should be.”
Foster handed the tablet to an anxious Justine as Joseph, being the ever-consummate builder, began inspecting the tiny little bar emitters for any obvious construction flaws. “I still can’t believe that you have technology like this on earth.”
Justine protectively shooed him away from the tablet. “You mean there’s nothing like this on the other side of the universe.”
“Nothing this small,” Joseph prodded the hologram with his finger. “On the larger ships, navigators use a variation of this technology to map out routes. But those emitters are massive compared to these. I’ve never seen anything this tiny and precise before.”
“It’s state of the art,” her voice carried a hint of pride. “Foster designed it.”
Joseph began to halfheartedly nod when Hoover exploded over their earpieces like an angry rooster crowing at dawn. “He co-designed it. We worked on it together.”
Foster was already shaking his head in disbelief as Justine glowered at him. “Are you really going to start arguing patent rights while we’re on an alien space station?”
“You know I will, Foster. I don’t care where we are.”
As he had for the past hour. Joseph listened to them have a conversation with this mysterious third party named Hoover. And finally, he’d had enough. “Listen, I know it’s a long story, and this entity is private. But I’m tired of being left out of half the conversations.”
“Sorry,” Justine whispered. “I keep forgetting you don’t have an earpiece.”
Before she could ask, Foster was already digging around in his satchel for an additional unit.
“You’ll probably regret getting this,” he warned the deputy as he handed over a polished black earpiece. Joseph just stared at the device like it was a puzzle to be solved. “Like I told Agent Rushing, misery loves company.”
“What’s this supposed to be?” Holding the bud between his thumb and forefinger, a circle of blue began to glow faintly around the base just like it had two days ago with Justine. But unlike her, he didn’t drop it. “It looks like a standard tactical mic.”
“Just pop it in your ear.”
Obediently complying with Foster’s unusual order, Joseph half expected to hear a docile voice asking him if there was anything it could do to make him happy. What he got was the tail end of Hoover’s crescendo of disturbing expletives. “And don’t even get me started about that fuck up in Langley!”
Joseph listened intently for a couple of seconds with a look of absolute incredulity. Foster couldn’t help but laugh at the reactions his friend often elicited. “I told you.”
Finally confident his point on patents was made, the A.I. accessed the 8-ball’s internal guidance systems. Then, utilizing the upgraded mapping telemetry, he maneuvered the sphere back toward the middle of the room where it hovered silently.
“This,” Hoover cautioned as the 8-ball slowly ascended into the darkness above, “will probably turn out to be a terrible idea.”
“Please,” Foster guided Justine backward to a position where they both could get a better viewing angle on what the fiber optics were illuminating. “You love bad ideas.”
“I love my bad ideas.” With a jerk, the small ball of light rose until a series of overhead beams running parallel to the floor blocked its path. As rusty and decayed as the rest of the room, these cross beams attached at specific points to form what looked like a dozen large industrial windowless frames.
Without being told, Hoover swiveled the orb underneath this symmetrical superstructure. Then the ball stopped suddenly. “Should I take it up?”
Foster didn’t even bother to ask Joseph whether it was safe. “You’re the one that hates secrets.”
Silently acknowledging that fact. Hoover allowed the ball to lift until it broke through into the area just above them. “Hold your ears,” he warned as a split second later, the same pulsing chirp echoed as it had before. Only this time, the sound was diminished by distance and something yet unseen.
“That wasn’t the same sound as before,” observed Justine.
“No,” Foster frowned. “No, it wasn’t.”
The small hologram floating silently above Foster’s tablet quickly flickered, and then rapidly expanded, revealing a cavernous expanse. When the hologram finished rendering the new information, a chamber roughly a hundred times the size of the one they were standing in swiveled and hovered before them.
The dimensions, 250,000 cubic feet, appeared in ghostly holographic letters.
“That’s a big fish tank,” Joseph whistled in a surprised tone. “Someone must have needed a lot of engineers.”
“Engineers…?” Justine handed the tablet back to Foster so she could raise her Slinger defensively toward the ceiling. “Needed a lot of engineers for what? And what kind of engineer lives in a fish tank?”
Joseph poured over the updated map for a few seconds before pointing out a small opening, about the size of a loaf of bread, near the far end of the room.
“I would assume the Arbiters needed the engineers to maintain the station’s power core. As to what kind of engineer lives in a fish tank?” Again, he peered skyward into the darkly lit space. “It doesn’t really matter. Besides,” he left his slack-jawed companions to search for the section of the wall on the hologram. “From the state of salt decay, I would say these hybrids have been gone for a long time.”
Foster tapped a button, and the hologram vanished.
“That’s quite an open-ended statement to make, Joseph. Are these thing’s dangerous, or aren’t they?” The hair on the back of Justine’s neck stood up slightly as he continued. “Should we be concerned?”
“No,” Joseph said with some finality. “Book 80, this particular species can’t survive away from their water source for more than a day or two.”
After a couple of minutes of searching, Joseph came across a small gap. Just inside the opening, his hands grazed an unseen switch. Without hesitation, the deputy activated it, causing everything in the vicinity to tremble. Suddenly, small, pressured cylinders engaged forcing that section of wall to swing inward revealing the beginnings of a tight octagonal corridor.
He thumbed in the direction of the new opening. “This should lead us to the engineering control room.”
“How do you know that?” Justine asked with her mouth agape. “Have you been here before?”
“No,” Joseph seemed apprehensive for the first time since arriving. “But I was working on a similar project just before I was sentenced.”
“And we should go there because...?”
“We should go there because this whole place is a bit of a mystery.” Joseph motioned for them once again.
“You just had to say that, didn’t you,” Foster sighed, knowing full well he would follow this road till the end. “Haven’t we had enough mysteries for today.”
“Can there ever be too many mysteries?”
Foster refrained from answering that loaded question as he tucked away his tablet. Then, he reclaimed the small phone from his pocket. With a few delicate swipes, the 8-ball hurriedly retraced its previous flight path until it hovered a few feet inside the corridor’s tight confines.
“This thing doesn’t offer a lot of headroom,” Justine said, striding past the cracked wall and into a space roughly about the size of two phone booths. Above her, she noticed an opening roughly four feet squared. “I think I found your opening.”
Along the access tunnel’s walls were tiny, curved protrusions which, at least to Justine’s untrained eyes, looked like the climbing cleats one would find bolted to a rock-climbing wall. “Are these for the creatures to use?”
“Yes,” Joseph scrutinized them. “They line up with this type of hybrid species.”
“There sure are a lot of them.” Foster and Justine looked nervously at each other and waited for some follow up information from Joseph. Surprisingly, nothing else was forthcoming from the normally chatty deputy.
“Why do I feel like I’m being set up?” Justine stepped through into the first section of the corridor. Like a starry sentinel, the orb floated a few feet ahead, illuminating her path. But all she could focus on was the ever-expanding multitude of tiny cleats. They were everywhere. “Why aren't you more descriptive about what these things look like?”
Joseph joined her inside the corridor’s precipice without the slightest look of apprehension on his chubby face. “I’m not worried about any of them still being around, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
Foster sidled up behind them. With his phone, he maneuvered the 8-ball further along the passageway until it reached a connecting junction about twenty feet away. She took a step forward into the unknown as Joseph grimaced.
“But even with them being gone, there’s still something very important you must understand, Agent Rushing.”
“And what is that, Joseph?” She said without looking back at him.
“That there’s a reason why humans should always use the word alien to describe us.”
