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Surveyor 1. - Sampson - 05-10-2008
The silence in the cockpit was only broken by the occasional “blip” from a computer, or the soft scratchings of their inner workings as they scanned the local area. The large twin engines of the sleek black IMG Raven’s Talon hummed softly from behind him. Outside, large slow moving asteroids tumbled along on their millennia old journey to nowhere, while smaller, faster moving stones would occasionally bounce of the ships shields with an electronic buzz, disturbing the pilot’s melancholy.
Michael slumped down in the spacious chair in which he spent most of his days; he cradled a half finished bottle of Liberty Bourbon upon his chest, watching his computer methodically scanning for mineral samples in the field outside. He considered going to bed.
The Raven’s Talon was one of the most versatile fighter class craft made by the IMG, its speed was unparalleled and its ability to survive in combat equally impressive.
Not that he bought it for combat use. His was equipped for long range and deep space exploration, its systems geared for scanning, analyzing, cataloguing. Behind the pilots chair was a small cabin area where he slept, read, or more these days drank himself to sleep.
Mineral samples in area 3F negligible, trace elements in display.
A computer voice stirred him, the screen in front of him, which was slightly above him given his posture, displayed a read out of the surrounding area. The geological information barely registering, as it came to the last item on the list the computer’s voice chirped again: “Xenomorphic samples register negative”.
He inhaled loudly and sat up a little, spilling some of the bourbon as he did so, “Goddammit” he grunted, wiping himself, “Computer, deploy beacon, mark charts and move to the next marker”
There was a beep and he heard a faint hissing sound. Outside, a small metallic canister shot out from under the fuselage. It impacted on one of the nearby asteroids. As it did, several small metal grapplers shot out from its side and a cutting beam erupted suddenly from underneath it. In seconds it buried itself into the rock till it was nothing more than a metal disc upon the surface.
“Beacon deployed, transmission received, diagnostic complete, moving to next marker”.
With a rush of power and energy the twin cruise engines of the Raven Burst into life, the computers autopilot engaging the helm and steering the ship forwards, through the field and towards the next area Michael had entered.
He didn’t notice, standing as best he could in the cabin he wiped down his wet pants and climbed out of the seat, taking another deep swig of the drink as he did so. He climbed into the back cabin, collapsing onto the bed there. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He felt the bed moving beneath him; at least it felt like it was, though he knew it was the alcohol. He would lay like this for an hour or two, till whenever sleep took him, or his computer woke him.
He hadn’t always been like this.
She moved silently across the room, not wanting to wake him. But he was already awake, and he lay there watching her silhouetted against the window, framed by the morning sun outside. She was trying to get the cap off the water bottle on the counter, and after struggling for a moment finally freed it and watered the small plant on the table by the window.
He loved watching her; he could watch her all day, all night. He spent hours watching her. Her hair, her face, the expressions she made, all the time in complete wonderment that she was here. Wonderment that when she looked at him, she smiled, a smile that he knew was for no other than he. As she watered the plant, her arms slender and graceful holding the water bottle, her head dipped slightly, framed by the intense white light from outside she looked as an Angel might. Like some ancient renaissance marble she stood perfect in form, in shape and in figure, he smiled, His wife was the most beautiful woman he had ever known.
“Grace” he said quietly.
She turned, seeing he was awake and smiled; he could see the smile against the halo of the light outside the window and in that moment, time froze, there was nothing else.
His soul fell to its knees in such moments…..
A steady beeping roused him. It was an alert from one of the computers linked to the scanning array. It had found something.
“Computer!” he shouted, scrambling up off the bed he found himself twisted in the sheet, he slipped forward, trying to steady himself, but hit his head on the side of the bulkhead. A wave of dizziness and nausea hit him, but he stumbled out of the sheet and steadied himself “Computer what is it?”
“Xenomorph contact, Beacon 314, location Omicron Alpha”
He shuffled into the pilots seat “Alpha?? – Too far too far…. What is it?”
“Preliminary data suggests Cruiser class vessel and light fighter escort”
Alpha…. It was 3 systems away, and dangerous. He would never make it in time… Running his fingers through the three day growth that covered his face he made his decision. “Set the waypoints for Omicron Alpha, Beacon 314, lock on and notify me as soon as we are in transmission range”
The computer beeped a confirmation and once again the engines of the ship burst into life. Michael reached to the small indentation in the wall to his right and took out a flask of water, tossing his head back he gulped it down, gagging as he fought back another wave of nausea. He would be too late, he knew it, but he went anyway, all he saw were shadows, hints of shadows. Scanner blips and echoes. And always, nothingness, emptiness, debris floating in space in some macabre dance, the music of which, no one save he ever heard.
“Why are you here?” he said to her, “you could be anywhere”
That smile again, her hand reaching out and touching his face, “I don’t want to be anywhere else” she whispered. The ring on her finger reflecting in his eyes.
Surveyor 1. - Sampson - 05-11-2008
He put into Falkland because he needed the money. The din of the docking bay receded behind him as he walked down the long corridors that lead to the sign-in room, a grubby administrator’s office which handled the fine print of IMG management in this sector. The ship needed fuel, he needed food and supplies and for this, he needed money, he knew he wasn’t going to clear much.
“Card” the man behind the mesh screen said without looking up as Michael approached him. Taking his card from his pocket he swiped it though the reader and the stations computer read out his particulars.
ID: Pilot, Sampson, Michael.
IMG Survey and exploration division
Attached to Freistadt.
Current status: Active.
The computer began to print out hard copies of the reports Michael had filed since his last check in, which had been some time ago. The man behind the counter still didn’t look up, instead looking down across his nose at the data now being presented to him. “Hmmmm” he said “Friestadt eh? Any reason you didn’t file there?”
Bureaucrats…… Because im on the other side of Sirius you fool….. Michael thought to himself.
“I had to check in here, I’m low on fuel” he said, feigning joviality and trying to ignore the suffocating feeling being in these places always gave him. The administrator grunted, “And you came through Alpha?” At this information he looked up for the first time, “why did you do that? You know only our combat rated pilots should be taking that route.” Michael knew the little man didn’t really care, he was just covering his ass if some kind of incident occurred owing to the route he had taken. “Yes, but my fuel situation was dire, it was the fastest route”
Seemingly satisfied with this the administrator grunted again and picking up a large stamp he banged it down on the file printing out before him. “hmmph, well, surveying that system is not payable as we can’t mine it, you know you wont get paid for that right?”
Michael groaned inwardly, “Yes, I know” he said calmly.
$500,000 credits later he took his newly topped up card and headed into the bar. It was quiet as station time was sometime in the morning, most of the regular pilots and crew would be off-base. He ordered a bottle and a glass and sat himself at a quiet table in the corner. A monitor above him prattled away, oblivious to weather anyone was listening or not.
He sipped his drink, staring into the brown liquid that swirled inside the glass as he turned it in his hand. He could see his reflection in it, twisting his face slightly, perhaps showing him who he really was now, what he was becoming. He didn’t know.
Nor did he care.
On Manhattan he had worked for sales, he had an office, a comm system, a wooden desk with drawers which he tidied every morning. A pot plant in the corner, a painting on the wall. He took calls from companies and agents, traders and manufacturers, and he earned far more in a month than the money he now had sitting on the card in his pocket which had taken him three. The IMG was not a major player in liberty by any means, but they did enough trade to warrant investment and he was at the forefront. Invited to golf games, lunches and after work drinks…
It was at one of these that he had met her.
A small informal gathering of local businessmen and officials, he didn’t even know who they were or which branch of which company or local government they represented. Yet it was these kind of informal gatherings in which he most thrived, where he nailed the best deals and that was why the IMG sent him.
He recalled the moment as if it was only minutes ago.
She wore a sleeveless dress, of the finest black fabric that hung in a way that seemed to give an air of stillness even when she moved. She carried a small bag, slung over her shoulder. A small silver chain hung across her neck leading outwards to her long blonde hair which fell across her bare shoulders, framing a face that took away his breath, her smile, and her eyes caught his.
They lingered for a moment and in that moment he had felt lifted outside himself.
“Michael Sampson” his manager had said, breaking the spell, “I’d like you to meet Grace James”
She had offered her hand and he took, it, shaking lightly they had looked at each other, smiling slightly. In hindsight he knew that it was then. It was at that moment that he knew. He had never been a believer, he was a salesman, and all people were measurable quantities, readable, predictable and gullible. But whenever he recalled that first moment when he had taken her hand, everything changed. And somehow he had known.
She worked for a research group that was affiliated with a university on Manhattan that was contracted out to the government. That first night he remembered little of what he had been told, much later he would try desperately to remember the names of others who had been there that night.
But that night, all he saw was her.
Surveyor 1. - Sampson - 05-14-2008
The scanning network now covered most of the known systems in Sirius space, and also a few of the unknown ones. Buried in small rocks, asteroids, system specific comets. Embedded in rock on planets and moons. Frozen into floating tumbling chunks of ice or attached to long forgotten space mines. He had placed the adapted mineral tags in almost every system he had traveled to.
Their signal boosted and linked into a network that when activated offered an almost Sirius wide scan that looked for only one thing.
Them.
He had mapped and charted almost every corner of Sirius in the almost 4 years he had worked as a survey pilot. Meticulously, painstakingly, he had set up his digital web which he hoped would one day give him the chance he was looking for.
Optimism had faded to pragmatism, pragmatism to cynicism, cynicism to self destruction.
He had found nothing more than shadows.
Do you, Michael Thomas Sampson take you Grace Elizabeth James to be….
I do, a million times I do, with all my heart and soul till death do us part…
They had lived well the first year or so. They both made buckets of money. Buying a fine apartment in one of the uptown areas on planet Manhattan and wanted for nothing, lost in the bliss of their new life together.
Grace used to like to sit on the balcony in the afternoons, watching the sun set and reading some scientific journal on something or rather, he had never really paid attention to her work, he didn’t understand it. But he would stand in the doorway behind her, silently watching her read, admiring the way she looked, the way her hand held the book she held, her wrist curved gracefully back, he head laying back on the backrest. Everything about her sung of perfection to him.
She would turn and smile at him, he would move closer and kiss her, lingering for a moment and looking into her eyes. The moment would still… till one of them laughed and broke the spell.
The Ravens Talon had initially been an impulse buy. It was fighter by ship class, but it was also one of the sleekest and fastest ships available on the market and it was a favourite “project” for those who could afford it to soup up, modify, decorate and turn into space born hot-rods. When he had shown it to her she had laughed, teasing him about a mid life crises before he was anywhere near mid life. He had won her over by flying her above the ice fields in California minor, its frozen northern reaches one of the most unspoiled and isolated in Liberty. Their pure white majesty had overwhelmed her. She who loved space, its beauty and its vastness, who loved the isolation of far distant places to which little if any human had ever been.
“Others once lived here” she would often say, a vast alien people who once inhabited everything in the sky as far as you could see. She had wondered what they were like. On their trips together she would often wonder what they would be like to speak to, to meet. He had never thought of these things. The cabin inside the ravens Talon was snug. Sometimes he would set it on auto pilot in the trade lanes and they would lay together in the back for hours, looking up at the stars as they rushed by. Making love, falling asleep in each others arms.
He woke sometimes and would find her sitting close to the window, resting her arm on the ledge and her chin on her arm. She would stare out at the passing space, her eyes wide but a look of pure contentment on her face. Mirroring how he felt in these moments alone with her, floating through the heavens, he had never been happier.
This was completeness.
Surveyor 1. - Sampson - 08-29-2008
Xenomorph Contact, Beacon 221, Omicron Gamma.
The computer’s voice beeped at him.
Michael sat up quickly “Computer display visual!”
A graphic display of Omicron Gamma appeared on his screen, two red dots indicated the position of the contacts as they moved within his detection network.
Gamma - he thought. He was in Cambridge, a mere two systems away, he could make it, he might make it, and they might still be there.
“Engage cruise engines, get us there as soon as possible”
The talon’s engines burst into life and the ship leapt forward heading for the Omega 5 jumphole. Please don’t leave, he willed them, don’t go, don’t move, this is the closest I’ve been.
He only hoped the Corsairs didn’t see them.
The specimen lay in a sealed capsule which was shielded to prevent physical contact. It was usually still, and she looked at it with mixed fascination. “Who are you?” she often wondered. They knew these things were intelligent, they could communicate, they had abilities that Liberty science was only just beginning to grasp. "But this was a person" Grace often thought, a being of intelligence, of pain, of perhaps even love And it was an inheritor of a history far far older than humanities'.
As she looked into the capsule she saw one of its tendrils move, Was it looking at her? No one knew how they saw things, what did it think when it saw her? She pitied it, it felt vaguely wrong to cage a being of intelligence this way.
She moved back to her instruments, the feint image of a vast open nebula entering her mind before she quickly dismissed it.
Bursting out of the Jumphole and into Omicron Gamma the Talon leapt back into cruise speed instantly and sped off towards the Malvada cloud. They were still here, they hadn’t moved and as far as he could tell there were no corsair vessels anywhere near them.
“Computer, centre a narrow communication beam to those coordinates and open a channel”
The computer bleeped in acknowledgment and Michael spoke quickly “I know you are there, I hope you can hear me, please.. do not leave, I mean no harm, I have been seeking you, I must ask you questions”
There was no hint that he had been received, he strapped himself in now to the pilots seat and made ready, not knowing what he would find there, if really, after all this time, he might discover answers, know what happened and why.
I’m coming Grace he thought, im coming.
Surveyor 1. - Sampson - 08-31-2008
The Malvada cloud loomed in front of him through the Ravens Talon canopy. As the ship sped into the green gaseous nebula the computers voice chirped Radiation damage detected.
Michael ignored it, he stared transfixed at the screen in front of him, the two red dots sat where they had been, mysterious and unmoving. The graphic display indicated the distance between them lessening and he was now able to lock onto them. His screen indicated Unknown, 5.5k; closing
He switched on his comm system again and configured it to a direct channel, he had no idea what he was approaching, or if they would hear or understand, all he knew was they had to listen, they MUST listen, he had come too far, lost everything, they would hear him or he would die trying, these creatures had taken his wife.
He killed the cruise engines and there was an audible drop in power Taking the controls to manual he coasted the ship in slowly towards the contacts and as the gas cleared he saw them:
Two ships, both radiant glowing and semi transparent, hovering in the nebula, unmoving. Had they heard him? He didnt know...
As the drifted closer he brought his ship to a slow halt. They sat there, somehow emitting a light, watching and waiting.
Can you hear me? he asked.
There was no reply, the alien ships hung where they were. He dare not get closer, he had no idea the offensive abilities of these ships not that he had ever been a combat pilot - but this was the race that once threatened to bring the systems to their knees. He felt himself desperate, everything had led to this moment and he did not know how to proceed, at a loss he blurted out; Give her back to me, you took her from me and I dont know why, but please, give her back to me:
Grace often worked late.
She liked the silence; she liked to be alone with her thoughts and her own impressions. In the silent lab she looked in at the being in the capsule. It seemed to glow somehow.
They had studied that, but were not sure how it happened. Some of the other researchers wanted to kill the creature, to dissect it but Grace had stayed their hands, this specimen was taken alive and they had no idea if they could find another.
She told herself it was scientific curiosity, but as she looked at it, she couldnt deny the fascination she held for this thing, whoever it was.
Who are you? she said.
She stood close by the capsule and stared at it; What do you know? What have you seen, I cant begin to know.
There was a sudden, sharp pain in her head and she winced, reeling she dropped her clipboard on the floor and gasped. But no sooner had it come it left and she felt something:
***home***
She stood up slowly, staring wide eyed at the capsule. The alien had not moved, but again, clearer this time she heard it ***home, others, do not know, fear***
She approached the capsule now.. Slowly; it had communicated with her?! Not words, but impressions, and under it, she felt a profound sadness.
She placed her palm flat on the capsule and something amazing occurred, within the tube, a slender tendril reached up and touched the glass where her hand was, mirroring her gesture.
Surveyor 1. - Sampson - 09-05-2008
The ships didn’t move and he repeated his plea, desperation his voice “Please” he said again, tilting his head and closing his eyes, “please, give her back to me, I can’t live without her.”
It was then that a force entered his mind, like a distant sound that you could hear long before you saw its cause. A sound that had no sound, a picture that had no picture, a language that wasn’t a language:
***separation***
It shocked him up right and he banged his head on his canopy, so far forward had he leaned , he winced in pain, but a rush of adrenalin hit him, they had communicated with him, and what’s more, they had understood.
“Yes!” he said urgently, “separation, yes that’s it! Please, give her back to me, I don’t know why you took her, and I don’t care, but please… I have searched for so long!”
The image sound thought voice appeared in his head again, they were listening now;
***separation, pain, we know***
then another, it must have been one of the other vessels for without knowing how he could feel that it wasn’t the same being communicating with him.
***separation is death**
He wished he could reach through the cockpit, for the first time in… well... Forever, a hope crossed his mind, he could reach these things!
“Yes it is! death, separation from her is death, my life is like death, please, she was my wife, her name was Grace, Grace James”
***names meaningless***
“But I don’t know what you call her, what she is, if she is alive? Please, she worked in liberty, at the university sponsored by the LSF, it had something to do with you, I don’t know how”
***Liberty, defilers, names, we do not know***
Frustrated Michael persisted, “I know you know, I know you took her… please, the night she left I felt, heard… I don’t know… something”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Michael had often thought of those last weeks. In hindsight he should have seen it, but so enamored was he in her, so lost in his own bliss that the signs of something being terribly wrong were missed.
She came home later and later, and was working more than usual. She complained of headaches and some nights would sit on her chair on their balcony, head in hands staring at nothing. She seemed moody, withdrawn.
He put it down to stress and asked her about it, but she merely smiled and reassured him, it was nothing. “Am I doing the right thing?” she had asked one night, “working for the military? There is so much more I could do than this im sure of it… there is so much more out there…”
One night, after she had been in the shower for a long time, Michael found her, leaning against the glass; her eyes were red as if she had been crying. When he has asked her what it was, she had merely said “ it's nothing baby, im just wound up” Smiling at him she said “all I need is a massage”
Gladly he had complied and afterward they lay together and fell asleep, Grace fitfully – and as he clung tightly to her, every fibre in his person wishing to protect this woman from whatever it was that pained her.
If only it had just been her job…
A few nights later she looked at it again, it moved now, it had done so since that last night, though it only seemed to do it when she was there.
She peered in at it, and it moved slightly, echoing her direction, “can you hear me?” she asked aloud.
It turned, and she nodded and said “yes, that’s right, you can hear me cant you, understand me?”
The thoughts came again, but with no pain this time, just a gentle whisper like a curtain in a breeze ***hear***
A broad smile crossed her face and then she heard
***happy***
Wide eyed she nodded; and smiling still said “yes, I was, that made me smile.”
She touched the glass, “do you know happy? Do you have emotions like ours?”
Images of a bright light filled her mind and she heard ***happy, light, others know, we play together***
Then suddenly the light was gone; ***sadness, afraid, others do not know, sadness***
She felt the emotion as if it was her own, a wave of fear and grief entered her mind and she stood up sharply, a lump in her throat, “My god” she whispered, the onslaught of the creatures emotions had caught her off guard and she turned, finding water welling in her eyes, “oh… that… that was…..horri” she couldn’t finish, she stared at the capsule, feeling such pity for whatever it was that it bore such anguish.
The creature thought at her again;
***pain is ours, not yours, sadness not yours, regret, we keep ours***
Grace felt another feeling, regret… the creature realized it had upset her, and was… remorseful!? “It’s…. It’s ok… she said...”
Surveyor 1. - Sampson - 04-19-2009
The mysterious blue ships hung in space before him.
He felt desperate. He could recall the night, the night she had disappeared when an image had appeared in his mind. Images so stark and real that it had woken him from his sleep - Blue ships, a sea of empty space and knowledge, knowledge unspoken with words but somehow contained within the images itself - knowledge conveyed by feeling ***Michael... find me.***
He recalled it like it was yesterday. He had sat up in the bed, yet he had felt calm. As he dwelt on what he had just witnessed in this thoughts and in his feelings a sense of dread started to creep into him. It had just been a dream, surely just a dream, a nightmare perhaps, but she couldn't have... she wouldn't have....
She had not been due home for hours, but he called the University. He had been put on hold and then told she was uncontactable and a message would be left. His fear began to mount, he had never had trouble contacting her at work before - he had passed a background check, he was on the list as family, he was allowed to speak to her.
He had waited, sitting in the corner of the room by the comm link waiting for it to chime. He tossed the images over and over in his mind, but they began to fade... Blue.. ships, like nothing he had seen before, space... and vast vast blinding light... it faded, but her words stayed burned into his thoughts :"Michael... find me."
He called again, was put on hold again. Told that she was in a meeting, he asked questions and was told to wait again.
So he sat, waiting for the call - the call that never came.
It was on his third call, an hour or so later that he was transferred to someone else. A man with an authoritarian voice who asked him questions and then said: "Mr Sampson, there has been an incident in the lab......."
They had not told him what. Only that they could not locate her.
He had raged, he had yelled, he had demanded answers. None came.
Men came to his house, official men that all possessed that robotic, emotionless visage that all men who don't show ID and who utter words like "I would recommend you keep this information to yourself for the moment" seem to posses.
Grace's parents had called, they had traveled to Manhattan from Planet Los Angeles, her father had steadied her weeping mother as Michael had relayed the news in person.
The days had turned into weeks. There as no sign.
The security people and Police told him they think she had been abducted, "Xeno's or Lane Hackers" were the names mentioned but he was told the investigation was still ongoing. He waited, he called everyday. The answers remained the same. "How does someone get abducted from a military secure facility?'! he had raged, but no one could answer him.
One day, someone from the LSF had said they had received no ransom demand, they had heard nothing and found no suspects..... "in these cases... we'll do all we can but...I'm sorry to say often the person does not come back"
Yet alone at night, as he stared out of the doors of their room over the Manhattan night, where they had sat and drank, talked and laughed so many times.... the words that had formed from the images in his mind on that night burned in his mind with an intensity that made him sick...
***Michael... find me***
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