Chapter 8: Welcome Party
The shuttle craft is cramped and tight. Una, Greg, and the Captain are all rather tall and the three of them find themselves sitting in low seats with their collective knees almost to their ears. George, being a member of a rather soft-boned race, has managed to practically ooze himself into two seats, bracing himself against the backs of them with a pair of tentacles. John is probably the most comfortable of them all, one leg crossed over the other in front of him. He is reading over a topographical map of Pandora, getting a feel for the new terrain they will soon be traipsing. No one is talking much and as a result, the three hour ride from the Proto-Tethys to their drop zone seems to take six.
Pale blue lights flash in the alcoves above them, a warning that they will soon be landing. The sound of the craft's twin engines moves gradually from an even purr to a high-pitched hum as they push through the atmosphere of Pandora. Suddenly, Una and Greg unfold themselves from their seats and are pushing their faces up against the windows. Something large, something with wings, something alive flies past the craft, causing it to shake with the passing of the gigantic creature. Una is transfixed, her golden eyes searching the bluish green zenith for another look. Greg leans back against the window, his arms crossed and a reflective expression on his face. The captain gives him a look that is clearly meant to be I told you so and raises one eyebrow. Greg nods to him silently and turns back to the window, glad that he understood the parameters laid out by the captain during their conversation a few hours earlier.
Captain Holmes locks eyes with Ambassador Watson across the aisle, an unspoken are you ready hovers in the air between them. John can feel a little tingle of nervous energy coursing through his body at the prospect of something new. He has no doubt that the captain feels exactly the same way, no matter how he tries to hide it.
A yellow light blinks on and off several times above them and everyone reaches beside their chairs for the face mask/oxygen re-breather tucked beside them. The face shield is a clear, strong material like plastic; it sets over the head the way any helmet would do. There is a small screen at mouth level that is infused with a special chemical concoction that wicks out the majority of the Xenon present in the alien atmosphere but allows the nitrogen and oxygen to pass through. John recalls that Sherlock explained that he based this new design on the original sketches and photographs found in the files that had come from the first science crew to land on this moon.
After donning the masks, the crew pulls on gloves and buttons up their uniform shirts: cuffs and collars. Since none of them have been on this particular moon before (actually Greg has never been on any other planet except Earth) they all await landing with a slight bit of trepidation. With a final hiss and a soft thump and crunch, the shuttle craft alights on the surface. All of the lights switch off in the seating area. The cargo door opens towards at the rear of the shuttle; there is the soft whooshing sound of hydraulics working under the door and then a soft but heavy whump when the metal of the ramp hits against grassy ground. Una and George move immediately down the ramp, Una's boots making a hollow ringing sound as she steps towards the ground. George follows her at a slower pace, the suckers on his tentacles making wet kissing sounds as he scoots down the ramp. The two of them open another compartment on the outside of the craft and start unloading gear, electronic equipment and suitcases. Greg moves around the opposite side of the craft and unfolds a bright red metal four-wheeled cart. He and John stack the gear and other assorted needs on the cart. The captain stands for a moment and watches his crew then turns his attention to finding his bearings in this strange land.
Sherlock steps away from them for a few moments to climb up on a little hill. In front of him there is a unique landscape that seems to drop straight down into a ravine after a few short steps. Behind him is the single long, rectangular building that will serve as their laboratory and quarters while they are here. For the most part the foliage around the clearing is dark green, though there are hints of pale blue and vermillion here and there among the leaves, roots and tangled vines. The entire place reeks of neglect and the passing of seven decades.
In his mind he can see a busy compound run by a scientist who was as sincere in her efforts to make peace with the indigenous population as she was in her methodical record-keeping. He has studied what he could get of Dr. Augustine's files in depth, though he has the feeling that more will become clear to him very shortly.
"Captain!" Sherlock is torn from his musings when Greg shouts for him. They are all standing about in front of the gray building by the main entrance. Why are they just standing there? Sherlock frowns then pats his pocket. He holds the key up for them all to see that he has not forgotten it and then gracefully jumps from the little hill to land on both feet with his knees slightly bent, boot heels digging into the terrain. He glides over to his crew and swiftly pops the key into the large padlock on the door. It unlocks with a snick and John pushes it inward. Sherlock starts to step in first, though John hauls him back with a serious "No."
John gives Greg a nod and the two of them move into the building together. Sherlock begins to open his mouth then snaps it shut: he can already hear John's argument of Let us do the jobs you assigned. Now shut up and get out of the way. He makes a sour expression and leans against the building to wait, one foot placed flat against the metal skin. He fiddles with the e-cig that he carries in his pocket though he does not bring it out and light it. Too difficult to smoke it while wearing the mask.
Una happens to catch the exchange in between staring about herself with something akin to wonder, she hides a soft smile behind one hand, nervous as are all of her people about showing her sharp teeth. It is for this reason that the Teloms do not talk much, even to their commanding officers. Sometimes the sharp points give her a strange accent, especially around the time that the enamel is shedding. Una takes a deep breath and steadies herself. After all the months and weeks of planning, she is finally where she has worked herself to the bone to be. She knows that she has not quite been accepted as part of the "group" yet, but being an integral part of the crew is a good start in her mind. When the Ambassador and Greg return to give the all clear, she is the third one into the ramshackle dwelling. It is her duty to find the oxygen pumps and get them started so they can all go without the masks. Una hefts the large yellow tool box she has just picked up from one hand to the other to keep from bumping it against anyone or anything as she begins her own explorations.
She gives the men a curt, respectful nod and moves quickly through the tiny foyer, down a short corridor and then straight down the center of a large, open room. She casts a cursory glance at the scientific equipment that lines the walls, especially interesting are several large, round capsules that look both like beds and burial caskets at the same time. At one time they were probably gleaming silver; a thick layer of dust coats their dull finishes now, a natural protection from time. There is no time to dawdle, however, and she continues on to the very back of what she is quickly beginning to think of in her mind as "the shack."
Finally finding the oxygen pumps, she sets her toolbox down on a table next to them. This particular pair is as wide as she is tall, round metal turbines with cases that had once been painted bright red. The same thick layer of dust and grime coat every piece of their now rust-colored exterior. She flips open the top of the yellow box, opens it up fully and extracts several wide black pieces of material. She uses this magnetic material to wipe around the keypads, the blades of the turbines and across the tops, or as much as she can reach, of the machines themselves. Once she finishes going over them, Una decides that they are in excellent condition for their age. She has no reason to believe that they will not work, so she sets herself to the task of priming them and setting them to use for the first time in seventy-five years.
It is slow going, but finally the machines are primed and the turbines are spinning, filling the whole place with a quiet hum of background noise similar to any starship. After a day or so, they will all be so accustomed to the sound that none of them will hear it unless the machines shut off. When she reaches the largest of the rooms, the crew has all laid out their bedrolls in a circle; the old furniture throughout the place has been pushed to one wall to be dealt with tomorrow. Outside, the landscape is turning dark very quickly.
George is in the corner rummaging through a large sack. He is slowly pulling out several sticks similar in size to old-fashioned candles. He sets them around the room, placing them so that the entire workspace will be lit up. As he sets each one down, he pushes an unseen button and they seem to shoot straight up until they are about half as tall as he is. Each one flickers to life and soon the room is bathed in a soft, golden light reminiscent of late autumn afternoon on Earth. From the corner nearest the doorway, the captain mumbles "thank you" and proceeds to continue typing on a large e-book that he has set upon one of the old desks. The Odal is not wearing a mask, since his gills are an even better filtration system than anything either the IA or Captain Holmes could design. He settles down on his bedroll and closes his eyes. Greg and John are not in sight at the moment.
Una clears her throat and waits on the captain to acknowledge her. They will all be working and living in close proximity in the coming weeks, though she is lax to let herself become too familiar with her crew mates. She stands at attention. The captain studies her for a moment before answering.
"Yes, Engineer?" His voice is muffled through his mask. She does not salute him this time, though he can clearly see her begin to do so. He sighs to himself and considers that he's got to nip this ridiculous formality in the bud before it gets out of hand.
"The oxygen pumps are fully operational and are running, if you would like to remove your mask, sir." Una delivers her speech with a funny twist to her lips that is meant to cover her teeth. She knows from experience that many races, often including humans, often take offense to a Telom "baring their teeth."
Sherlock nods and removes his mask. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, thinking that it is wonderful after the stale air inside the mask. Una copies him.
"Engineer, could we please forgo the formalities? All of this…" he waves his hand about in a circular motion, indicating the room, them, and probably the entire moon. "…this is a research mission, not a military one. You don't have to be so…" he begins to say rigid and then the memory of John stopping Greg from saying almost the very same thing about the Telom makes him switch tactics. He sighs, sets the e-book down and focuses fully on the golden-skinned, golden-eyed and white haired alien woman in front of him, his hands on his knees. He rolls his head a bit, loosening up his shoulders, causing the rickety stool he is perched up to groan. He frowns and then returns his attention to Una.
"The formalities are pointless here. I don't care about them and since I am in charge, you can dispense with some of them. I would prefer you simply call me 'captain.'" Una gives a little shake of her chin to show him she understands. "Good. Understand that you were first chosen by John and second by me. You were chosen because of your qualifications, the way you keep cool under pressure and your skills with machinery. I have studied every alien race that humankind currently has access to. Stop trying to hide yourself from me. It will never work." Sherlock's heavy-lidded green eyes bore into her gold ones; for the first time, Una finds herself pulled along in a tractor beam that could either set her on the safest path imaginable or drop her into the vast emptiness of space never to be heard from again.
"Aye, captain." She says softly.
"Ah. Good then, we understand each other." The captain states as he is opening his eyes to a more normal position. "Relax a while, they will be back soon and maybe we can get started."
Una fiddles with her bedroll for a few moments, but grows bored of the activity quickly. Instead, she moves back towards the oxygen pumps, carefully checking the other machines in the vicinity. When machinery this old, it certainly cannot hurt to be extra cautious.
Greg and John have returned from their scouting mission around the perimeter of the little campsite. George whipped up a quick meal of veg-bacon and biscuits, carefully repackaging all of the ingredients into one of the multiple bags and cases that came off of the shuttle with them. After everyone eats and gets comfortable again, he shuts off all but one of the lights, effectively calming the atmosphere down considerably. Their bedrolls are spread around in a circle, leaving a clear space in the center and allowing them all to see each other. Una is between Greg and George, with John and Sherlock together against the wall. George is asleep, Greg is reading his e-book and Una is smashing her pillow up under her head. She is glad that they only have to spend one night like this, tomorrow they will be able to explore the larger cabin behind this building; it may possibly allow them to have a bit more privacy. For now, though, this is a good thing; even she admits that there are times it is comforting to know there are others around.
She closes her eyes as the tension begins to seep slowly from her bones. Her sleeping bag is soft and welcoming. It does not take her long to fall into a sound sleep, curled with her back towards the open center of the room.
Greg finishes reading the last of the files that he copied to his e-book, looks about the room and notes the tangle of limbs and sleeping bags that appears to be John and Sherlock. He smiles a little to himself and sinks deeper into his own bedroll.
A hush settles over the weary explorers. An alien night descends outside around them and there are squeaks, growls, and even sharp barks from the wildlife as creatures sniff about the place, finding scents that have not been present for generations of their kind. Somewhere out in the wilderness there is the cry of a well-built, six-legged, canine-like creature as he hunts swiftly through the underbrush.
Back inside, Greg and John are suddenly awake; their guardian instincts kicking into overdrive. Greg is already moving towards the door by the time John extracts himself from Sherlock. He reaches across his sleeping lover and pulls a wide-bladed hunting knife from his boot. Greg has done the same, a small dagger in his hand as they both creep across the cold wooden floor on the balls of their bare feet. John notes the way the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck are standing on end.
Greg looks to him when he hears the same sound again that pulled them both out of deep sleep in seconds. He nods towards the door, the single light catching the concerned look in his eyes. John nods silently in return and reaches out to open the door. Both men are tense.
John opens the door enough to make out a large humanoid figure. Greg reaches out, grasps the figure by the shoulders and spins it around. Before any sound is made, he has his arms around the figure's shoulders and his dagger pressed against a throat. John has closed the door and stands facing the figure with the hunting knife pointing where he thinks the heart would be. It is a face-off only broken by a deep, sleepy baritone behind them.
"I should let them kill you."
Another light snaps on, effectively illuminating the figure held in place by two very determined men with a pair of very sharp blades.
"I can imagine you would." The sentence is stated in a very concisely enunciated voice similar to the captain's.
"Stand down." Sherlock says with quiet authority.
Over the pounding of his heartbeat and the haze of an adrenalin rush, John can finally see who their intruder is.
"Admiral, just what the bloody hell are you doing here?"