Orb (17 page)

“I will have to disappoint,” he said impassively. “At least to the extent of definitively resolving the question at hand: Are the spheres living organisms?”

“The modified array functioned properly?” inquired Thompson.

“Within its limitations,” Melhaus remarked. “I have a list of elements and compounds.”

“I don’t see the data on my AID,” Diana observed.

Melhaus, choosing not to use its eye motion and voice recognition capabilities, tapped on his device. “Here,” he replied. “Sending. For you to peruse at leisure.”

Diana glanced over the information. “Did you send me the correct file?” she asked, obviously puzzled.

“You think I’m incapable of send—”

“No,” Diana quickly interrupted, “maybe I accessed the wrong file.” She hesitated. “No, I have the correct one. Help me out here. I thought I accessed the work in progress on the chemical composition of the water. The reports look nearly identical.”

“Yes,” Melhaus volunteered, “there is a striking similarity. Marginally higher concentrations of certain metalloids and oxygen in the spheres, marginally lower concentrations of other compounds.”

“And, like the water analysis you performed,” Thompson reflected, “compounds never seen before. Any closer to understanding them?”

“Are you any closer to understanding the geological forces forming the spires?” Melhaus shot back, realizing full well that particular problem was continuing to vex Thompson.

A light danced in Thompson’s eyes. “Point taken,” he said, refusing to take the bait.

“I’m working on what created the spires,” I volunteered.

“Still no planet name?” Thompson countered.

“Almost there,” I responded. “I promise one by this evening.”

“You and Diana get ready. The three of us are going for a little swim.”

The purpose of the swim, a close-up look at the spheres, was obvious. The particulars—well,
that
had me wondering. I noticed Diana fidgeting. She was probably experiencing the same rush of adrenalin.

“Here’s the plan,” Thompson said, focusing on Diana and me, but submitted for everyone’s consumption. “The three of us will swim out,
slowly
, in a loose ‘V’ formation. Naturally, I’ll take the lead. My intention is to carefully approach a sphere and conduct a visual examination. There’s a good chance it will retreat and the experiment will be over as soon as we get our feet wet.”

“And if it does retreat?” Diana asked.

“We’ll have a little more information than we do now. With any luck the sphere will remain passive and stationary, at which point I intend to touch its surface. If I get no reaction, or a benign one, the experiment slowly continues. The operative word is slowly.”

“And Kyle and me?” Diana inquired. “What do we do?”

“When I say it’s safe, swim up to the nearest sphere. Then use your imagination. Try not to do anything too overt. A small application of pressure to determine if the sphere will respond. Perhaps we’ll learn how they move. It’ll be tough to accomplish much more while we’re treading water.”

“A low-tech approach?” Paul commented.

“Purposefully.”

“You’re passing up a chance to get more information,” Melhaus asserted. “Why not take the portable densitometer and a diamond knife for taking a sample? The knife is waterproof; the meter can easily be made so.”

“Sorry, Larry,” Thompson responded. “We are dealing with too many unknowns.”

“Exactly my point,” Melhaus responded, “Far too many—”

“Listen,” Thompson said, cutting him off. “The greater risk is proceeding too fast and having the spheres vanish as quickly as they appeared. Everything indicates they, whatever ‘they’ are, come and go at will.”

“You’re wrong in this,” Melhaus said, “and I’d like the ship’s log to reflect my recommendation as being ignored.”

“No, not ignored,” Thompson said. “The log will reflect your recommendation as being duly considered and deemed not appropriate for the current circumstances. Now let’s move on. What I’d like you and Kelly to do is observe what transpires from an elevated shoreline position. Use the height advantage to alert us of problems we are unable to see.”

“Why not send one person out there?” asked Kelly.

“There are twelve spheres. I’d rather we not be perceived, if we are perceived at all, as being too tentative. If something goes wrong, one person can assist another. This brings me to the next point, Diana. You, too, Kyle. If I say we end our little experiment, we end it.”

“How can I assist?” Paul asked.

“You’ll be manning the holo camera.”

The previous evening a holographic camera had been set up near the shore to obtain a comprehensive visual record of the spheres. So far the spheres had stayed in relatively the same position, like tethered balloons bobbing in a light breeze. The camera might need repositioning and refocusing depending on the reaction to our approach.

I considered Thompson’s plan to be a bit unorthodox, but the spheres weren’t coming closer. If they disappeared over the horizon, as happened yesterday, we’d have lost a valuable opportunity. As we were about to get wet, Thompson addressed Melhaus, Paul, and Kelly to clarify one more point.

“We should be safe enough, but if a circumstance arises that prevents my input, don’t place yourselves in undue jeopardy. I expect the three of you to evaluate the situation and reach a consensus as to how to act accordingly.”

Thompson, I reflected, had chosen his words carefully. Melhaus was next in line for command—not reassuring given the questionable state of his mental health. What Thompson diplomatically accomplished (Melhaus’s blank expression did not reveal he objected) was to assure that decisions would be strongly influenced, or made, by Paul and Kelly.

“Everybody ready?” Thompson asked, preparing to enter the water, with Diana and I to immediately follow. I squatted down to pet Angie, who sensed something was going to happen. Kelly stood over us, unable to disguise the look of concern shadowing her face.

“You’ll keep track of Angie while I go for a swim?” I wasn’t being melodramatic—just prudent.

“Of course. You’ll be careful?”

I showed her a confident smile. “Look at it this way,” I said, gesturing to the featureless spheres, “they can’t bite.”

Almost immediately upon entering the water—Thompson was up to his knees—the spheres reacted: Their subtle and seemingly random motion immediately ceased, only for a few seconds, then resumed exactly as before.

“Incredible,” Diana said. “They somehow sensed us in the water.”

“Want to stop?” Thompson said.

“Not on your life…” Diana caught herself. “Sorry.”

Thompson laughed. “Let’s swim out. Follow my lead.”

The three of us were accomplished swimmers: Thompson and I from our hobbies in, and on, the water, Diana from her “hands-on” approach in the field of marine biology. The chances Thompson had overlooked this fact were slim to none.

The twelve spheres were dispersed over an area of less than half a football field. Within a few strokes of the nearest, a rather large one at that, Thompson began treading water so as to reassess the situation. Seeing the sphere at close range gave my heart, already pounding from the swim, a few added beats. I was using a lot of energy just to keep my head above water, gazing at an object too massive to fit through a double doorway. Yet it was effortlessly resting on a patch of water smaller than a lily pad.

“Everybody fine?” Thompson inquired. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

“No sweat,” Diana replied.

“One oversized beach ball,” I said in between breaths.

Nearly motionless, the sphere seemed perfectly content to stay exactly where it was. Even so (and even after confirming that there were no marks, seams, or openings of any type marring its pristine surface) I began to feel this entity (if I dare call it such) was, in some inexplicable way, closely scrutinizing me.

“This one is too big to mess with,” Thompson decided. A short distance away floated a sphere of more manageable size. Thompson pointed. “Let’s head for baby brother.”

The smaller, less intimidating sphere, by way of comparison, was just shy of Diana’s height. Thompson swam to within arm’s reach, then glanced back to assure himself that Diana and I, as instructed, were trailing an appropriate distance behind.

“Here goes.” Thompson was doing an admirable job of maintaining outward composure, but an off note in his voice gave him away. He had every right to be excited: He was about to be the first person in history to reach out beyond the confines of Earth and touch something that conceivably, and in who knows what manner,
decide
to touch back.

But to actually contact the curved surface of the sphere, Thompson first needed to maneuver himself into very close proximity and simultaneously reach up with his arm. As he strove to do so, Kelly suddenly shouted “look there!” I could see her gesturing wildly and pointing. Diana and I, startled, looked past Thompson. Barreling toward him like a huge curling stone across a patch of slick ice was the largest of the twelve spheres.

We froze. I heard Angie barking. I heard Kelly and Paul shouting, “Bruce, look out!”

Thompson, his view partially blocked but now cognizant of the danger, paused in his effort to touch the smaller sphere.

“Don’t anyone move!” he shouted, even as the large sphere came upon him, and with great speed, a violent collision certain. And then, impossibly, as if in complete and utter contempt of Newton’s first law of motion, it came abruptly to a dead stop, scant meters from Thompson’s head!

And despite all of that, and as time, for Diana and me, resumed, so did Thompson’s hand—to reach out and softly touch the surface of the smaller sphere!

I held my breath and heard Diana gasp. Both spheres, however, remained stationary, unconcerned about our presence. Thompson, for his part, seemed equally unfazed, a look of amusement, damn him, plastered on his face as he calmly asked if we were all right. Upon receiving two tentative and labored affirmatives, he issued a shout of “We’re OK” toward shore.

Informing us that the experiment would continue, Thompson began moving a hand over the sphere’s gray-blue surface. “Incredibly smooth. Frictionless. A slight, very slight, stimulating sensation on contact. Chemical, electrical? Almost like the faint vibration of a tuning fork. Diana, come feel.”

Diana scissor-kicked over to him, leaving me alone to ponder my close proximity to the larger sphere. If one chose to subscribe human motivation to it, the sphere’s rush toward us was calculated to be intimidating. But conventional thinking was a trap. I was judging the sphere’s action solely based on its
effect
on us; I had absolutely no knowledge of its
intent
, if there ever was one.

I was also applying the natural human predilection to assign greater threat to objects of greater size (hard not to when confronted by an object that could fill most of my cabin) even though, to the sphere, the concept of physical size may be completely meaningless. Suppositions, yes, but I did comprehend one thing: If the sphere accelerated in my direction, I planned on diving beneath the surface. Poor comfort, perhaps, but necessary, for it was my turn to take a chance. Using a side stroke, I swam my way over to make my acquaintance.

What a marvel! Balancing itself on one tiny point of ocean contact; gently swaying and bobbing like a boat in small swell! Only there were no swells—just the ripples caused by my effort to stay afloat. Closer, peering down through the sphere’s surface, I could see rays of the blue sun being absorbed, refracted, and diffused within, creating various hues which collectively imparted a pearlescent color before being attenuated several centimeters inside. Beyond that limited distance, there was no ability to discern.

I had to be practically underneath to reach up and touch the curve of the hard, glossy surface. Thompson was correct: On contact I felt a slight tingle and, with it, something he did not voice, something less definable—a feeling of elation, to be here, to be alive, to experience this moment in time. Was this feeling originating from within me or without? If there was a difference, I could not tell.

I backed away, a meter or so. What the hell, I said to myself, somebody should do it. Then, out loud: “Care to tell me what you are?” As expected, no reaction, except a chuckle from Thompson.

On impulse, I decided to try a little experiment, expecting nothing to come of it. My mass appeared to be a small fraction of the sphere’s and my untenable position in the water made the application of force exceedingly difficult. The sphere, however, didn’t seem to be aware of these impositions (after all, they were mine) for when I gave it a gentle push it went instantly and rapidly sliding back across the ocean, retracing its previous trajectory, returning to the location from which it had originally come! As imposing as the sphere was, I almost felt like I had chased it away!

The movement, quickly noticed by Thompson and Diana, also took them by surprise. “What … what was that about?” Thompson asked. We had been treading water for some time now, often with one hand, a strenuous activity. Short declarations punctuated by labored breathing were all we could manage.

“A scientific experiment … testing the laws of physics. I exerted a force. There was an
unequal
… and opposite reaction.”

“You’re joking?”

“No. See for yourself.”

“Why not … time to return to shore.” Thompson turned his attention to Diana. “Anything more?” he asked.

“No.” Up to this point she had been closely examining the smaller sphere. She appeared reluctant to remove her hands from its surface.

“Well then … stop fondling the thing … give it a shove.”

Raising both arms, Diana prepared to push. The chance never came. Precisely at that moment all twelve spheres, by some still obscure method, began rapidly moving away. Shouting from shore helped us confirm why: Further out to sea our local group was joining many others.

We swam in, Kelly and Paul welcoming us with towels in hand. I received a hug from Kelly. Angie acted like I was gone forever.

“Just look at them all!” Diana remarked while drying off. “There must be seventy, maybe more, out there!”