//------------------------------//
// Chapter 13 - Close Encounter 
// Story: The Children of Planet Earth 
// by Chicago Ted 
//------------------------------//

Anton exited the bridge on Altair and floated up to the ceiling just nearby. He sighed, wearily – after staying up for God knows how long, he really needed a place to stop and rest – and Commander be damned, he was going to get just that, and this was just the place to do it. This part of the ship had six sleeping bags here, strapped to the wall so people wouldn’t drift away in their sleep – good for a crew of a dozen or so to hotbunk, but plenty for just the three. Dr. Weiss and Commander Darcy both got their fair share of rest – why, here was the latter, snoozing away – why not him as well?

He unzipped one of the bags and slipped himself in. Feeling the soft fleecy lining made him sigh in relief – there wasn’t anything quite like this back in St. Petersburg, nor anywhere else in Russia, save perhaps for the Kremlin. Once he was sure he was secure inside the bag, he zipped it shut, closed his eyes, and nearly fell asleep when Dr. Weiss spoke up. “Doktor Konstantinov, do you have a moment?”


–·–––


The sun had set on this part of Rhysling, and the darkness of the night erased the entire scenery from his view. Not that it mattered – Adam was just getting settled into his cot back inside TPRU-1. Apparently whatever the problem was with the new spectroscope had cleared up – if it ever had one – so he need not work anymore on the probe anymore, and Dr. Weiss could sample and test to her heart’s content.

He finished his jerky and packet of pasta and disposed of the empty plastic bits, having already washed himself, refilled the suit’s water supply and changed its scrubber, and noted down the words he had learned in a rudimentary transcription system. He was still a long way from completing any of his remaining goals, but he felt like he’d made some good progress in the two days he was on the job.

But for now, he had to get some rest. As he had several nights before, he arched his back, feeling the clicking of his joints along his spine, then properly settled into his slumber. Night on Rhysling would only last eight Earth hours – giving him maybe five or six Earth hours total to get his sleep in, by some rough and fatigued math – but he would have to make the most of them.

He had to – if he was going to live on this planet, he would have to play by their rules.


·–·–·


It was early in the Rhyslinger morning when the lander’s radio awoke him. “Tango-1, this is Zulu-Alfa,” Dr. Weiss transmitted. “Come in, Dr. Somerset, please and I’m sorry, but I need your help once again, over.”

Woman, I swear to God. . . . He got back up, shook the cobwebs from his mind, took a deep breath, and strode over to the desk, grabbing the receiver. “This is Somerset,” he replied. “With all due respect Dr. Weiss, I was in the middle of my sleep, it’s way too early to get me up, so this had better be really important. Over.” He sighed – what could the problem be now?

The next person to speak, after a moment, was Dr. Konstantinov. “From what Dr. Weiss has told me,” he said, “apparently some data is not coming back from RPMR-1.”

Are you fucking kidding me!? “Oh, what the hell is it this time!?” he interrupted. “Over!”

Anton sighed audibly over the line. “I will explain,” he said. “We figured this would be the case, since apparently it does not take this long to get sample results back from RPMR-1. We suspect there is something wrong with both antennas – both high-gain and low-gain. We would appreciate you taking a look at this at your earliest convenience. Over.”

And you guys couldn’t wait to tell me until daytime!? “Copy Zulu-Alfa, I’m going to deal with it right now, thank you so very much for waking me up from what little sleep I can get with this nonsense. Somerset out!” They want repairs, they’ll get all the damn repairs they want! I’m some goddamned outer space handyman after all, not a linguist!

As he was grumbling, he started slipping on his undersuit garments, then swinging and practically jamming himself into the suit. “Gah!” Crissake, my hip! But he was too annoyed to pay more attention to the pain, as he slammed the sterilizer button with his fist hard enough almost to crack the plastic.

And now to play the two-minute waiting game. Adam spent that time calming himself down. Don’t repair angry. Don’t spacewalk angry. You only have so much of that one measly scrubber to work with. Count to three – breathe in. Count to three – breathe out. Count to three – breathe in. . . .

As he kept counting and breathing, he took his eyes off the timer and focused on the probe, even reaching up to his helmet-mounted lights to illuminate the scene so he could actually see. Even though it was still looking the same as it did for the past few local days, if Dr. Weiss is complaining about some sort of communications failure – well, who else was on the ground to see about it? Nobody, that’s who. It was all up to him.

:02. . . :01. . . :00! Finally! Adam disconnected from the suitport and leapt from the scaffolding, not even bothering with the ladder. He hit the ground with an “Oof!” and started pulling the tools he still had from his pouch. He reached up to adjust his helmet’s mounted light – the white beam, now brighter, started to flood the scene.

He sighed, his anger starting to dissipate – at least he wouldn’t have to poke around blind. A panel on the top of the probe granted access to the communications equipment. He started unscrewing that panel as fast as he could. One screw went – then another – then a third, and Adam simply hinged it open on the last one. He squinted to get as good of a look as he could in the narrow gap.

Huh. . . how about that, actually? Apparently this equipment had been more rough-handled than he thought. The antennae were being held on merely by a few wires – barely able to get data up to Zodiac-Altair, and apparently over time it had been jostled just enough to dislodge them entirely.

Well, let’s make it better, he thought – and make it last a while, why don’t we? Getting the wires back in place was trivial, since none of them were frayed or broken, though it still required physical intervention. Each one went into this correct place, one by one, a process that took two or three minutes – and he was rewarded with his efforts with a transmission from up above. “This is Zulu-Alfa,” Dr. Konstantinov stated. “Thank you Somerset for your repairs. . . and I am sorry to anger you. I truly hope that is the last time you have to touch RPMR-1, for your sake and ours. Out.”

You and me both, Doc. He sighed, put his tools back in the pouch, and started making his way back to the lander. He grabbed the sides of the ladder, and wearily made his way back up – for as much energy wrath would grant him, fatigue – and hunger – would take away. He hadn’t had his breakfast yet, and he was essentially fixing by the seat of his pants. It’ll just be a quick in and out, he thought as he got on the scaffolding, turning around to plug himself into the suitport. Pick out dry stuff, clip in a new nutrient bar, I probably won’t even have to change scrubbers – he even double-checked his readout; it had just ticked down to ninety-eight percent. Yeah, nothing to worry about there –

A burst of violet light erupted on the road just beyond the lander. “Khon Edem!”

“God dammit,” he muttered aloud to himself – his light shone brightly on a rather disheveled Antir, who put up a front hoof to block the lights’ glare. What does she want now? Does this bitch even know what time it is!? Clearly she would, as she was native here, but didn’t care anyway, because she gestured Adam down from the ladder. He sighed, and complied – this had better be really worth my time, he swore to himself.

When he hit the ground and walked over to her, she held up a paper scroll, though its seemingly-calligraphic writing was still lost on him. So Antir pulled out her trusty chalk and board, and started drawing up a pictorial interpretation of what that paper was saying. She worked well enough by the light of her own horn’s telekinesis, but Adam’s was way overblown. Still, his eyes, like those of every other human being, dictated that he keep it on so he could see.

She turned the board around a moment later to show him. A humanoid figure, a rod-and-sphere arrow with a crude train sketch, pointing to the mountain fortress. Oh great, another train ride. I hope my boss will let me. . . . But from there, another rod-and-sphere arrow indicated a humanoid figure surrounded by equines on all sides. Why? Who are those ponies? Adam started to panic. Am I on trial for a crime I unknowingly committed? Or has something else happened? He felt his heart start to race. Relax, Adam – don’t jump to conclusions right now.

But she either didn’t see the fear on his face, or plainly ignored it. With her telekinetic grip, she took his hand and started dragging him along the dirt trail into town. As he was being pulled along, he couldn’t help but notice the Rhyslinger sun starting to peak over the horizon. 

Good morning to me. . . .


·–


“Copy Zulu-Alfa, I’ll report back. Somerset out.” As Adam looked up from his most recent communication, he saw that a train waited for them at the station – just a single engine pulling a single car, its only doorway flanked by a pair of royal guards, armor shining clean and tidy in the dawnlight. I guess a royal decree would pull enough strings to get anything done, he thought. Particularly if there’s a good reason behind it.

He was rushed past the ticket booth and into the car – he barely had time to duck his head below the doorway. The guards followed the two into the car, shutting the door behind them firmly. But what about my ticket? he wondered. Surely I should have one. But the train conductor made no motion to check either of them – I guess my transportation to the capital is by decree, and the guards’ approval would suffice as admission.

Adam sat down on a bench by the door, putting his left leg up as he sat side-saddle, his back against the wall, like he’d done before. A moment later, Antir sat down on the bench opposite. Both guards reärranged themselves at the rear end of the car, and made no motion to sit – even with adequate seating around the car. Nor would I expect them to – it would be improper.

Adam crossed his arms. His stomach grumbled, demanding that he feed it. Damn it all Antir, couldn’t you be a bit more patient with me? he thought. Do you really have breakfast so early in the morning? He sighed, and leaned back, trying to make himself comfortable despite the pain mounting in his right hip – I just hope I get back in time to change my scrubber at least. Speaking of – He flipped up the display – ninety-four percent. Should be good for the trip, but that depends on what I’m supposed to do there. I hope it’s nothing that could jeopardize the mission.

As though she could sense his nervousness, he watched his right hand get enveloped within Antir’s telekinetic grip, then tug it out of his crossed arms and into a grip in her front hooves. Oh, this again? He sighed again, shifting his head back forward. Thanks Antir, but really I’m a man denied his daily bread. I need that more than anything else.

[elˈse ɑlβiˈmɑ̌] the conductor told Antir.

“Em.” She nodded. [piˈse m̥eˈsɤ siɹɑpɑɹˈjɑ]

The conductor bowed and left the car. A moment later, Adam heard the trademark whistle of departure, followed by the familiar backward jolt, as the whole procession made its way to the capital city. He fixed his sight outside the window opposite, trying to focus on something, anything, that might distract him from his other predicaments.


··


The trip took closer to forty minutes from start to end. He heard the screeching of the train’s brakes, as he saw the now urban landscape start to slow down – now bathed in the golden light of the Rhyslinger dawn. He felt like stretching himself out. Here we are once again. Now what?

Antir answered it in motion – she got up from the bench and went to the door. When Adam got up to follow her, the guards broke formation at the end of the train and followed behind him. He ducked down below the train’s doorway, and set foot on the station platform, one that was completely barren, save for another group of guards who joined the first, making sure that Adam was completely surrounded while at arm’s length. Guards, protecting me? he thought. What would warrant such a policy – and come to think of it, why not last time?

Antir took the lead, letting him – and the guards, by extension – walk right to where he ought to go. All around him, he saw the beginning glimmers of life in the fortress-city. Naturally, he started drawing stares from passers-by, be it by his own appearance, or by his gleaming entourage. Adam seldom felt self-conscious, but this was one of those times. He tried to take his mind off of it by sipping some of the suit’s water, but that only reminded him of his own hunger. Guess this is just going to be one of those days, huh?

Antir took the next right, and so did the guards – Adam wasn’t paying attention, and had to be nudged back on track by the one on his left. Not the palace, then, he thought. So who else would want me right now? And as he was rounding the leftward curve in the street, he got his answer.

A large building stood on its own city block, white and light blue in appearance, with a single large red dot serving as a symbol for. . . whatever its purpose was. Part of the building was cordoned off with thick cloth sheets, also light blue, – ah, so they do know what plastic is – where a single entrance, a plastic-covered tunnel, was clearly indicated with a pair of flanked guards.

As he approached the entrance tunnel, the frontmost guards parted and stood aside, to indicate that he would be entering without any of them. For once, Adam did not have to duck below the doorway – something he was thankful for, as all that ducking was starting to give him a crick in his neck and back. When he passed through the entrance fully, a flap of plastic descended over it, and the telltale zip! of a zipper made sure it didn’t go anywhere.

It wasn’t that hard for Adam to tell which way he was supposed to go – between the perfectly linear layout of the corridor, and a few ponies here and there pointing and urging him further ahead, no language barrier could block the meaning from him. Then he started noticing the outfits of these ponies – all of them were wearing light blue scrubs, with masks covering their muzzles and booties on both front and rear hooves. That, and the fact that he could see some analogues to modern Terrestrial medical equipment through the cracks in the light-blue dividers, told him that this building was a hospital.

Oh, he realized. They want to examine me. This thought started to scare him more than possibly standing trial for a crime he unwittingly committed. At least he would be able to argue a defense through drawing with chalk, absent an appointed attorney. But here? He could very well be breaking biosegregation right here – not only was there a chance this would kill him, he would also put all of Rhysling in danger as well.

Then the moral dilemmata began. Do I go through with this, or should I turn tail and run? If he went with the former, of course those fears could come true – otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to get much further without being tackled and forced to do it anyway. Do I tell the others, or should I stay silent? If the latter, and if he should die, then they would have no idea that their man on the ground was already gone. But if the former, any one of them – especially Commander Darcy – would chastise him for making such a hasty decision, but not do much more than that.

Better tell them.

He stopped in his tracks and pressed the radio button on his suit. “Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset,” he opened. I hope radio can transmit through all of this plastic and other whatnot. “I have now arrived at their capital city again. This time not in the palace; I think I’m at a local hospital. I have no sure idea what they want from me this time, but I suspect they want to examine me – but that would mean I would violate contamination protocols. How should I proceed? Over.”

He waited one moment, then two. . . but only silence intervened over the radio. Seriously? Is nobody on the ship available to take my call? “Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset,” he tried again. “I am at a hospital in their capital city, about to undergo an examination, which could possibly trigger contamination. Please advise, over.”

He crossed his arms and waited some more. . . to no avail. But before he could press the button again, a purple hoof blocked his hand. Antir must have doubled back when she realized he wasn’t following her anymore. She then pointed to the ceiling of the plastic-lined tunnel. Adam had to lean back to get a proper view, but he saw that the tunnel’s framework was like a cage.

No, not just any cage, he realized. A Faraday cage. They really don’t want me to talk to the others, do they? He sighed and shook his head – either that, or they really don’t want radio signals to interfere with whatever they’re using here. He resigned himself to his fate, and the fate of all of Rhysling. Alright Adam, he thought, you’re on your own now. Gotta go through with this.

She grabbed his hand in her telekinesis, and tugged him further down the hall, further away from the safety of his lander. But then, he thought, am I truly safe on Rhysling? This was the risk for which he signed up when he applied for crewing Zodiac-Altair – he had to read the finer print in that phone book of a contract NASA gave him. I can’t believe my class dared me to do this. Did they want me dead, or just out of the way so I wouldn’t grade their tests? He smiled. Joke’s on them, my replacement’s way harsher for that sort of thing than me.

The next room, on the right, surprised him. It looked like the lobby for a large cleanroom, with four equine-sized and -shaped suits hanging off of a rack by the side – and next to the rack, a round orange bin. Interesting to see that they have established germ theory on par with mankind, he thought, taking all the same biological precautions with me. Would I technically be breaking biosegregation, then? That’s a theory for another day. Then his eyes widened. But wait! What about internal temperature? Air pressure? Atmospheric composition? I haven’t told them about those, have I? If he did, he couldn’t recall in the sudden stress.

He heard something tap on the leg of his suit. “Khon Edem?” One of the equines staffed at the hospital came up behind him and handed – er, hoofed – him a clipboard, with a pencil attached to it on a string. It had a single sheet of paper clipped to it, divided into four quadrants, each one labeled with a different symbol. The top left quadrant had a thermometer, and the top right had three arrows arranged in a triangle, within a circle. The bottom left one had an equine head with an open mouth, along with a rod-and-sphere arrow pointing to the mouth. The bottom right had the same, but the arrow pointed away from the mouth. They want me to indicate exactly those things I thought of, he realized. That’s considerate.

But wait a second. Another realization came over him suddenly. I can probably sketch out what CO2 and O2 look like in their language – if they have a periodic table, just like us – but what units would they use? Surely they don’t use Fahrenheit or Celsius like we do. Crissake! Can’t we agree on even one thing here!?

Sensing his distress, Antir gestured him over to a wall in the room. He breathed in, then out – a sigh. Finally, a Hail Mary. There was a poster on the wall, on which was printed what looked like a colored spiral, split into segments. As he looked closer, however, he noticed that, no, this wasn’t some random spiral – it was a periodic table of elements. Just what I needed! However, it did not extend beyond uranium, nor include technetium nor promethium – but they haven’t developed atomic technology just yet, he noted. Then how are all these miracles they have powered? But the differences after that quickly dissolved – for instance, all the atomic numbers and weights were marked in senary, and all the symbols were marked with. . . well, symbols. Not letters derived from their script, as he would expect.

He searched his memory to remember which atomic numbers carbon and oxygen were. What was that thing Professor Brookman used to teach me? ‘Here lays. . .’ oh yeah! Here Lies Benjamin Bones; Cry Not, O Friend, Needlessly. . . . As he played back his chemistry professor’s words in his head, he tapped his finger on the chart. ‘O’ was for Oxygen – its symbol was a line that curled up on both ends, as if to suggest a cloud. He marked down two of those symbols in the bottom-left quadrant of his sheet and connected them with two lines, thus creating breathable oxygen. He placed a third and fourth in the bottom right, with two lines splitting off of each for carbon in the middle. ‘Cry’ was for Carbon, two spaces back – its symbol looked like a flame. Makes sense – carbon is the foundation of combustion. He added a flame between the clouds, thus creating carbon dioxide.

So that’s respiration down. Next? . . . Next to the chart, he noticed a mercury thermometer and a glass-covered dial. Gotta be a barometer – now I just gotta compare their units to ours. He flipped up his chest display – ten degrees Celsius, and point ninety-five atmospheres. Eh, sure, tell them to boost the temperature, and just put up with popping ears when I’m stepping out. He noted what number the barometer’s needle pointed at, and simply copied it down without indicating the unit. They’ll have to assume it’s the one they use. Next, the current outside temperature was uncomfortably cold for Adam, so he thought to indicate twenty degrees Celsius – still chilly, but it would be more like a pleasant spring day.

Now wait a minute. . . how does their scale work? Where’s their origin? Adam knew that the origin of Celsius was the freezing point of water – he would start there. He set the clipboard aside for a moment and motioned for Antir to hand him her chalk and board.

She did. Next, he started drawing a water molecule – a cloud of oxygen, branching off to connect to two hydrogens – he checked the chart for their symbol; it was a water drop. Adjacent, he drew a snowflake – a simple one, one she should recognize – and next to it, a simple thermometer, a tube with a bulb at the bottom, and next to that their question spiral. He turned it around to show her.

Without hesitation, she took the chalk out of his hand in her telekinesis, and inscribed her zero below the thermometer.

Aha! A common origin! he thought. Naturally, since theirs is water-based life – still, fascinating! He looked at the thermometer again, and noted where the mercury had crept up – just past the senary eleven mark. Convert. . . seven. Fourteen and a half would be a good place to put it, then. Convert the other way. . . . Adam hesitated for a moment before he got twenty-two point three. Oh. . . I didn’t get how to write decimals.

Then he remembered how the periodic table records atomic weights as decimals. He leaned into helium – noting the sun symbol – and saw four pips, a tall vertical line, then three zeroes, two pips, then three pips. Vertical line, gotcha. He picked up the clipboard again, wrote down two pips, another two, put the senary line after that, then three pips. I think you lot can manage this temperature. . . right?

As he flipped down his chest monitor, he looked around for the equine whom had handed him the clipboard – and found it, blue-furred in light-blue scrubs. It took the clipboard in its own green telekinetic grip, and walked away, giving muffled orders to other equines. If he had to guess, they were going to condition the chamber’s interior to his exact specifications. They’re serious about me stepping out, aren’t they? He sighed – I hope they know what they’re doing.

It would obviously be a few moments before the chamber was ready for Adam – in the meantime, he decided to lean his back against the wall, crossing his arms in impatience. He thought of sending Zodiac-Altair what he had spotted, but remembered the Faraday cage they had put up to form the tunnel. And I suspect the rest of the building’s like this, he thought. I wonder if it has telekinetic-blocking properties.

He sighed. Curse you, Anton, and your insistence on constant progress. His stomach grumbled, insisting that he eat something – but that simply wasn’t possible right now, due to circumstances beyond his control, beyond his foresight even. Adam had gotten into the habit of changing his scrubber after even the slightest EVA session – but now, it seemed, he would have to clip a nutrient stick inside his helmet with the same rote diligence – either that, or he would always have to eat a meal before stepping out. Which I probably should’ve done today.

It wasn’t the first time he had gone hungry, even on the mission. His mind went back to Antir and her library, how she silently insisted that he stay for the night. But of course, then he’d had yet to find out about how he could eat on the run – this time, he had the knowledge, and in his furious haste forsook it. Crissake. . . .

He became aware of a prodding on his arm – if Antir had said anything, he didn’t hear it, but he figured that the cleanroom was ready for him now. That was awfully fast. I hope their instruments aren’t faulty.

He got up and walked over to the airlock, where he figured he was supposed to sterilize himself. So how is it done? Heat? UV? Chemicals? Knowing the Strauss could pick up the first two, he flipped up his chest monitor in advance. He noticed Antir walking with him into the airlock, along with three other equines. When they were all inside, the door shut, and sealed airtight. Wordlessly, the four equines started changing into each of the four equine suits, checking each other to make sure each of them were sealed inside properly and could still breathe without outside air. 

[kl̩pxepeˈje m̥eˈsɤ kl̩kɑn̥ɑˈβu . xõ ɑ̃ˈtiɹ] one of them told Antir.

[ě] She looked down at her hooves. Then she lit her horn, adjusting the boots of her own suit. [ŋ̊uɹuɲ̊ˈɹu] Now that everyone was apparently checked out, Antir pressed a red button on the wall.

Adam heard a wind-up sound overhead, like a camera recharging its flash – then a pulse of brilliant white light, as a loud foom! thundered all around himself. Reflexively, he put his hands up to his helmet, to block the sound from his ears – but of course, its solid construction meant he had to suffer through it. When his sight returned at least, he panned it down to his chest display – but it didn’t pick up anything that could indicate that the place was clean – no burst of heat, nor radiation, nor did he notice any dispersed fluid on the surface of the suit. He grumbled in disappointment and shut the display away.

Then the other door opened up, leading into the cleanroom. That was. . . disturbingly fast, he thought. Whereas TPRU-1’s suitport always took two minutes to sterilize, whether to enter or exit, their sterilizer didn’t even take five seconds. Either they’re pulling my leg and want to do some biological experiments on me, or. . . . He had another thought, but dared not even to think it.

Yet he did anyway: it must be magic.

Slowly and cautiously, he entered the cleanroom, with the other four equines following. But how do I know this place is clean? Like, perfectly, wholly clean, free of any xeno life? His mind went back to when he saw Alien in the theater – how the crew of the Nostromo abandoned traditional containment measures and kicked off the horrific events.

He flipped up the display. Just as he specified, the cleanroom’s interior was twenty degrees Celsius and point ninety-five atmospheres. He had no way of determining atmospheric composition, but he suspected that they had filled it with pure oxygen. Just don’t light a fire in here, and we should be fine. Probably.

[eˈdem m̥eˈsɤ sɤxɤˈβɯ mɯlˈzl̩ kokoiŋ̊ˈkɑ siɑˈpɑ] one of them said.

Antir started motioning for Adam to take off his helmet. This was impossible – the Strauss’s helmet and torso were cast from a single piece of material – but he got the idea: according to her, the cleanroom was safe for him, and they needed him to step out. She hasn’t lied to me so far, he thought – most she could do is withhold information from me. I barely have a reason to doubt her right now.

He remembered from the manual that, in case of an extreme emergency, the suit could be opened away from the suitport, but he and everyone else in training were strongly cautioned against doing it, as it would also violate biosegregation. But if such a need ever arose, the user could pull his arms out of the suit’s arms, and pull a lever mounted inside the torso from the chest to the stomach. This would disengage the locks on the back hatch, allowing the user to climb out as he normally would. What was more, he’d also learned, the Soviets had gone and over-engineered the entire mechanism to allow the user to reseal himself inside the suit, and carry on as before. He didn’t know what sort of circumstances their engineers were considering when designing that feature into the Strauss, but considering the former Soviet Union’s bureaucracy, it wouldn’t be the most insane decision they would have made. Besides, he was glad it allowed him to walk out of the cleanroom, still in isolation.

Carefully, he slipped his right arm out of its sleeve. Seeking out a lever by his fingertips, he found a rubber lip just protruding from below his collarbone. He applied pressure to its top, and pushed it down firmly as far as it would go.

The Strauss’s mechanisms flawlessly articulated, and his backpack hinged open as it always did – and when it did, he felt air rush past him out of the suit, as the air pressures of the two melding environments equalized. He chewed his jaw a bit, and felt his ears firmly pop – good to go.

Slowly, he grabbed a rather inconveniently-small handhold above the suitport, and started to emerge out of the back-hatch of his suit. He was hit at once by the refreshing coolness of the new environment – first on his back and spine, slowly spreading across his sweat-drenched body until he was cradled in a gentle, breezeless coolness going through the webbing of his cooling garment.

Half-naked and afraid, he was completely at their mercy.

The wall opposite of the exit contained a sterile locker, just like on the lander, but this one was much larger – walk-in-size for small equine beings like themselves, but it only came halfway up his stomach. Still, it was nothing to scoff at. Another flash-sterilizer went off inside the locker, and it opened inwardly to reveal clipboards, pens, jars, syringes, a camera, and other equipment that they would doubtlessly be using.

Next to that, he saw a beam scale, the sort he would see in a physician’s office – though not a model he had seen before. This one had a much larger platform, clearly optimized for a quadrupedal species like these equines, while the beams were on a much lower level than normal – clearly meant to be moved by hooves, if none of these were unicorns. But they were all unicorns, since their suits had protrusions for horns.

He found that their suits’ visors weren’t one-way, and that he could see inside and pick out individuals. None of them looked like each other, so he was able to identify Antir instantly. The others he started nicknaming by their appearance, namely by their iris and fur colors – Green-and-Blue – whom he recalled took the clipboard from him to set up the chamber in the first place – Black-and-White, and Yellow-and-Brown. I probably should have given that strategy more thought, he realized.

One of them, Green-and-Blue, started giving orders to Black-and-White and Yellow-and-Brown – specific words were lost to his ears, given the muffling effect of their suits. Green-and-Blue grabbed a clipboard and quill pen using telekinesis – which apparently worked through the suits’ material, a thought which did not give him any comfort. Black-and-White grabbed the camera with its telekinesis, and started charging its flash. Yellow-and-Brown used its telekinesis to grab what looked like some measuring tape. Getting some basic information on me, I see. No instruction was given, be it verbal, symbolic, or otherwise, but he knew reflexively to step on the scale first and stand up as straight as he could. As this was happening, Yellow-and-Brown planted the tape’s cold metal end directly at his heel, unfurling it upwards. Green-and-Blue started moving the weights around on the beams this way and that – at first greatly lowballing his weight, almost by reflex, but later inching up the weights until it accurately recorded his mass. I’m heavier than they are, Adam noted, but I’m still within the range of this scale. Can’t imagine how much heavier I would be with the suit.

A week ago, he wasn’t sure if he had the strength to carry himself as confidently as he thought – but the trial by fire in the suit against the initially-painful gravity of Rhysling ensured that he would rebuild his former muscle mass within two or three Terrestrial days. He couldn’t tell what units they used for either of them, but he figured that the number on the tape measure was mind-bogglingly high – but predictably so, given how not a single equine he came in contact with so far surpassed his chest. Well, he thought, there are those white and blue pegasus-unicorn hybrids in the palace, but I haven’t stood very close to them, so I can’t make that call.

But Yellow-and-Brown wasn’t done with the tape measure just yet. Next, it started measuring different parts on Adam, with Green-and-Blue noting down each finding. It started with the length of his legs – both of them, to account for a theory that they were different lengths – noting the lengths as well of the different segments of the leg, down to the dimensions of his feet and each individual toe. Then it repeated with his arms – down to each finger. When it noticed Adam bending his fingers, it insisted on measuring the length of all fourteen phalanges on both hands.

All the while, Black-and-White had been photographing the things Yellow-and-Brown had just measured, almost in an assembly-line fashion. As Yellow-and-Brown moved the tape measure away, Black-and-White was already aiming the lens right where the former was measuring. Each click was accompanied by a burst of brilliant white light, the flash recharging itself in seconds after each take.

Yellow-and-Brown, keeping its horn lit, set down the tape measure and grabbed from the locker some paper and. . . is that ink? Indeed it was – it opened an ink pad, and grabbed Adam’s leg with its front hoof – not with its telekinesis. Right – I still don’t know what it could do to me specifically. Do they know, either? It dabbed the ink pad across the sole of his foot, then tapped a piece of paper it placed on the ground. Ah, they want my prints. Adam firmly stepped his ink-covered foot on the paper, rolling it around a bit to get a thorough imprint of his sole. Rinse and repeat for his other foot – and his hands, which he was easily able to do. Unprompted, he even rolled each individual finger across the paper, to demonstrate that human beings place some significance on those specific prints.

Once Yellow-and-Brown handed off his prints to Green-and-Blue, it grabbed the tape measure again, then started measuring the rest of Adam. First his back, noting the curvature of his spine – then the width of his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, but stopped before he could measure his hips. Adam realized his waste garment was likely to throw off that measurement – that, coupled with the fact that they would likely want to note his unmentionables, meant that he would have to strip completely bare.

He sighed, and started undoing the cooling garment. As tempted as he was, he didn’t want to go slowly – lest they grow impatient and rip it off entirely, potentially destroying it. And he hadn’t any replacements aboard – and he’d checked to make sure. Finally, the garment fell from his torso, and he stepped out of the heap – making sure not to get any ink on the cloth.

And now for the moment of truth – he dropped his waste garment from his waist.


·–·–··


After three excruciatingly-long minutes, Adam was finally allowed to re-don his clothing. This he did without hesitation – something tells me Antir might not have been too surprised by what she saw. He recalled the other day, when he was washing up without closing the window first. Never again, he reminded himself. The only thing she hadn’t seen before was something he hadn’t either – as he stood there in the nude, he noticed a dark splotch on his right hip, one he hadn’t had before. Apparently, in his haste to board his suit, he struck himself there hard enough to bruise. He brushed his hand over it – it stung a bit. I should be a bit more careful in the future.

He may have felt awkward disposing of his modesty, but Yellow-and-Brown either didn’t sense his discomfort or didn’t care. It had a job to do – and it did so with elegant efficiency, swiftly measuring everything Adam had striven to keep hidden. The tape felt cold on his nethers, and they noted his slight shiver as it ran cold across his skin – and the wince of pain when they measured his hips.

He zipped up his cooling garment. Finally – sweet modesty. So what else do you want from me? The answer turned out to involve needles and blades. Oh, Jesus. . . getting samples from me, are you?

They were nice enough at least to start off easy. He heard the telltale buzz of hair clippers coming up behind him. Now that I think about it, he mused, I could use a shave. He saw that Yellow-and-Brown was holding the clippers in its telekinesis, and he opted to do his job for him – reaching out to grab the shaver, he held it up to his chin, which after all this time had started getting rather bushy. Seeing his intention, Yellow-and-Brown let him take the clippers, and even held a plastic bag under his chin, to catch the clippings.

Adam ran the clippers over his beard – marveling at how smooth it glided on his skin, biting off the hair neatly at the surface of the skin while never nicking the skin itself. I’d have to ask how they made this thing, he thought. See if we can’t build our own back home. The bag easily contained the tiny bits of his budding beard, but apparently they weren’t satisfied. After a moment, Yellow-and-Brown snatched the clippers out of his hand. Green-and-Blue gently pushed the back of his knees forward – Adam knew they wanted him to kneel down, so he complied with their directions. This put him right at the perfect height for Yellow-and-Brown to shave part of his head. Thankfully, it wasn’t his entire head – it only removed the hair from part of the back of his head.

Next, as Yellow-and-Brown was sealing up the bag, Adam got back up onto his feet – where Black-and-White hovered the camera up to his freshly-shaven chin and back of his head, snapping photographs of each in succinct succession. He saw its telekinesis adjust the camera lens – apparently getting a close-up of his skin, close enough that it probably got each of the individual pores of his scalp and chin.

Suddenly the camera started sputtering, and a moment later it ejected a roll of film out of its bottom. Black-and-White caught it in its telekinesis, and floated it into a metal canister in the sterile locker. It opened another canister, grabbed that roll of film, and reloaded the camera. It sputtered for a moment as it unspooled and fed the new roll of film into the mechanism.

While this was happening, Yellow-and-Brown had shown the bag of hair clippings to Green-and-Blue, who then started taking down some sort of notes. Then it set the bag in the sterile locker, and grabbed a glass vial. Antir grabbed a set of giant cards from the sterile locker, and showed one to him. This one was pretty easy for him to interpret – they must know I can understand picture books. It showed a head, mouth open, with a liquid dribbling out into a similar vial. A saliva sample. Mouthwatering stuff.

Adam started working his tongue inside his mouth, and gestured Yellow-and-Brown to give him the vial. Once he had it in his hand, he stuck the tip of his tongue inside the vial, and let his spit run down his tongue and collect at the bottom. When his mouth was empty, he tried to hand it back to Yellow-and-Brown, but it gestured to fill it up to the top. Adam shrugged and gave it what it wanted – a moment later, the vial was full.

Yellow-and-Brown took it from him, stoppered it with a black screw cap, and set it in an orange container inside the sterile locker. From the same, it produced a needle and syringe. The next card Antir showed him within the moment was the syringe entering a neck, a rod-and-sphere arrow, then another syringe full of some sort of liquid. He started panicking slightly – it was going to happen at some point, but did they really have to draw it from the neck!?

He straightened out his left arm, indicating with his finger a prominent blue vein in the thin skin of the crook. Please use that instead. It was easy for him to identify, but he wasn’t sure if they could tell the blue from his pale skin. Apparently they could – Yellow-and-Brown dabbed a small cloth with a clear liquid from a bottle, and moved the cloth closer to him, intending on rubbing down the area indicated. It smelled strongly of alcohol – but Adam stopped him. He turned to Antir, pointed at the cloth, then mimed drawing.

It took her just a moment to present a diagram of a molecule. Adam searched his memory of his chemistry class, trying to recall what chemical this was, all while cross-referencing his memory of the Indigenous periodic table, to match up which symbols corresponded to which element. It was two flames connected to five water drops and a cloud; the cloud in turn was connected to a water drop of its own. After a few moments, he realized it was C2H5OH – ethanol. Thank the gods, that was a close one. He breathed a sigh of relief, and allowed Yellow-and-Brown to proceed. Last thing I need is to sterilize myself with methanol or something – I am not looking forward to going blind.

It brushed the crook of his left elbow, while Adam held it straight. Good – my neck’s safe. Then as Yellow-and-Brown brought the syringe closer to him, Adam reflexively jerked his head away, shutting his eyes as tightly as he could. He never liked to watch needles enter his blood, and he really didn’t want alien horses to be holding the needle. But he knew it was necessary, so he held his arm steady, clenching his fist, but averted his gaze, letting only the prick course through his nerves as the metal needle entered his vein. He unclenched his fist, and let the blood flow into the glass vial of the syringe. Five seconds later, the needle left his arm – and when he looked again, Yellow-and-Brown had a vial of Adam’s red blood. It removed the needle, placing it in a sharps container, and set the vial in the orange container. Meanwhile, Black-and-White briefly abandoned its photography duties to bandage Adam’s elbow – impressively, they had developed adhesive bandages independently from Earth, and it fit just right within his elbow.

But they weren’t done yet. Next, Yellow-and-Brown got a glass jar. He raised an eyebrow at Antir. She, noticing the expression, took to the cards. The next one was a humanoid figure standing before a jar, like the one he saw, with a curved line coming from the bottom of its torso and into the jar. Adam needed a moment before he realized what it meant. Seriously? Again?


–·–··


Yellow-and-Brown screwed the urine-filled jar shut while Adam pulled his waste garment back up, getting started on zipping the cooling garment back on. So that’s my hair, my spit, my blood, and now my piss. Now what? Are they going to cut me open?

Apparently that was the end of the sampling phase. Yellow-and-Brown shut and sealed the orange container, then set it towards the back of the sterile locker – which would be in the front on the other side. It shut the door, and hit a button on the side. He heard the usual windup and blast as the unknown mechanism sterilized the interior. Don’t waste any of that.

One by one, each of them started making their way back to the exit. Guess it’s time for me to go. Adam grabbed his white shell of a suit and started worming his way into it – taking care to steer his left hip out of the way of the edge, to avoid exasperating his injury. Once both feet and legs were securely inside those of the suit, as well as his right arm, he tried to stand up – but found the task rather difficult. Antir’s telekinesis helpfully propped him upright, and he was able to plant his feet firmly on the ground.

He gripped the torso lever, on the bottom this time and pulled it back up to his chest. The life-support backpack smoothly swung shut, and sealed with several clicks. Like it never even happened, he marveled. Though of course, I’ll have to tell the others about what just happened.

Adam followed the equines into the airlock, where they were standing, waiting for him. As soon as he stepped inside fully, the door shut automatically behind him. Antir looked up at him, as if to ask if he was ready. Adam answered by moving his hand to the sterilizer button. None of them stopped him from pressing it – and when he did, he braced himself for the flash and thunder of their sterilizer.

Five seconds later, they were all clean.

Promptly as the light faded, all four equines started stripping out of their suits, stashing each one into the orange bin. Whether these would be destroyed, or have the sweat and fur washed out of the interior and reused, he could not say. After taking a large breath of air, Antir took Adam’s hand in her telekinesis and led him out of the airlock and out of the room.

As they continued down the hall, his stomach reminded him of his lack of nutrition. Man, I really cannot wait to get back to the lander. By his judgment, the day was coming to a close, and by the time he got back, it would be far too late to clock into work today. On one hand, he was falling behind on his progress to prove himself – on the other, that was by government orders, and nobody had questioned those so far.

They got to the end of the tunnel, where it zipped open, revealing the six guards still waiting for him and Antir – but mostly for him, as while they surrounded him, they gave Antir little mind, save for her leading them to the train station to take them home.

Logically, it was the same distance from the hospital to the station – but to him, this time it seemed much further away, either due to his impatience, or the increased street traffic. Adam ignored the stares and gawks; he didn’t care what any of them thought of him. He just wanted a meal and some rest.

Right, I should hail them right now, now that I finally have a chance, he thought. Even if it is after the fact. “Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset, come in,” he opened, “over.”

Five seconds passed. “This is Zulu-Alfa,” Commander Darcy’s voice came through, with an exasperated voice. “We’ve been trying to hail you for about an hour now, what gives? Over.”

“Apologies, sir,” he replied, “I was in a dead zone. It turned out the building they took me into had a Faraday cage lining the walls. At first glance, it appeared to be just an architectural choice – though if it’s true that a Faraday cage would block the mechanism of their unknown technology, I think it would go a long way to determining the nature of their telekinesis, and teleportation. Over.”

Darcy sighed. “Leave it to them to engineer that connerie,” he commented. “Copy Somerset, I’ll relay that to Dr. Weiss once she’s awake. But for now,” he added, “what did you and the Indigenous do in the meantime? Over.”

Adam sighed – though that was left untransmitted. How do I break this to him? he pondered. Then he drew a breath – screw it, blunt force it is. “I guess it was inevitable,” he started. “They wanted to do a medical examination on me. Before you ask sir, no, they did not dissect me. They took some measurements, photographs, and samples of my hair, blood, saliva, and urine. They appeared to have biological containment protocols in place, and even simulated a Terrestrial environment.” Should I add anything else? I think that covers the essentials. “Over.”

Silence intervened for about a moment. Adam could just see the train station coming up. “. . . I suppose with a civilization like that, I should have seen it coming,” he appeared to concede. “I just hope it wasn’t too rash of a decision. Was it in a cleanroom at least? Last thing we want is to violate our own contamination protocols – even if they insisted upon it. Over.”

Adam started to relax. “Affirmative,” he replied. “They took every possible precaution to ensure that I did not contaminate Rhysling, nor would they me. The Indigenous were wearing protective gear in a cleanroom. Over.”

“Sterilization protocols, Somerset, how did those work for them? Over.”

“If I explained it to you,” he replied, “would you believe it? Over.”

“Somerset, we’re talking about a race that can teleport at will,” he replied. “Unless you’re just bullshitting us with that too – are you? Over.”

“Through unknown means,” Adam explained, his previous anxiety all but subsided, “their sterilizer works in an instant. Not even five seconds pass from start to end. Just a simple windup, then it showers you in bright light and loud sound. Once that was done, it was just a matter of coaxing me out of my suit. No ill effects are present now, but I will be monitoring myself for the foreseeable future. Over.” He clamored aboard the train car, along with Antir and two of the guards, the other four staying behind. As he usually did, he sat side-saddle on the nearest bench, with his leg propped up. Antir sat on the bench opposite, to keep an eye on him, and the two guards posted up at the back of the car.

“Elena’s focused on how Rhyslinger life works, particularly when interacting with Terrestrial life. On one hand, having more pairs of eyes planetside might help her along. On the other hand, if they find a weakness in our biology that they could exploit. . . .” There was a pause – Adam assumed he was deep in thought. “I suppose we’ll have to deal with that eventually. Get back to the lander, get some rest. Over.”

“Copy, Commander. Somerset out.” One of them thumped the bottom of its spear on the ground, which signaled the engineer to go.

As the engine whistled and the train started forward, Adam felt himself lurch into the bench. He sighed – forty minutes away from the first settlement, and another ten-minute walk to the lander. . . then I can just tear into the dry stuff. Yeah, I can wait.

Reflexively, he stuck out his hand to Antir. When she took it, he instead gripped her hoof inside his hand. She felt especially small, fragile – like she was made of glass. He glanced over to her, and saw her return his gaze. It had only been a few days since he landed on Rhysling, but he felt certain, more certain than before, that he might actually consider himself her friend – the first of hopefully many more he would make on the new world.

The scrubber alarm sounded.