Deep Crossing

  They woke me in the middle of my sleep period. They were excited. Something had been found. There was no question. The signature was completely unique and exactly as predicted. I rubbed my eyes hoping the artifact was buried in some distant, seldom-traveled canyon. They informed me it was smack in the center of the second largest city. We hung over Wilson’s station staring blankly at the flashing scan circle on his scope. “Gonna hafta go down there. No other way,” he said. RJ looked up at me but did not say I told you so.

  It was the moment everything had to change. An ominous confirmation that some of us would be forced out of hiding. We would now need to hide in plain sight. Plans had to be made. Stealthy landing sites had to be evaluated. Walking distances kept within reason. Because there was no avoiding the population, inconspicuous clothing had to be tailored. Fake identification and some form of currency would need to be obtained or printed. The first trip would be the most hazardous. Not knowing what would work and what would not made it a dubious undertaking. Little details can kill big plans. I did not ask for volunteers. It would be Wilson and I. If things went sour I wanted the most manpower available for an escape. It would have to be a drop off in the darkness of early morning hours. The Griffin was vulnerable on the ground. Danica would lower us down, make the drop, and then assume a stationary orbit overhead so that we could be tracked. We would not be able to re-board until the next evening’s darkness.

  Construction worker’s clothes seemed to suit us best. There were rough-terrain shoes in the Griffin’s stores. We made our jeans look like those on the broadcast advertisements, and came up with gray work shirts to go with them. The science lab had gold, silver, and platinum metal sample kits for analysis comparisons. I appropriated one of each as potential currency. They were using a base denomination called the dinar. You could get a new Meteor convertible automobile for 850 dinars. Erin and Shelly made a chart of the prices of various common items so we could get a feel for what things cost. It was difficult to tell what our metal samples were worth, and it bothered me that we carried no identification. The Griffin’s science lab could reproduce anything. The problem was; we did not know what any official documents looked like.

  The drop point was five miles from the edge of the city in a patch of forest that bordered a park. No nearby radars. No forest towers. No roads or trails leading in. It would take five miles from there to reach the large gray building that held our object of interest. We would hide out in the park until the city came alive, and then blend in and follow our hand scanners or use guidance from the Griffin to reach the proper coordinates. We would avoid interacting with the locals, if at all possible. The objective was simply to get a look at whatever was triggering the Nasebian scan sweeps. Afterward, we would make our way back to the park, wait for darkness, and call for pickup. Once in orbit, we could reevaluate. It was a very simple plan, with few obvious problems. It made me think back to how many times simple plans had blown up in my face.

  There was very little orbital debris around the planet. Man had not been there yet. A few rock or ice fragments dotted the collision avoidance display scope. That allowed Danica to easily move up to a synchronous orbit above the city and follow the planet as it turned into night. Erin and Shelly kept busy learning Earth II’s slang. RJ continued scanning, and Paris was fixed in the science lab working his pyramid thesis. Wilson and I made wide belts to wear under our shirts so that a hand scanner, communicator, and weapon could be carried out of sight. We fastened button-cams to our shirt collars, earpiece receivers inside one ear, and mini-mikes inside the cuff of one shirt sleeve so that communications could be discreetly whispered, if necessary.

  Wilson buttoned his shirt and spoke without looking up. “I wonder what the women are like?”

  “Wilson…”

  “I know, I know. But, you got to admit, the thought is…”

  “Wilson…”

  “Don’t worry. Remain as invisible as possible down there, I know.”

  “As invisible as a Wilson can be, at least.”

  “You know we’re probably going to pass by some sweet-smelling old-time restaurants, too.”

  “Women and food. Strange, unexplored, dangerous planet…You’re thinking women and food.”

  “Well, it’s been a while…”

  “If you start getting that dazed look, what should I do?”

  “Remind me of our last visit to Heidi’s.”

  “I don’t know. That didn’t work out all that bad for you, as I heard it.”

  “Come to think of it, it was worth it. How do I look? Too much bulge?” He patted down his shirt and, and holding to the wall, straightened up.

  “It’ll pass. Let’s hope we don’t need any quick-draws.”

  The Griffin began descent at 3:10 down-there time, no lights inside or out, absolute minimum use of thrusters below one thousand feet. As usual, Danica was at her best. It was artistry in motion. She held us two feet off the ground to avoid making imprints. The airlock outer door made too much rushing air sound as it opened, but there was no one around to hear it. We jumped to the alien grass and looked up to see RJ wave as he closed the hatch. A moment later, the Griffin was a shadow disappearing in the night sky.

  Alone in an alien woods at night. One moon low in the western sky, a crescent of the other rising in the east. The air was a touch too cold. There was the smell of damp vegetation. We stood in a shadowy clearing where the grass came up to our knees. My first thought was alien snakes. The surrounding woodland was too cloaked in shadow to make out details. Trees and brush had no color. We both surveyed the place and then stared down at the comforting colored lights on our hand scanners. There did not appear to be an opening of any kind in the direction we wanted to go. We could burn ourselves a way through the brush with our weapons, but that would be too much of a ruckus and would leave too much evidence. I had brought a satchel. I drew out two folded machetes and handed one to Wilson. He seemed unconcerned about reptilian dangers and plowed ahead through the grass. After having once seen his bug-on-your-shoulder semaphore dance, I decided not to mention my own phobias.

  The forest offered the strangest of canopies. Sunrise was bringing color to the skyline. We were in the beginning of the fade from darkness to light. It was the end of the day for nocturnals and the beginning for the prey animals that needed the protection of light. The expanding glow from predawn cast a deep eeriness over this never-before seen landscape. There were echoes of alien sounds. Beyond the dense brush I caught up beside Wilson. He had his Marine face on. I would not want to face that expression head on as an enemy. I wondered in earlier years if it had been the last thing some saw.

  We marked our trail inconspicuously to save time when the hand scanners would lead us back for pickup. The barriers of underbrush eventually gave way to a thinning forest of trees. The machetes were folded and stored back in the pack. Orange sky revealed a clearing ahead. We had reached the edge of the park.

  It was a well-groomed commons. There was a playground not far away with tire swings, a cement slide, a small carousel, and a line of wooden seesaws. A bus stop lean-to stood nearby with strange advertising plastered on the walls. A large pond occupied most of the area on our left. Waterfowl rested on the shoreline and colorful paddleboats were anchored to a dock in a neat row. We stood within the tree line border and appraised our options. There was no one around. Foot trails through the grass lead in every direction.

  A spot behind a workshop on the west side concealed us nicely. At one point two uniformed men with guns rode slowly by on horseback. The sun came up a bit smaller than the one we were used to. As it rose people began to appear, mostly adults commuting on foot. A gentleman passed by close to our hiding place. He wore a gray tweed suit frayed around the edges with a tie that seemed too large for the suit. His black wing-tip shoes had too much mileage.

  The park rapidly became more and more populated. Children in baggy overalls carrying small rectangular lunch boxes embellished with cartoon character
s ran by, followed by other groups in school uniforms with small beanie-style caps. There was no reason to wait any longer.

  “Tarn to Griffin.”

  RJ’s voice came back. “With you overhead, Adrian.”

  “We’re ready to step out into the world.”

  “Your com is good. We have your scanner signatures and collar cam images. We’ll be following along as planned. Tell Wilson no stopping off at any bars.”

  Wilson tilted his head in annoyance.

  “We’ll check in as opportunities arise. Tarn out.”

  When it appeared no one was looking our way, we stepped out from behind the shop and began walking the nearest foot trail, then cut across the grass and headed for the bus stop. Behind it a cobblestone street, sidewalks, and factory buildings marked the beginning of the business district.

  Our impressions of the park had been easy. It could have been an old-fashioned park anywhere on Earth. There was no time shock there. But as we approached the noise and calligraphy of the city the sights became oddly disorientating. We cut into a red brick alley between two one-story structures and emerged onto a busy sidewalk. In that instant, we suddenly found ourselves back in time. The effect was so overwhelming it took a minute to grasp what was happening. The place was gray and red brick and glass, a combination of modest high-rises punctuating smaller multistory structures alongside them. So many people were crowding the sidewalks there was little chance of being noticed, even with the dumbfounded expressions on our faces. One of Shelly’s wooden trolleys was in the middle of the street loading people. A traffic cop stood just beyond it directing old-fashioned cars through an intersection. Someone honked his horn at a distracted driver. A street vendor was selling hot dogs a few feet to our right. I could smell them. Farther down the street a horse drawn carriage was delivering bottles of milk to a business. Directly across from us there was a closed theater, the Ravolo. The movie was Pathfinder, starring Dicana Sprang and Markus Theodore. Cars were parked at various points along the curb. It looked like an antique car show.

  The zero-G medication was kicking in, but it hardly mattered. We were so mesmerized the drag was of no concern.

  “Holy shit, Adrian.”

  “Just be cool now...”

  “Somehow I wasn’t ready for this.”

  “We’d better get moving. We’ll attract attention.”

  “They look just like us.”

  “The target is off to our left, up that way.”

  “I feel like I’m in a Humphrey Bogart movie, for God’s sake.”

  I pulled his arm and we began weaving our way through the fast-moving crowd. It seemed like we were going against traffic.

  “Hey you see that place up ahead? It’s a pawn shop.”

  “Swap or Shop? Yeah. I see it.”

  “We could get money there, I bet.”

  “It’s too soon. Let’s stay low-key. Get a feel for the place.”

  “I’m getting a feel. We should have brought a Tommy-gun in a violin case.”

  “I forgot you’re a damn movie buff. You probably know this place better than all of us. Be cool, keep moving, that cop over there on the sidewalk is staring at us. I hope to God we’re not doing something strange.”

  “Don’t worry. He’s looking at the broad in the dress shop window next to us.”

  “Broad in the dress shop window? You’re already starting to talk like them.”

  “Just playin’ the part, amigo. Playin’ the part.”

  There was a four way intersection ahead, busy with more people and a woman traffic cop. I was not sure which way was the best, and we could not pull out a hand scanner. I raised my communicator sleeve and rubbed my chin. “Griffin.”

  RJ’s voice answered. “It’s absolutely incredible, Adrian.”

  “Four way intersection. Which way?”

  “When you get to the intersection, take a right. Stay on that street. We’ll guide you the rest of the way.”

  “Tarn out.”

  We had to wait in a crowd to cross the street. No one was talking. There was some sort of metal-to-metal pounding noise coming from a side street as though a girder was being driven into the ground. Too much exhaust was coming from cars passing by. Wilson and I seemed to be a tad taller than the average Earth II inhabitant. The lady cop noticed us. She let go with her whistle, and waved everyone across. Although it was a five-mile hike, the distractions were so profound we hardly noticed. There were gas station attendants washing windshields, shoeshine stations on the corners, men wearing large advertising billboards front and back, outdoor telephones that had to be cranked, and car hops on roller skates at drive-in diners. We passed by a watch repair shop, a cobbler’s shop, and wound around beneath an elevated train rail. There was a telegraph office, the smell of roasted peanuts, and a cigar shop. I had to urge Wilson along from in front of Corley’s Old Ale House. The dingy green front doors were wide open and a barmaid in a Swedish short skirt with knee socks tried to beckon him in.

  As we walked, RJ interrupted. “Adrian, not far ahead of you on the right is a very large three story structure. Paris just finished looking inside with the IRAI. He believes it’s some sort of library. Just beyond that is a second, larger building. That’s your target.”

  I pulled at the collar of my shirt and spoke into my sleeve. “Copy.”

  As we got closer to the first large building, Paris’ intelligence began to pan out. A wide span of white cement steps led up to columns guarding a grand entrance. The large script lettering overhead read, ‘Provincial Public Library’. A scattering of people were coming and going.

  The next building answered many questions. It was two-story, white stone. The similarly scripted lettering above the entrance proclaimed, ‘Provincial Museum of Natural History’.

  People were standing outside smoking cigarettes. A billboard nearby assured them that it was the right thing to do. It made me wish we had a pack, it would have transformed our loitering into a smoke break. We lingered across the street from the museum watching people come and go. No tickets appeared to be required, but we could not make out if any entrance requirements were needed inside. We did not want to be asked for identification.

  “Griffin.”

  “That’s the place, Adrian,” replied RJ.

  “Can you see inside well enough to tell if they are stopping people who enter?”

  “Stand by.”

  A few minutes later Paris’ voice came over our earpieces. “It’s clear, Commander. There is a large desk just inside the main entrance, but only a few visitors stop near it. You should be able to enter without a problem. The target is in the center of the room, approximately one hundred feet past the entrance. It must be an important item.”

  “Thanks, Tarn out.”

  “You ready, Wilson?”

  “Looks copasetic to me, bro.”

  “Let’s go.”

  We waited for our chance, jaywalked across to the museum steps and climbed them imitating the casualness of those around us. Beyond the colorful open entrance there was a revolving glass door. One at time, we pushed through.

  The main hall was immense: a long marbled chamber with a glass canopy three stories high. Alcove entrances ran along both sides leading to exhibit areas. Balconies protruded above them. In the distance, the end of the hall led to more decorated entrances and balconies. A large information desk was on our right, manned by an attractive young woman dressed in a uniform that looked like old-fashioned flight attendant attire. She smiled at Wilson. He looked at me and I rolled my eyes. Special exhibits were stationed in the middle of the hall at various points along the way. We strolled along, pausing at each exhibit. The first was the skeleton of a woolly mammoth, the next an animal that resembled a saber tooth tiger with its coat intact.

  The third display was the one. Two other people had stopped there and were reading the plaque. The object was enclosed in a glass rectangle large enough to cover a small auto. To most onlookers, it appeared to be a slab o
f something shaped like a shark fin the size of a suitcase. To us, it was clearly a piece of spacecraft appendage. It was bronze colored with a hint of violet when the light hit it just right. As the others moved on, Wilson and I read the inscription.