An Improper Asteroid

The three soldiers sat around a little white box no bigger than a grapefruit. Two of them were afraid; one was fascinated.

“Either of you ever read that ancient story by Arouet? The one that survived?” Millard asked.

“Arouet? Who the hell is that?” Johns replied gruffly.

“I think he means Marie. Why didn’t you just say Marie? That’s what she’s called nowadays.” Shayne interjected.

“It was the first word that came to mind. Sorry. Anyway, Micromegas, you read that one Johns? He wrote Candadidd too, I think.”

“What the hell does that have to do with this?”

“Generally, Johns, that sort of thing is revealed after I know whether or not you have read the relevant text, so I can better present what I’m thinking.” Millard explained cordially.

“Don’t bother with it.”

Millard nodded. Half an hour before their impromptu powwow, Commander Millard Jones had been pacing over metal grating where a tumble of dead bodies, his former subordinates, lay before him. They had been alive recently initiating a lockdown, and insofar as he could tell, the little white box had nothing to do with it. When the other two arrived, they looked aghast: after he had shown them the relevant report, Johns scoffed and placed himself on a railing, while Shayne would only stand and agree to the fact that their oxygen supplies had been cut off. The obvious and conclusive evidence was not enough.

“We next, Millard?” said Johns. Private Johns was very often a confusion to people – his personality had always been stereotyped with that of a stolid, squat, and Napoleonic man, yet he was gangly and tall, the fleshy remonstrance to a wood puppet. The situation – an unbelievably high-yield asteroid which garnered more than a little political tension given opportunists and the lack of nearby government– did not help to mollify this.

“If by that you mean each and everyone one of us, possibly.” Millard shrugged.

“I meant me and Shayne.”

“Of course. Is it the idea of a conspiracy theory that gets you off, or is it good old antagonism? Or something else entirely? Tell me everything about your childhood, Private Johns. Here, let me get my signpad and you go have yourself a sitdown. We’ll get right to the bottom of this. ” The tone very much suggested that Millard, in his estimation, was already daintily wading there.

Before Millard could properly play with Johns, Leftenant Shayne coughed. It was nothing strange or serious, a clearing of soggy bits, and yet the both of them were instantly quieted. She was not a beautiful woman, too wide and masculine, and being business associates at best, the men were primarily concerned as to their own fate if the medical officer should be the next to join the void.

“We need to get a timetable going and a strategy.” Millard looked to Shayne. “No word yet on the channel?”

“Nothing.” she replied. “Just casual chatter. The closest ship is en route from a Midsec research vessel from Tsurna’s orbit – weirdly close. They said they’d be here in thirty minutes, though I don’t know how that’s possible.” Johns laughed as he spoke.

“Midsec? Cover that thing in sticky charges, link it to your neuro, and work on a ransom. They don’t play law-like, and they know they can get away with it unless they stand to lose something. I mean, I assume you broadcasted our current problem, yeah? Midsec Enterprises would be happy to burn you and take off with it. Or just take the whole station. Between their mercs and politicians, they’ve got no shortage of believable stories.”

Millard nodded, his repartee cut short by surprise. Well, he thought. He’s a rousing idiot, but apparently a little lucidity can leak through.

“And what about the box?” Shayne asked. Johns shivered, possibly. Millard stared at Shayne for a moment before saying something.

“That’s for later. We take the immediate priorities – I mean, this thing gave us a pretty big timeframe, didn’t it?”

“But what if –“

“Imagine this – if it comes first, we can’t do anything. If Midsec comes first, we can knock two birds with one stone. What did you tell them, anyway?”

“Medical emergency. Nothing else.”

“So they don’t know about the box?”

“No.”

Millard stared at her. Such boring woman, he thought.

“Millard.” Johns coughed.

“Yes?”

“I don’t buy it. You, out here, overseeing this. The head researcher. Fine coincidence. And your men -”

“Look, Private Johns.” Millard interrupted casually. “You’re new to my unit, though obviously experienced - I’m not a cut military man. I take note that you don’t address me properly, and I could care less, really – except when I have to listen to shit like this. Here we are, in the middle of what is in all likelihood a planets’ turd, and you want some sort of guarantee that I’m not involved. I couldn’t show you even if I wanted to. And as for being here, I’m a soldier with a pretty prefix. I was told to be here. I followed protocol on that man. If I want to keep those unbelievable benefits, I jump as high as I am asked. You should know all of this, Johns. You’ve been in the military.”

Johns stared at him, unmoving, glaring, his face a gummier shade of red, his lips eager to twitch but finding hold against the teeth.

“I just don’t get it. What was that ship you came out on, and I still don’t buy that he–“

“Look, there’s nothing. News from the ansible, even my inside sources, don’t know what this is. If they do, they’re very, very coy about it. Either way, the best we can do is be cautious without being overbearing. You understand, Johns?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“I don’t quite follow, though.” Shayne said. “Too many things for a simple coincidence.” Millard’s sigh seemed directed at Shayne.

“That’s probably because it is just a regular coincidence. Through government sectors and private alike, we have a variety of interests acting towards a variety of objectives. We’re like building blocks, clearly defined in our attributes, to be set up to best complete those objectives. And here we are. Looking at this and asking why we’re here is no different than getting starry-eye at your neighbor at the lounge and asking him, like a devout astrologer, ‘why are YOU here’. It’s nonsense. But if we have free time, by all means, look into it. I don’t expect anything but I like surprises, mostly.”

That should keep them, Millard thought. No reason for snot to clog the pipe.

“Still…” Shayne stuttered.

“What?” Johns asked testily. “What do you need to know? We’re not getting out alive.”

“You don’t know that.” said Millard.

“You think that little demonstration is just going to blow over? That box isn’t anything human. This is before you shot someone.” Millard raised an eyebrow.

“How do you know it’s not human, exactly?”

“What, like we could have made anything like that? Look –“ Johns hopped off the railing, “that title of engineer wasn’t there for a pretty little title buff. I was planning on doing research after this. Chomp the mandatory three years in and never look back.”

“And this isn’t anything we could have done?”

“I want to give you a timeframe estimate, but I can’t. It doesn’t use any parts I’m familiar with. It doesn’t click. It doesn’t whirr. It’s a little hallucination box.”

Millard mulled this over. No, he thought, it’s not quite just a little hallucination box. In fact –

“I know why Midsec is here. Probably.”

“How?” Shayne and Johns asked in near unison.

“Put the times and the orbits together. Whenever we opened –“

“It’s in the dead center of something that should have been a moon, at least. I doubt it.” said Johns.

“Assuming that your conspiracy is a nutty fable to pass the time, this one makes perfect sense. It projected something that Midsec picked up. As to who, or where, I don’t really know. Suffice it to say that Midsec had the drop, since they’re the transport for this planet.”

“I still don’t buy it.”

“Good. And you, Leftenant Shayne? In fact, you had better hope this is a conspiracy. Come our release, I won’t be the only one listening to this insubordination.”

“Nothing, sir.”

Millard sighed again.

A week before this, Millard and Shayne and Johns were casually acquainted. He had his orders, they had their rounds. The mine was more than capable of fitting the overlarge crew, researchers and miners and military alike. Gravity was so slight that it could often be ignored. Magnetized shoes and metal walkways were the preferred method of transport, though a passenger cart system had been made. Millard sat in his room, breathing heavily and finishing a simulated sex program when his comm lit up.

“Lambda complex. Immediate assistance requested. NL.” Non-lethal, he thought. A fight?

After suiting up and calming down, he walked briskly to the Lambda complex. The magnetic shoes chirped and thunked like birds being nailed to a tree. I like how it was in the one place I’d never bet on a fight, he thought. I can just imagine those guys slapping eachother with their fists. Rotten fighters, I’d bet.

He entered the Lambda complex, one of the many cores in the asteroid, and noticed a small pool of blood. Before him, in a little control room, a group of people gathered around a door. He walked up and confidently brushed them aside. A huddle of people, all of them clearly lost in the moment, gasped as he curtly moved them aside. Upon entering the claustrophobic room, he saw one of the researchers huddled in a corner. Johns stood opposite him, having just finished saying something.

“No. Go away.”

Johns turned and smiled. He slapped Millard good-naturedly on the back and walked off.

“You figure it out, you let me know.”

“What’s the status, Private Johns? What happened?”

“Oh. Guy says he found something. He dropped a few of his marbles, and now he’s pining to get them back. But, like, with blood. Another researcher – Barnes, I think it was, received the first and only blow. Then he, uh, Elliot? Right? -” Someone behind apparently nodded.”- sprinted in here, without locking the door, and, well…” Darn, Millard thought. No vampire jokes.

“Elliot. What’s the problem? Why’d you do that to Barnes?”

“No.”

“That’s a pretty poor answer. We’re not going to take anything or hurt you. Please, tell me what happened.”

“No.”

“Please, Eliot. It’s not like we’re threatening your mother or anything.” Not very smooth, Millard thought. Elliot turned his head and looked up in disgust.

“Congratulations Eliot, you just improved your vocabulary, sort of. Now, tell me, please what went on here.” He drew his hands to his hips as if anxiously waiting for an answer, though it was clear that he was preparing for the bolt-gun. The mine couldn’t have any chemical-burning ammunition (oxygen being flammable and all), so they had to rely on these weak metal-puking pieces with mediocre-sounding names. It fired metal from a magnet, and not very fast compared to standard ammunition. Still, it could do the job while keeping collateral damage to a minimum. As Millards’ hands moved, someone tapped him on the back. He turned and briefly shook his head, as if to say, like I’m going to need this.

The next few seconds blurred. The man sprinted at him, no words but heavy grunting, and held a little white box above his head. Millard reacted with trained grace, flipping the scientist neatly like an experienced chef flipping a pancake. The scientist was unphased and tried to redouble his efforts. The surprise rebound worked and Millard could only block the swing of the object. It bounced off the mesh of his suit with a little puck. Things took a decidedly worse turn in Millards estimation when, knocked back by this charge, the lithe man reached for his pistol. A struggle broke out while Johns ran up to assist him. The three men struggled, red hands from strained grip, and in two pulls, the scientist named Elliot relented. The bolt gun had gone discharged into Eliots’ thigh. Blood poured out of the hole and onto the metal grating.

“Oh, shit. Commander Millard, that’s an arter-.”

“Private Shayne, this is Commander Millard.” He radioed. “We need you immediately. Do you copy?”

Her assent bubbled into his headset and he sighed. The wound entrance was small and the exit was nonexistent. In the few minutes until Shaynes arrived, he tried to find the artery, prying into the writhing Elliot, holding his legs and try to find a little fleshy tube to clamp. The crowd watched anxiously, while a few of the absent-minded wandered off. The wrestling continued, but as his resistance weakened, so did Millards prying. He couldn’t find it. Eliot’s struggling gasps were now little whimpers and stuttered breaths, all culminating in one great sigh, done, relaxed and at peace. The squeak-thunk of boots came a few minutes later, and in them was a breathless Shayne. She pulled out a little dark object that fit neatly over her hand, and placed it on the wound.

“Femoral was partly cut.” Shayne said. Millard nodded.

“I see. You need to –“

The little white box that the dead man gripped slid out of his hands, and promptly floated to eye-level with Millard. A dull white light reflected off the amazed faces. The only sound was rustling suits and breathing. Millard backed up slowly and into the crowd – the box followed evenly. He moved slowly, almost lazily – in a few moments Millard slumped to the floor. Oh, he thought as he fell, what a funny little box.

A week later, Millard’s memories began to form as they had before. Clarity of mind returned to him in the mess hall as he poked at a drifting algae roll. He stared at his hands lazily, a crumbling film of blood upon them. Well, he thought. This is interesting. A quick peek on his neuro-interface displayed the various cameras that littered the mine, every nook and labyrinth passage under watch. Slaughter had taken place in the Lambda complex. A few had managed to escape and die elsewhere. Some looked half-eaten. Shayne and Johns were still alive, wandering aimlessly around the corridors like the residents of an art-nouveaux mental clinic, caked in blood as with Millard. The other part of the military dispatch had been in command when the incident happened. The camera showed them still there, mulling. He radioed.

“Can I get a report? What happened?” Silence resounded. “Anyone copy?”

“Sir,” the voice was high and feminine – Private Falton, he thought. “Uh, Commander Millard. We, um –“ Her voice was cut off by a masculine voice he didn’t recognize.

“You killed them. You and Shayne and Johns. I don’t understand. Why? What happened? And that box, that cube thing –“

“I don’t know what happened. Who am I speaking to?”

“Private Dramill, sir.” Weird name, he thought.

“Private Dramill. I don’t know what happened. I can’t guarantee that it won’t happen again. Stay in there, we’ll stay out here. I’ll go see if I can’t knock some sense into Shayne and Johns. Did you radio this, Private?”

“I did, sir. None of us can remember anything during the last week. I had to confirm it, but a Midsec ship is about two hours out.”

“Strange. Something to do with box, you think?”

“It’s possible sir. The timeframes match up.”

“Okay. I’ll give you the ansible code after I get to Shayne and Johns.” Like hell I will, Millard thought. “In the meantime, keep everything orderly. And don’t let us in, by any means. No reason for this to happen again,”

“I understand, sir.”

The neuro-interface set up in the asteroid was the newest integrated technology. Through it Millard could command a tactical map, order a drink if he was near a café, or listen to music with his mind alone. He went through a few menus which appeared like ghosts in his vision. At last the control room displayed before him, flesh within collapsing like broken dolls, the figures writhing at suits that would merely slap away the arms of the pitchy void. He locked the entrance to the Corina complex where Shayne and Johns shambled. The cameras were turned off. Their records were overwritten with a loop and the times were edited – a crack team might be able to get at them, but it wouldn’t be a worry by then. A voice began to radio in from the commander center, but he turned it off in favor of an airy Etude by Chopin. Oh, Millard wondered. Was I like this before? But his mind produced no rejoinder, and at the thought of their empty death, something near pleasure came to his face. No, he thought, this is all quite fine now.

At the powwow, Shayne and Johns had exhausted their search – only a freak mechanical error had occurred. They sat around the little white box quietly, scratching themselves and hoping that their next run through the videos would find something incriminating, something meaningful. A popping noise echoed off the rock and metal, and then the bright green avatar of a strange, overly tall person appeared above the box. It was genderless. Probably a man, Millard thought. So it’s a woman, Shayne figured.

“I see you have… enjoyed the device.”

“What do you mean? Who are you? And was that a joke?” Millard asked hastily.

“This was a device made to stimulate old human brains in interesting ways and evince certain latent qualities. An ancient, buried experiment. We believed we had removed the artifacts, but some are very tricky to, as your iteration calls it, work out of the dirt. Especially on a man-made cocoon posing as an asteroid. No worries: it cannot endure the fire.” Johns opened his mouth and stuttered, then stopped. He began speaking quickly.

“Millard, Midsec is here. They’re in null suits, hovering a kilometer away.” Millard closed his eyes.

“What-” Millard interrupted himself, sighing calmly. He had resigned.

“Humans made this,” the avatar said gaily, “and humans made us – we are not human, though we, or I, if you prefer, contain them. This is simplified for the sake of time, but a few had their minds uploaded to a computer, whereupon they entered a rapid period of intelligent evolution, becoming giants and gods, alone, making new life and – ah, but that is all. Farewell.”

Command almost instantly filled with a bright light. It endured for almost a minute, singing the innards of a now-lifeless lump of rock. The Midsec suits waved at one another. The asteroid had been gutted. Sterile. Pure, even.

“Sure had good timing. Everyone went nuts right as we were planning a move.” One of the suits mumbled over a closed channel.

“When do you think we’ll get to work on the asteroid?”

“A few minutes if they’re lazy.”

Wry laughter crackled through the radio.