Adrift

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. But the group magnetised to the outer hull of the wrecked ship found it hard not to translate the frantic vibrations of the opening airlock door to familiar sounds of rent and shrieking metal.

The juddering hull set jaws clenching and teeth grinding until it stopped abruptly, and the physical silence of space swallowed them whole once more. No one moved more than their eyes, as if disrupting the sleepiness of the wreck with more motion would release all manners of unknown hell.

But nothing happened.

The station drifted on its course, rolling them lazily into the light of the nearest star. Visors adjusted for the new light accordingly, heads-up displays recolouring from bright blues and oranges to darker reds and greens.

A beat. A bated breath.

Then the party’s leader motioned action.

In seconds they were waiting in front of the inner airlock door as the outer rumbled closed again. As the Science Officer swallowed nerves and thoughts of returning, peering through a tiny porthole towards their steadily drifting shuttle, weapons materialised around them as companions drew arms.

The airlock hissed as unknown gasses flooded the room, both doors now sealed. The lights blinked and twitched. The group held their nerve as the Science Officer removed an instrument to test the air.

Its blinking and pinging slowed to a steady chime, the results lighting everyone’s displays:

•CLEAN•

“Just because there’s gas reserves doesn’t mean the rest of the station isn’t compromised, masks stay on. We don’t know if there’d be any side effects breathing whatever this is. When we reach the central cavern, we’ll see how to access the data banks if anything is still intact, and if we can find their planet of origin. We can’t risk a hostile, space capable species drifting so close to home.” The leader’s voice chirped through headpieces.

“What if it’s them?”

The soldier’s question was to themselves more than the party, but everyone wondered the same. Everyone worried the same.

Beyond the airlock, varied states of lighting threw fitful ghosts and monsters in shadows and corners. Long, circular tunnels with valved doors and gates at regular intervals. Portholes were investigated for paths beyond, to ensure the tunnel that should be there, still was.

Initial scans of the craft reported potential damage from a meteor storm. It was these meteors that had played hazard with the power and life support of the craft, and consequently responsible for making the explorer party jittery at any floating debris or glancing shade.

The group drifted and floated achingly slowly toward their goal, for the most part in apprehensive silence. The largest door lay ahead. Magnetising their suits once more they landed, soldiers working, turning valves testing switches, peering through windows.

The Science Officer, brought along to assist with data retrieval stared at foreign markings on one side of the tunnel, and traced the both angular and serpentine markings with curiosity.

“Any insight into their language?” Startled by the break in silence, the SO wheeled to the Leader.

A shrug for a response. Too little was known.

“It’s new, but designs and patterns in the craft and script are similar. It could be a subspecies or neighbouring-”

Underneath them, the door shunted a meter, but no more. Eyes swivelled into the dark cavern.

“Arms. Safety check. Flares stowed, heads-up sight assist only. I want tethers and a line, we’ll hang in the centre of the space and assess before moving to the walls.”

A busied moment as soldiers lined up and powered down the magnets that stopped them floating through the tunnel. Another bated breath. Timers on helmet displays registered nearly a third of their air supply was through. Only so many more hesitant breaths to be wasted.

They clambered through.

The SO, still stood, watched through the porthole below as the first soldier magnetised to the opposite side of the door they entered through, aiming a chunky rifle towards the far side of the dark cavern. A small pod was launched with a short cough, blinking red until it changed to blue upon landing. A distance marker and depth sensor: the far side was within range of the harpoons, and using ultrasound noted whether the surface was thick enough to withstand being pierced and hold steady.

Twisting the barrel of the rifle presented the sharp barbs, and with another cough was shot across into the dark before tightening against the gears in the gun. The SO watched curiously as the grunt fiddled with a switch and lidded catch which revealed a second barb, firing backwards into the door, nearly piercing the SO’s suit.

“Pay attention, no accidents.” The leader scowled without even looking backwards. The soldiers were through the door in orderly fashion and scaling the wire. Their displays now synced with the distance marker indicated their short journey’s end to the centre of the room. They waited for attack, floating neatly, backs to the wire.

Nothing happened.

“Well we can be certain this wasn’t an attack vessel, there's little here in the way of fortification or security.” The SO offered to break the tension, as they less than acrobatically scrambled along the wire to meet the armed escorts.

“Then what was its purpose?”

It was hard to tell in the scout party’s journey to the craft with so much of it being torn apart and missing. This group of tunnels and chambers was the biggest piece that remained intact. Research and understanding came before contact, but above all, the military’s threat assessment was priority, and only then would-

“Are those… eggs?” A voice dripping horrified amazement.

Rifles and heads spun in the direction of the darkest corner. The heads-up displays low-light assisted vision was good, but not perfect. It outlined objects too far or dimly lit to be filled in with a faint grey, and beyond the debris in the air was the bubbled outline of a whole wall filled with rows and columns of eggs. Large eggs.

“Stop gawping, rear watch. Positions! If this is a nest, we need to be careful and alert.”

The Leader’s orders were obeyed. They waited. And still nothing.

“Might be the guards were killed in the storm?”

“Quiet. We don't know there was a storm, maybe a dogfight or boarding.”

An achingly long moment passed before the SO asked aloud, “Can we light them up?”

“You want to wake anything that’s-”

“The eggs are too ordered, they’re in rows. Columns. There’s no more than a hundred, but look. There’s not a single variation in size or shape. We need to see these up close.” The Leader chewed on this. Seethed silently.

“Lights. Cube the cavern round, four up, four down and send a ninth flare straight at the eggs. We stay on the wire though.” A sharp glance at the SO.

As the soldiers readied their lights and attached them to rifles, the SO watched the Leader, and wondered if it was possible to float angrily.

Flares drifted away to outer walls, briefly lighting debris, alien materials, tools, utensils, food or flesh or weapons, all of one or none of any. Scattered with relics and items there to be brought home for analysis - the room was a researcher's dream, a treasure trove of discovery if there were only time to indulge.

Now with a light planted around the room, it was ever so slightly larger than expected. The door from which they entered was the smallest, with a path running right through the room, with surfaces and computer banks and what could be seats and medical bays, all alien in design.

Covered in dust, the air danced with mites and objects, though the outer walls seemed miraculously untouched by whatever calamity rendered the vessel adrift and useless. The Leader wasn’t sure about the semi lit cavern any more than the pitch black, because now the shadows danced anew. But the SO was transfixed.

The eggs nearest where the small flare had planted itself glowed with a magnificent red. The outer shell welcomed the light and shone with a warmth thought incapable of being found in space. Then the SO realised, it shone.

No, not quite shining, something near. It’s glass!

Without warning, the SO sprung from the wire, drifting towards the glass eggs.

“Wait!”

The Leader launched themselves in pursuit. “Hold watch!” Was the only order shouted back to the group.

Closer and closer, more detail revealed itself. The glass was topped with metal, and a thin layer of condensation sat on its surface. There were keypads on the right at the top of the tubes, and more alien scrawling. Incredible! These were…

Thunk. Contact with the first egg. The first tube. It was smaller than the SO, about two thirds the size. Feeling the metal pulse softly, the SO realised there must still be power to this portion of the craft. Something so important that when it’s been ripped apart, this part of the vessel must stay fed, must stay active. A second thunk. The Leader landed on the SO’s back, furious, grappling.

“Are you insane, we know nothing-”

“They’re not eggs, look at the tube-”

In the shoving and lack of gravity the two drifted into a keypad. The lightest of pressure was all it took for a button to decompress, register and action. Light from the flare turning the tube red was met by a stuttering glimmer from inside, brightening and turning the tube and what appeared to be a thick liquid within a bright yellow. The two floating stopped in a dumb silence. A muggy shape was outlined in the tube. An alien sound registered from a speaker at the top of the tank.

A third thunk.

This time, no one dared draw breath.

A small limb with five digits had thumped the glass and receded once more, blurred by condensation.

The SO reached out and wiped some away. The Leader was preparing gun and blade, orders for evacuation and support from the shuttle. The SO heard none of it, staring ahead.

More lights in the tube blinked, sparked into life. More tanks lighting up around them. More of the room revealed and cast into the halflight.

In front of the SO, a small, mammalian creature floated, twitching, stirring.

Wires and cords floated up and away into the back of the tank, adding to the confusion, but there was no doubt.

Two eyes, two ears, a short crop of hair. The SO’s display read a warning - they’d forgotten to breathe. But finally they did over the din of radio communications, panicked in static.

“By the three moons… it’s them. The humans are here.”