Origin (38 page)

It fell to the north, disappearing over the horizon. Peterson’s eyes widened; he feared the object had been completely disintegrated by Earth’s friction filled atmosphere. Perhaps he would find nothing but interstellar ash? Or maybe nothing at all. He was terrified that he would have nothing to show for the most enlightening, most invigorating and satisfying experience of his life. He held his breath.

A second later, he heard a distant thud. The meteorite had struck the ice, and not too far away. His mind spun with the possibilities that came when any meteorite was discovered: proof of extraterrestrial life, new elements, maybe even evidence for the beginning of the universe. The possibilities were endless. This object that just fell into his proverbial backyard could be as old as the universe itself. He stood there for a minute, pondering what he would find, and then suddenly snapped out of his thoughts, sounded the alarm and gathered his crew.

“Benson! Get your ass up!” Peterson shouted as he shook the outside of the sturdy, orange tent.

“I’m awake. I’m awake,” came a voice from inside the tent. Seconds later the tent was unzipped from the inside and a tired, bearded face gazed out. “What the hell is so important?”

“A meteorite,” Peterson said, with glowing eyes.

Benson was annoyed. “Yeah, we find a lot of those up here, but not at six o’clock in the morning!”

Peterson leaned in close and spoke with a voice that demanded attention, without the use of volume. “You don’t understand. It just hit. I saw it hit.”

Staring straight forward for a moment, Benson was lost in thought. “You’re sure?”

“Saw it with my own eyes,” Peterson said. “Wake the others. We’re leaving in twenty minutes. And we’re not taking any chances, so break out the bio-suits.”

“Are you sure that’s necessary?” Benson asked with a snicker. “You do realize how improbable it is for us to find life on one of these rocks, don’t you?”

“Just do it,” Peterson said as he walked away.

Within thirty minutes, they were high above the crash zone, circling a crater the size of a typical backyard swimming pool. Peterson looked out from the side of the helicopter, peering through the clear faceplate of his bio-suit. His heart skipped a beat. There was something at the center of the crater.

Something red.

“Take us down,” Peterson said to the pilot, who instantly brought the chopper around. They landed fifty yards away, sending up a blinding plume of snow.

As soon as the chopper came to rest on the ice, Peterson, Benson and three other men, dressed from head to toe in silver biohazard suits, entered the swirling wash of snow and set out toward the meteorite. As though rehearsed, all five men reached the outer perimeter of the crater simultaneously and froze.

“Oh my god,” Stewart, one of the interns, said as he gazed into the crater.

Peterson looked at Benson with a smile stretching wider and wider. “You’re with me.”

Slowly and calmly, Peterson and Benson descended into the crater which was six feet deep and smooth. The ice melted and refroze. It was tricky navigating the steep angle but the bio-suits had been designed for use in the arctic and the built-on crampons bit into the ice. Once at the bottom, Peterson opened his hip pack and took out a small device he had designed specifically for his line of work. He called it a geospectrometer.
Geospeck
for short. The device could scan any object, geological, biological or man-made, and tell you what it was composed of—instantly. What was more important to Peterson was the device’s ability to detect the presence of life, or even the residue of life, down to the microscopic. It was the astrogeologist’s magic wand. Many finds which would have taken years to scrutinize now took seconds with a degree of error that put human analysis to shame. Every find was valuable, but thus far none had contained even a hint of life.

He looked down at the object. It was the size of a football and deep red in color.
This is definitely something new
, he thought, and then frowned.
Or waste ejected from the space station
.

He held the
Geospeck
over the object and watched as an array of numbers danced across the LCD screen, working calculations and identifying the rock’s chemical and physical makeup. The numbers changed to words, listing out all known elements, several of which were common in all meteorites. Then it stopped.

Peterson’s eyebrows furrowed deeply. That couldn’t be it. Nothing in the list of elements listed on the
Geospeck
could account for the vibrant crimson color. Before he could voice a complaint at the device he had created, a new set of words were displayed on the screen.

Unknown element: classification – 001EL

Unknown element: classification – 002EL

Unknown element: classification – 003 EL

Geologic Analysis: Unknown materials present.

Biologic Analysis: Unknown potential.

Peterson’s jaw went slack. Not only had they discovered three new elements, solidifying that this was indeed from another world, the biological analysis came back:
Unknown potential
. This by no means meant that he had discovered life, but something in, or on, this rock had confounded the geospeck. And
that
was something worth getting excited about.

“Unbelievable,” Peterson said to himself. He looked back at Benson, Stewart and the others. “We’ve found something…something…I don’t know….”

Stewart’s excited eyes widened behind the bio-suit’s mask. “Life?”

Peterson smiled. “Maybe.”

Stewart looked confused. “Maybe.
Maybe
?”

“That not good enough for you, Stew?” Benson said.

Stewart looked uncomfortable. “Well, I—”

“Try to understand this from our perspective,” Peterson said. “We’ve been coming here and collecting stones from space for how long now?”

“Seven years,” Benson said.

“Seven years,” Peterson repeated. “And this is the first truly unique meteorite in all that time. It contains something we—something
no one
—has seen before.”

Stewart looked pleased again. “So this is big then?”

Peterson chuckled. “Very big.”

“Famous big?” Stewart said.

Peterson put his hand on Benson’s shoulder. “We’ll see.”

Stewart leaned over the lip of the crater and peered down at the meteorite, half buried in the ice, its red surface shining in the bright sun. “This…is…awe—” Stewart lost his balance and fell forward. “Whoa!” His arms spun madly, like a penguin trying to fly, but it was no good. Stewart spilled into the crater, tumbled head over heels and began to slide, face first.

Leaping out of the way, Peterson realized that anything falling inside the crater would inexorably be drawn to its center, where the meteorite now lay. Half out of fear for Stewart, half out of concern for their find, Peterson yelled. “Dig in with your crampons! Don’t hit the—”

But it was too late. Stewart’s forward motion came to an abrupt halt as he smashed face first into the meteorite. Everyone stared at Stewart’s motionless body, waiting for something, anything, to signify he was still alive.

“I’m okay!” Stewart shouted with a chuckle. “The facemask absorbed most of the impact.” Wearing a wide grin on his face, Stewart rolled over onto his back. “See, I’m fine…. Huh.”

After years of working with science minded folks, Peterson had learned that there was a single phrase that always held more meaning among scientists than among the layman. The simple word, “huh,” usually predated a significant discovery, observation or in some cases, immediate and approaching danger. Peterson rushed toward Stewart, “What is it?”

Pointing towards his clear mask, Stewart said. “There’s a crack in the mask.”

Peterson kneeled over Stewart’s body, inspecting the mask.

If Stewart came into contact with alien biological material, the effects could range from nothing to instantaneous death. That’s why with objects of particular interest, Peterson always had his crew wear bio-suits. When he inspected the crack in Stewart’s mask, his anxiety level grew from moderate to severe. He sucked in a quick breath.

Stewart grew instantly nervous. “What?”

Benson knelt down next to Peterson and saw it too. “Some of the meteorite is imbedded in your mask. Can you see it?”

Stewart went cross-eyed, focusing on the inside of his mask. “Yeah, I see it. A little red line. Looks like dust in the crack.”

“Is there any on the inside of the mask?” Peterson asked.

Stewart scanned the inside of the mask. “I don’t see any. Am I going to—aachoo!” Stewart’s head rocketed up with the force of the sneeze and then smashed back down. “Sorry about that, I…I…”

Peterson inspected the crack. The red material was gone. “Oh god.” A thin cloud of red dust swirled inside the mask. Stewart inhaled and sucked in the material.

“I…where am I?” Stewart said, his voice sounding sleepy.

Benson shot Peterson a worried look.

Peterson whipped around toward the other men. “Get to the heli! Tell them we need a med-evac over here, right now!”

The men bolted for the chopper and Peterson turned his attention back to Stewart, who was beginning to quiver.

“What’s that?” Stewart said fearfully, looking to his left. “Something’s over there. And there! No, no, no. Where
am
I?”

“Hang on, Stew. I’m still with you.” Peterson said, trying to remain calm.

“Dr. Peterson? I can’t see you! Who’s that talking? I can’t understand?” Stewart shook violently. Benson did his best to hold him still. “My head…in my head…I can hear them talking to me…What are you?”

Stewart became deathly still, sucking in quick breaths. His eyes were wide. Peterson realized he was listening to something. “Stewart, can you hear me?”

“No…” Stewart said.

Peterson was confused by the response. If Stewart couldn’t hear him, how did he know a question had been asked? It was when Stewart spoke again that Peterson realized the delirious intern wasn’t talking to him.

“You’re lying! No…no! Stewart was screaming as his body convulsed violently. His back arched as though an electric shock had ripped through his body. A burst of red foam spewed from his mouth, coating the inside of the mask. He froze in a sickening arched position.

Peterson and Benson knew Stewart was dead. And because he was contaminated there was nothing either man could do to resuscitate him. Peterson slumped back onto the ice, his chest rising and falling quickly as he attempted to catch his breath.

Both men looked from Stewart’s dead body, then to each other, then back to the meteorite. Despite feeling sick to his stomach, Peterson realized what Stewart’s death meant. It was a tragic loss, but in his death he proved the presence of alien biology.

Deadly biology.

Living
biology.

Peterson lay on his back as the sound of the approaching helicopter grew louder. He sighed as he looked up at the bright cobalt sky and said, “All my life…”

O
f this much, at least, I’m sure: My story begins more than a year ago now, aboard a gold-plated Gulfstream corporate jet I’d borrowed for a quick business trip to Thailand. The Gulfstream belonged to Helms Technology, or HT, the computer software giant. It’d been lent to me by the company’s founder, president, and CEO, John Helms. That’s right—the wealthiest person in America. John was a client of mine. I protected him. Life and limb.

That is to say, my security firm did. And my trip to Thailand had been to do the advance work for John’s own upcoming visit. He was to meet with regional business leaders as well as speak at a computer science symposium sponsored by Chulalongkorn University in Bangkok.

The country had a large Muslim population, a number of Islamic extremists, and growing trouble with terrorism. John’s fame and wealth and nationality would make him a tempting target to those at war with the so-called decadent West. But Thailand wasn’t at all on John’s mind when he phoned me during my return trip, while the jet sat refueling in Austin, Texas.

“I’m disappointed,” John said in his nasal twang. “Mighty disappointed. You hear me, son?”

Son
. That’s what he called me. We were born the same year. “What’s the matter, John?”