Transmissions From Escape Pod X

I have come to the conclusion that Escape Pod X is no longer merely drifting through space.  On multiple occasions my navigation system, which I only recently finished repairing, has momentarily shorted out.  When it became operational again, the coordinates displayed indicated a massive shift in my location.  After exhaustive tests, I determined that there is no malfunction in the system itself.  I am in fact appearing, seemingly at random, at different locations in space.  There are three possibilities.  The first is that the same beings that destroyed the Horizon are manipulating me.  The second is that I have fallen victim to some natural phenomenon of which Earth is yet unaware. The last is that a third party is becoming actively involved in this affair.  No possibility is better than another.

Regardless, I have little choice but to continue my work.  My only hope is that by establishing communications with someone – anyone – I may begin to unravel this mystery.  There is no other option.  I must press on.

I will attempt another transmission soon.  If you are being reached, please respond on this frequency.

It was only through the brilliant efforts of her crew that the Horizon was successfully landed on that strange planet.  I ordered a full systems check and had Solomon prepare his men for action.

A Captain sets the tone for his crew.  They take their lead from him, and it is his responsibility to understand that.  In every situation I have tried to maintain my composure and give my men and women a reason to believe in me.  That sometimes means lying to myself about my real motivations, my real fears.  But even if I manage to fool myself, I can never fool my wife. All it took was one look at Rana to know that she understood.  Despite my brave front, I didn’t know what we were facing, and I was afraid.  And in that moment, I understood why Dr. Pym had been thinking of Venus.

With few options, we tested the atmosphere and then prepared a landing party.  When we set foot on the planet’s surface, none of us knew what to expect. Then we saw in the distance the most unusual sight.  From over the hills came a platoon, marching in perfect time, heavily armed, heavily armored – or so it appeared.  As they approached, we saw there were no seams in their armor, no signs of organic life of any kind.  And the way their joints bent, the weight with which their steps fell, eliminated any possibility that these were simple men.  And, with no alternative, we came to the logical conclusion: it was an army of robots.

Pym made his way to my side.  I felt him tense, heard him whisper, “This is getting too familiar.”

A smallish robot emerged from the troop and proceeded to introduce himself as Moggio.  He (and I realize now with some disgust how easily I apply the word “he” to that machine) explained our predicament.  As Liaison of his planet, he wanted to enter negotiations with me for the surrender of Earth to machine rule.  He wanted us to bargain away our planet in exchange for our lives.

Solomon lashed out at him.  He charged for the robot, but then his own mechanical hand twisted on his wrist, sprung towards his throat, and began to throttle him.  The rest of us could only watch in horror as this good and honorable man was strangled to death by his own appendage, which had fallen under the control of these heinous machines.  And then Moggio declared in his cold hollow voice, “A creature of flesh and steel.  You control the flesh, but we control the steel… and steel is always stronger.”

We were separated then.  Most of the crew was sent to holding cells, but Dr. Pym was sent off alone to something called “Aurora.”  As for me, I was taken away to negotiate in private.  I tried to resist, tried to keep them from taking me… tried to stay with my wife.  Oh, Rana!  Even then I knew that being apart from you would be agony.  Now, trapped in Escape Pod X, the pain that we felt on that Robot Planet is my constant companion.  Are you alive?  Are you out there?  Is there anybody out there?

I apologize for the digression, but the pain of isolation can often be overwhelming.  I’ll continue my story as best I can.

Rana, Rothman and Nadine were placed in the same cell, so as to be ready to replace me in case I proved a difficult negotiator.  There were no locks, no chains – just one robot guard that could have killed them all in an instant.  Nevertheless, the three of them began planning their escape almost immediately and, after a number of hours, hit upon an ingenious solution.  Knowing that robots are programmed in binary, and are therefore incapable of thinking in threes (or trinary), Rothman convinced their robot guard Ker to answer a question in the negative.  Three times he ask if Ker was a robot.  On the third question, Ker had no choice but to respond “Yes.”  Rothman took this wedge and drove it into the robot’s processors.  Eventually, the paradox was too much, and Ker ceased to function.

Seizing the robots weapons, the three of them proceeded to free the remainder of the crew and send them back to the ship to continue repairs.  At the same time, I was doing my best to stall negotiations with Moggio.  I knew that once we began discussing Earth’s fate, there were only two possible outcomes for me: I surrender immediately and live, or I argue and die.  There would be no compromise.

I asked him about his world’s origins, and how a race of machines could have emerged as its rulers.  He explained how centuries ago, the inhabitants of Skyron were faced with extinction.  With few alternatives, they submitted to the will of one of their own. “The Maker,” as he was called, purged their emotions and hardened their flesh.  Eventually the Maker abandoned the biological component altogether, devoting his attention exclusively to machines.  Ultimately, only the robots were left to serve his will.

I was interested.  I told Moggio that I would like to meet the Maker, but he quickly denied my request.  “The Maker sees no one,” he said.  When I argued that he could be of help to our negotiations, Moggio almost laughed.  “The Maker had no direct involvement in our previous negotiation.  I am fully equipped to handle this business.”

Previous negotiation?  I pressed, asking about this “previous negotiation.”  Moggio explained that his world had recently confronted another planet.  When the robots tried to bring the populace under their control, they were met with resistance.  Without a thought they annihilated that planet, scorched the surface, wiped it clean of all life, leaving only a burnt-out husk behind.

I asked which planet they had scorched, but I didn’t need to.  I already knew its name: Venus.

The machines had destroyed Venus.

It was the hardest thing I have ever done, keeping my composure in those few moments.  It would have been easy to lash out, to lose myself in my emotions, but doing so would have resulted only in my death.  I swallowed hard and kept my eyes focused on the monster in front of me.  I began to formulate a plan for action, but as luck would have it, the door to the chamber burst open then and Rana, Rothman, Nadine, and Pym were there, guns in hand.  Moggio never had a chance.

Reunited with my companions, I was ready to make our next move, but there was a complication: Pym had not made his escape alone.  He had brought with him a gynoid called Aurora.  I never had the chance to get the full story out of Pym, but Rana would later tell me that the Doctor had been placed in a special cell with the robot and convinced her to help him escape by appealing to a flaw in her positronic brain – a flaw that allowed her to feel emotions.  I would have argued, but at that point, I had other priorities – chief among them, finding and killing this “Maker” once and for all.  If he possessed such power as to destroy the world of Venus, then Earth would have no chance against him.  He had to be eliminated.

By integrating with Moggio’s memory banks, Aurora was able to uncover the Maker’s location, and together, the six of us made our way to his chamber.  The interior had a unique decor – it was Venusian.  And when we found the Maker himself, everything made sense.

His body was leaned back in his desk chair.  His once-blue skin had turned brown from decay.  His clothes had even begun to dissolve.  He was dead.  He had been for decades.  And the machines that he had created were carrying on his mission – the only mission they’d ever known.

A nearby holographic device showed him as he once was – a Venusian man.  His voice was shockingly pleasant and composed.  He explained how after his people’s expulsion from Venus by Queen Maia, they had fled to the stars and found Skyron.  Though they had escaped with their lives, their hopes were dead.  He said that it wasn’t enough for his people to live – they had to have something to live for.   With no other option, he began to convert his brothers into cyborgs, as well as make pure machines to do his bidding.  With his forces massing, he resolved to take back Venus by force.  He would, he said, conduct a war to end all wars, and light a lamp to guide the way through the darkness of the universe.

He was a madman.  But there was something in his eyes that made me feel sorry for him.

The Maker was dead, but his legacy lived on, and would continue to scour the universe unless stopped.  Aurora informed us that the planet’s core was a massive reactor designed to power its propulsion system.  If overloaded, the entire world would be destroyed.  For reasons I may never understand, she volunteered to initiate the overload from a local terminal once the rest of us had escaped.  Sadly, she never got a chance to enact her plan, because it was just then that a monstrous machine burst through the door.  Before we could react, it locked its sights on her and blew her to pieces.

The attacker was easily destroyed, but the damage had been done.  Aurora was barely operational.  Worse, she was now incapable of performing her task.  She would need a pair of hands, someone to operate the machinery… and Pym volunteered without hesitation.

Pym.  I will never know what happened between the two of them during their time in that cell, but the look that I saw in Pym’s eyes when he reached down to pick up Aurora’s head… it looked like love.  I wasn’t about to question it.  He had made his decision and I knew it was final.  Just as we had said goodbye to Captain Fleming on Venus, now Rana and I had to say goodbye to Dr. Pym.

I turned away, unable to look at him.  He was my oldest friend, my mentor, and my most trusted companion.  But I couldn’t look at him.  I still had a duty to perform.  I was still Captain, and Captains don’t cry.

We returned to the ship to find that Forrest and her crew had done their job well.  We were able to break atmosphere with no issue.  And once were a safe distance away, Pym did what he needed to do.  Skyron shuddered, and then it was gone, leaving only debris in its wake.

As we began our journey back to Earth, I made a decision.  During my missions into space, I had seen some of the greatest men I’ve ever known killed.  I had watched as friends sacrificed themselves so that I could live another day. I had seen men die for me.  I could bear it no more.  And so I announced on the bridge that immediately upon returning to Earth, I would resign from my post, and recommend Commander Rothman for immediate promotion.  Rothman.  There truth was that despite my disdain for him, there was no better man to command that ship.  His destiny lie in space.  As for me, well, I was ready to leave space behind.  I would find a new life with Rana by my side.  I would choose another path.

Ultimately, it didn’t work out. But that’s another story.

Now, back in space, alone, I think again of that madman’s words: “It’s not enough to live.  One must have something to live for.”  What do I have?  What drives me?  What sustains me?  Only the hope that one day I might see my wife again.  Only the hope that someday I might find my way back home.

Despite my training, I never truly thought that I would be spending an indefinite period of time isolated in space.  It never occurred to me that the psychological barriers I had erected would be insufficient for coping with the experience, or that I would need to find new ways of keeping my sanity.  The silence of space, coupled with Escape Pod X’s relatively small living area, leave me with few opportunities for relief.  I have, however, found a measure of solace in the ship’s archive.  I have an extensive collection of audio at my disposal, including the complete catalogs of many of Earth’s greatest composers.  Their music comforts me in my isolation.

The last two days have been productive, though not without incident.  My attempts to repair the audio transmitter resulted in a minor fire that, while relatively easy to contain, has set me back temporarily.  My work was not severely damaged, but I suffered minor burns that had to be treated.  The medical equipment on board was sufficient, but my skills are lacking.  I will not able to work effectively for a short period.

It’s easy to let my mind drift these days, and my injuries give me time to think.  As I sit here now, I can’t help but remember an old friend of mine.  His name was Ian Pym, and he was a doctor.  I mentioned him in my last transmission.  He was one of only two Boundless crewmen to survive the Venus expedition, and the only human being with whom I could share my experience.  Even more than my wife, Ian Pym was closest confidant.  I wish he were here with me now.

I said before that following our escape from Maia’s forces, we returned to Earth and were greeted with much attention from the planet’s scientific community.  I found comfort during that hard period in Rana’s arms, but Pym had no one to support him.  His wife had divorced him years earlier for his devotion to the Institute, and he had responded by channeling his angst into his profession.  His pain fueled his work, and his work sustained him.  His medical knowledge was unparalleled, but when he had no challenge in front of him, he wilted.

During the court-martial, when we were both grounded, I took the opportunity to enjoy all that I had missed about Earth.  Pym had missed nothing.  Worse, the Venusian experience had taken his oldest friend from him.  Pym and Captain Fleming had been close.  They had come up together through the Academy, and despite being two very different men, they complimented one another rather than clashed.  On more than one occasion, Pym confided in me that the loss of Fleming had been harder on him than the deaths of his own parents.  It showed.

When I became Captain of the Horizon – and even with the ship’s destruction, I still think of myself as her Captain – it was imperative that Pym join my crew.  I needed a seasoned medical officer, and he needed to find himself among the stars.  For the first few months, it worked out well, but then personnel changes jarred Pym from his routine, and his became despondent once again.

The most crucial of those changes came in the form of our new Executive Officer, Peter Rothman.  I am not lacking for confidence, but it was difficult to not be intimidated when in Rothman’s presence.  He joined our crew at the age of twenty-five, and had already accomplished more than I – or anyone, for that matter- had at thirty.  He remains far and away the Academy’s most successful graduate, and at the time, he despised having to serve as any ship’s XO.  He was destined to be a Captain, he thought, and anything less than that post at that time was beneath him.  The truth is, he may have been right, but that didn’t make his presence on the ship any less disruptive.

Equally troublesome was the arrival of our new Science Officer, Nadine Harrington.  Nadine had been a classmate of mine, and at one point, we had been romantically involved with one another.  Our relationship had ended shortly before my assignment to the Boundless.  Although we had remained friends over the years, her presence on the ship was a distraction, especially given her new romantic interest in then-Commander Rothman.  The two had been carrying on a secret affair for a few months, and I always suspected that Rothman engineered her assignment to my ship.  Furthermore, I believe that their secrecy was not due to any adherence to regulation, but rather because Rothman himself hated being seen as anything resembling human.  He couldn’t afford to show that he too had feelings, lest they derail his career.

Whereas Pym and Fleming had gotten in along in spite of their differences, Pym and Rothman couldn’t stand to be in the same room.  The challenges associated with keeping them in line gave me headaches, and had it not been for Rana’s constant companionship, I don’t know if I would have made it through our service together without professionally destroying myself.

Pym too came to depend upon a companion during that tour of duty.  He and his chief nurse Louise Dearborn bonded quickly, with the young woman standing in for the daughter Pym had always wanted but never had a chance to have.  Dearborn was a stubborn woman with a combative personality, and she and Pym were perfect for one another.  I regret that sometimes I didn’t get to know my crew as well as I’d have liked.  This is especially true in Dearborn’s case.  I suspect that there was more to her than I know, and that like Pym, she too was driven not by a sense of exploration, but by a need to escape from something back on Earth.

This was my crew, and together, we completed many successful missions.  It was our last, however, that had the greatest impact on all of our lives, and nearly drove me from space altogether.  It was a mission into deep space to investigate bizarre electromagnetic activity, and it brought us face to face with the legacy of those Venusian men who had launched themselves into the stars eons ago.  It was the last mission of Ian Pym, and it took us to the heart of the Robot Planet.