CONTACT by David R Graham.

David’s response to the trigger ‘contact’ – like Michael’s it has inspired a science fiction story.

‘Contact! Bearing 119◦SE. Dead astern. Speed…87 knots increasing…92 knots. Range…1007 yards closing!’

97 knots! That’s torpedo speed!

‘Confirm bearing, speed, and range!’

‘Bearing 119◦SE. Speed…104 knots increasing! Range…846 yards closing!’

104 knots! What the hell is that?

‘Deploy TCM’s!’

‘Aye aye! Deploying TCM’s 

‘Steer course 90◦E!

‘Increase speed to 35 knots!’

‘Aye aye! Steering course 90◦E!’

‘Aye aye! Increasing speed to 35 knots!’

‘TCM’s deployed!’

‘Confirm contact bearing, speed, and range!’

‘Contact bearing 90◦E! Speed…158 knots increasing! Range 387 yards closing!’

It’s following us!

‘Confirm contact speed!’

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‘Contact speed 176 yards closing!’

‘Steer course 60◦E! All ahead full!’

‘Confirm contact bearing, speed, and range!’

‘Aye aye! All ahead full!’

‘Contact bearing 60◦E! Speed 173 knots! Range 88 yards closing!’

That’s not possible!

‘Deploy stern decoys!’

‘Aye aye. Deploying stern decoys!’

‘Confirm contact bearing, speed, and range!’

‘Decoys deployed!’

‘Contact bearing 60◦E! Maintaining course! Speed 189 knots! Range 44 yards closing!’

I89 knots! What the hell is that?

‘Action stations!’

‘Aye aye! Action stations!’

‘Dive to 100 feet!’

‘Brace for impact!’

‘Aye aye! Diving to 100 feet!’

‘Aye aye! Bracing for impact!’

The noise grew in its intensity.

I had not heard the like of it before.

It did not conform to any vessel signature I recognised.

It enveloped the boat—swamped it.

Reverberated through the hull and into my bones.

It moved rapidly from the stern, leaving darkness in its wake.

It could not be a torpedo.

If it were, we would be dead.

Lights and power failed in the wake of the noise. I was enveloped in total darkness. I raised my hands off the chart table and brought them to my face. I could not see them. I lowered my hand to the table. But I could not feel it. I felt for it but could not find it.

‘Confirm contact bearing, speed, and range,’ I said into the cloying darkness.

There was no response.

‘Sonar. Confirm contact bearing, speed, and range.’

There was no response.

I was enveloped in silence. It was absolute. I could not hear myself breathing.

‘Chief of the Watch. Report.’

There was no response.

Unsettled, self-consciously, I called out. ‘Is there anyone here?’

I could not hear my voice. I heard my words, in my head. But I did not feel them vibrate my vocal cords or my jawbone. I tried again.

‘Helmsman. Confirm course and heading.’

There was no response.

I did not feel my words in my throat or face.

I tried again.

I spoke. But I did not feel my words.

I moved my thighs against the edge of the chart table to confirm my position in the Control Room.

My thighs met with no resistance.

I stepped forward, slowly.

There was nothing in my way.

I kept moving.

Nothing impeded my way. I realised that I could not feel the floor beneath my feet.

I tapped with my foot. There was no sound or feel of impact.

I bounced, carefully, on my toes. There was nothing beneath me.

I was suspended in absolute empty darkness.

Was I dead?

Did a torpedo destroy the boat?

Is this what being dead is like. An empty blackness?

Or am I asleep in my cabin?

That must be it.

I am asleep.

If I wait, my alarm will go off, and the bulkhead light will come on.

That’s all I have to do. Wait until I wake up.

‘Ma! Someone’s at the door!’

‘Okay Don’t shift yourself. I’ll just stop getting your dinner and see who it is.’

‘Beth.’

‘Patrick.’

‘Can I come in?’

‘Yes, of course. Can I get you anything? Coffee?’

‘Coffee would be good, thanks.’

‘You haven’t brought us good news…have you.’

‘I’m sorry, Beth. I really am. If it was up to me, I…’

‘You’re calling off the search…’

‘Not totally, no…Beth. We’ve been combing that ocean floor with ROV’s for the best part of a year, and we haven’t found a single trace of the Catfish. The search will be extended beyond their last location. We won’t stop looking, Beth, but we…’

‘It’s Ok, Patrick. I understand. We’re slowly coming to terms with our…I had a bad feeling, Patrick, when Tom left…I think I knew…you know.’

‘Yes, I think I do, Beth.’

All I have to do is hold it together.

The alarm will go off and the bulkhead light will come on.

I will wake up from this black nightmare.

I just have to hold it together until the light comes on.

I just have to wait.

End.

Contact by Michael Keeble

Mike’s response to the trigger ‘contact’ – an intriguing opening to a possible future for humanity?

Contact

The atmosphere in Mission Control was tense.  This mission was the result of many years of work to fulfill an ambition to find a habitable planet.  Earlier missions had established that the planet had an atmosphere and there was evidence that it may have had water.  This was the first mission to actually land on the planet and make detailed explorations of the surface.  The craft was equipped with sophisticated equipment for analysing any material collected by the robotic rovers, flying drones and excavators. 

The craft was making its final approach and, so far, all the systems appeared to be working well.  Despite the tension in the room, the operators worked with a quiet and ordered efficiency as they plotted the rotation of the craft to position itself over the landing site. 

The controllers had chosen an area on one of the vast plateaus that made up most of the surface of the planet, but within a reasonable distance of one of the larger prominences.  This was considered the safest place in terms of landing stability and an easy site for launching the robots.  The rovers had the notional range to reach the nearest prominence and take samples and transmit images.  None of the technicians at Mission headquarters would be around to see the collection when it arrived, such was the distance and time that the craft would take to return with the actual samples.  Nonetheless, they were excited to see the results that were to be transmitted from so far away.

The craft rotated perfectly and began its descent, controlling its speed through the atmosphere of the planet by firing retro thrusters.  It seemed that everyone in Mission Control was holding their breath watching the craft sink the final distance towards the planet and with a last hard burst of its thrusters settle gently on to the surface of the planet.  There was an audible collective sigh from the operators as they relaxed and went through their final checks, then turning to each other, they let out a cry of triumph.  They had done what they had set out to do; they had landed the craft.  Now it was the job of the planetary scientists to find and analyse the material which would be beamed down.

Things moved slowly now.  Not only did it take a while for the data to arrive at the home planet, but it also took a while for the robots to be deployed.  The first images from the craft showed a flat plain stretching for nearly as far as the powerful imagers could see and in one direction in the far distance a raised area which must be the nearest prominence.  The only things moving were pieces of the surface which appeared to be disturbed by the strong winds blowing across the surface.  The surface of the plateau itself appeared to be multicoloured material of an indeterminate kind. 

The drones were sent up to view the prominence and the rovers sent after them to gather material from places considered worthwhile.  Meanwhile, the excavator drilled into the surface of the plateau for samples for analysis.  It drilled three cores.  One near the surface, one below that, and one still deeper just below that.  These three cores were brought back to the craft for analysis.

Although these actions were taking place a long time before they were viewed by the technicians at home, they appeared to them as if in real time.  This time it was the turn of the planetary scientists to feel the tension as they waited for the analysis of the samples.  Firstly they studied the images that the craft sent down.  These were inconclusive.  The material appeared to be multicoloured and of a strange consistency as if it were an amalgam of different objects, but nothing much could be discerned from these images.  The chemical analyses seemed to take a lifetime.

Finally the analysis began to come through.  The material taken from the shallowest core was some sort of polymer and was indeed an amalgam of pieces pressed together to form a single solid crust.  This would need further analysis before any conclusion could be reached.  The analysis of the medium depth core came up with the same initial information.  It was the analysis of the deepest core that provided the planetary scientists with the news they had been hoping for; a liquid made up of Hydrogen and Oxygen atoms along with other elements.  They had discovered water!

A cheer went up from the scientists.  A planet with water!  Could there have been life?  Was there life still?  They discussed this excitedly together as one junior scientist continued to study an image sent back from the craft.  The analyser on board the craft had broken up the deep core and the junior scientist was closely studying one of the pieces of the polymer.  The image appeared to have uniform markings on it that seemed unlikely to have been made naturally.  He called over one of his senior colleagues who, having seen what his junior had seen, asked that the image be transmitted to the big screen.  There, for all to see was incontrovertible evidence that intelligent life had once existed on this planet.  Marked on the piece of clear polymer was the following image…