“Ha! Okay, yeah, not that.”
There’s a pause, and Bob can almost visualize Dan thinking about historic first words or some such bullshit.
“Bob? Say, ‘Why are you here?’ Then just repeat that phrase every thirty seconds.”
This is insane, Bob thinks. “Yeah okay, I copy.” Bob unmutes the mic, takes a deep breath, and says: “Why are you here?”
Every thirty seconds, he says it again, using the same tone, the same volume.
“Why are you here?”
“Why are you here?”
“Why are you here?”
After a few minutes of complete silence from the control room, Daniel finally breaks in.
“Okay, okay, hold on please. We’re getting some … oh man, this is incredible. Bob, mute your mic. I’m gonna send you the computer’s transcription. This is playback of the last thirty seconds. Everything prior to that is indecipherable.”
“Wait, but this isn’t?”
“Just, standby … sending … now.”
Bob hears a hiss of static, then what sounds like a heartbeat, albeit one with an irregular rhythm. After a few more seconds, the heartbeats elongate into sounds that alter in pitch: some high, some low. The sounds are almost animal, guttural; then whining, strained … but not frantic, almost … serene. Then the sounds begin to repeat and, after a few more seconds, they begin to make sense.
… am … here … am … to … feed … to … am … I … here … feed …
Bob feels the blood run from his face. His body goes cold all over. His scientific mind realizes he’s slipping into shock. “Oh, my good Christ.”
The computer-regulated voice is robotic, but clear.
Terribly, terrifyingly, clear.
“I am here to feed. I am here to feed. I am here to feed.”
“Jesus Christ, turn it off,” Bob says. Fresh sweat runs down his temples, hot tears spring from his eyes. He begins tapping commands, but his vision is blurred, his heart slamming inside his chest. “Joanne? Turn it off. You copy? Turn it off!”
The audio clicks off and the Suit falls silent as a tomb. Bob’s breathing is too loud, too fast. “I want out of here,” he says, trying to sound calm but ultimately not caring if the others can hear his fear. Not caring if the Suit’s sensors register that he’s pissed himself.
It’s one thing to be stuck inside a brainless organism, a thing that simply consumes in the same way a cell will consume other cells … but to know the creature is cognizant?
That it’s talking?
It’s too much. Too much.
“Bob, are you aborting?” Joanne sounds … what? Relieved? Disappointed?
“Hell yes,” he replies. “Activating the external coolant.”
“Wait! Bob, you can’t bail now!” Daniel says, his voice too loud, shredding Bob’s nerves. “Good lord! We’re communicating with an alien—”
“Joanne, cut his mic. Cut his mic now.”
A split-second later, Daniel’s voice disappears.
“All right, Bob, try and relax. It’s just you and me, okay? Take a breath, big guy.”
Bob does as he’s asked, forces himself to take three deep, steadying breaths. His pulse slows, and he nods to himself. “Okay, okay. I’m better. I just … I need to abort, okay? I need to abort. We’ll … I’ll try again … later. But I need to abort.”
“Copy that. Why don’t I activate the armor coolant from here?”
“Yeah, please. Please do that, thank you.”
Bob closes his eyes, alert for the sensation of being released. Of being pushed out.
Nothing happens.
“Joanne?”
A few seconds pass before Joanne’s voice comes back. “Standby, Bob … we’re checking a few boxes here ….”
Bob’s eyes spring open, wild and wide.
You’ve got to be kidding.
“Checking boxes? How about checking the box that gets me the hell out of this thing?”
“Yes, I, uh … we … standby.”
