Descending Road - NOT ALONE by Dana W. Paxson

NOT ALONE

0 NC, Day 0, Hour 14

Exploring the strange little vessel, Miriam opened the hatch; the entryway expanded. No air movement. She shone her helmet light into a dark chamber, a cylinder about four times the diameter of the crawlway, on the same axis. Directly in front of her, along the center of the chamber, the end of a cylindrical container faced her. The container hung from struts radiating in six directions, out to the walls. She braced and floated inside.

The cylinder measured about seven meters in length, and a meter in diameter. Miriam moved along it to a section that looked transparent. She shone her light inside. Lying cradled in cushions was a vague and shadowed head.

The skin had dried to a dark crust. Motes of tissue had drifted free to hang about the face like an umbrous corona, fuzzing Miriam‘s view of empty eye sockets, a collapsed nose, and paper lips drawn back over tan teeth. A nearly human face, with framed with long wisps of pale hair on an elongated skull. The proportions of the facial bones seemed somehow wrong.

Miriam gasped, backed out, and called, “There’s a body here, uncovered.” She couldn’t catch her breath.

“Slow down. What did you see?” Arnell‘s voice held iron-steady.

“It’s humanoid, mummified. It’s inside a meter-long cylinder, apparently sealed. A wall of machinery starts just below the neck and conceals everything further down.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“I didn’t stop to look. I’m going back in. Everything’s dark, and there’s dust. Long dead.”

“Stay sealed,” Arnell warned.

Miriam floated up and over. Withered eyeballs puckered far into the depths of the sockets. She pressed her helmet against the transparent cylindrical surface; her blood rushed in her ears, her breath hissed in the suit’s circulation system.

Below the neck, the machinery fed into a large pipe arching up out of the cylinder and off through the ceiling of the chamber. Straddling the figure’s resting-place, Miriam scanned the chamber’s wall above her head. A panel on the wall at her left abruptly blazed in a moving tangle of amber and magenta.

“Mother mine,” she said. “What in hairy hob is all this?”

Warm, sweet vowels and liquids wavered, fluttered, flowed: a woman’s voice in the chamber, speaking a dialect of Share. “I hope you are human,” it said, “Because if you aren’t, this is going to make no sense. Can you answer me?”

Miriam started, blurted “Yes!” Warmth spread where her suit’s crotch fitting bound her. The stupid urinary catheter was broken.

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	NOT ALONE 0 NC, Day 0, Hour 14 Exploring the strange little vessel, Miriam opened the hatch; the entryway expanded. No air movement. She shone her helmet light into a dark chamber, a cylinder about four times the diameter of the crawlway, on the same axis. Directly in front of her, along the center of the chamber, the end of a cylindrical container faced her. The container hung from struts radiating in six directions, out to the walls. She braced and floated inside. The cylinder measured about seven meters in length, and a meter in diameter. Miriam moved along it to a section that looked transparent. She shone her light inside. Lying cradled in cushions was a vague and shadowed head. The skin had dried to a dark crust. Motes of tissue had drifted free to hang about the face like an umbrous corona, fuzzing Miriam‘s view of empty eye sockets, a collapsed nose, and paper lips drawn back over tan teeth. A nearly human face, with framed with long wisps of pale hair on an elongated skull. The proportions of the facial bones seemed somehow wrong. Miriam gasped, backed out, and called, “There’s a body here, uncovered.” She couldn’t catch her breath. “Slow down. What did you see?” Arnell‘s voice held iron-steady. “It’s humanoid, mummified. It’s inside a meter-long cylinder, apparently sealed. A wall of machinery starts just below the neck and conceals everything further down.” “Okay. Anything else?” “I didn’t stop to look. I’m going back in. Everything’s dark, and there’s dust. Long dead.” “Stay sealed,” Arnell warned. Miriam floated up and over. Withered eyeballs puckered far into the depths of the sockets. She pressed her helmet against the transparent cylindrical surface; her blood rushed in her ears, her breath hissed in the suit’s circulation system. Below the neck, the machinery fed into a large pipe arching up out of the cylinder and off through the ceiling of the chamber. Straddling the figure’s resting-place, Miriam scanned the chamber’s wall above her head. A panel on the wall at her left abruptly blazed in a moving tangle of amber and magenta. “Mother mine,” she said. “What in hairy hob is all this?” Warm, sweet vowels and liquids wavered, fluttered, flowed: a woman’s voice in the chamber, speaking a dialect of Share. “I hope you are human,” it said, “Because if you aren’t, this is going to make no sense. Can you answer me?” Miriam started, blurted “Yes!” Warmth spread where her suit’s crotch fitting bound her. The stupid urinary catheter was broken.