Operation 0003500-2214-02-14-2V

FD-2213e

Second Visitation

"Stepping outside," Clara said. "Let's see what we have here."

Hold up, Three. The message scrolled across her caster. We need more time to compile the readings.

Clara grunted out of impatience. "The probe came through and back. You've had a month to compile, and I don't want to spend all day over here."

The caster's display on her helmet's visor scrolled through Control's response. It was a little impressive how fast Dezzie could type when he got all indignant.

Adhere to protocol, Three. Every entry kicks up new readings, and we need to set a new baseline. You should know that by now.

"It's pointless. I have a clear visual through the viewport. Rocks. Minimal atmosphere. This planet's dead."

Tell me, Three, can you see the spike of gammas all over your entry point? No? Well, good thing you didn't just step outside onto an unexplored planet before your guardian angel could give you the warning.

"And tell me, Control, are the spikes more than my suit's rated for?"

The response took a few moments.

No.

"For that matter, did the probe pick up even a single reading for radiation levels that came anywhere near CFC?"

There'll come a time when something is CFC, and you'll wish you listened to me for once.

Cause For Concern. It was a mission controller's way of saying that something had sent an operation sideways.

The protocols exist for a reason, Three.

That was the standard cop out. Clara didn't know what else she might have expected.

"I did my homework, Dezzie," she argued. "All eighteen pages of the probe reading are committed to memory."

One set of readings from one probe. This is second visitation. A manned mission shouldn't have been sent into transit until 5V at the earliest.

Clara shook her head, but it was pointless. No one on Earth would see her do it. "Probes can't get us what we need from this one, Dezzie. This needs boots on the ground."

And you just live for that.

It was remarkable how Dezzie managed to capture sarcasm with text communication.

"Of course. I was hired for exoplanetary exploration, not for sitting in the transit while Control compiles more data."

Care for a Funfact for the mission?

Dezzie was tired of arguing a moot point. Fair enough.

"Let's hear it, Control," Clara sighed.

This is the Coalition's three thousandth and five hundredth transit. Congratulations!

"Whee," Clara said flatly. "Where's my medal?"

Awaiting delivery along with your sense of wonder.

"Bite me, Dezzie."

Tempting. It is Valentine's today, after all.

Clara sighed. "No flirting over comms during an op. That's a protocol, isn't it?"

Funny when you remember them. You'll be glad to see that the new baseline has been compiled. You're clear to exit the transit.

"Joy of joys. Did the readings give you a range for the caster?"

Not far. Solar radiation will screw with your comms almost immediately once you're out. You'll be on your own outside of 30m. This planet's a cooker on its dayside. No wonder there's nothing left.

"Hey, compiler, leave analysis to the squints."

You know I'm right.

Clara put her hand to the transit controls. She pressed her gloved finger to the EGRESS toggle and waited for it to flash green. "Mostly right. Something is left. Why else did the Coa send me three visitations early?"

Fair point. Some suits are showing up. Looks like they caught wind that you're stepping out. The brass is interested in this op, Three.

Interested. That could mean any number of things. Some, undoubtedly, were hoping that this could be the big one, what the Coalition had been searching for since its formation. An equal number were just as anxious to see the mission prove yet again that the transits were a waste of time and taxpayer funds.

As for Clara, she had more personal reasons. Dezzie was lightyears off target by saying Clara didn't possess a sense of wonder. This was virgin ground, quite literally where no one had set foot before.

Well, no one human, but the locals were so long forgotten that this rock's virginity must have grown back by now.

At last, the EGRESS toggle flashed green, and Clara pressed it again to confirm the command. The hatchway set into the solid white metal sphere of the transit opened and lifted away. She faintly heard a hiss as the interior pressure equalized with the outside, then silence engulfed her.

Near vacuum, barely enough atmosphere to even call it one. Her reading of the previous probe reports suggested that this planet, FD-2213e, once had a oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere similar to Earth's. Clara reviewed the other relevant details in her head, 0.93G-- practically like walking down the street in Panama-- average temperature of 213C dayside/-105C nightside, negligible barometer readings, day cycle of 31.2 hours, and a solar cycle of 321 days. Local topography suggested that the plain the transit placed her was in all probability an ancient reef, so the planet once had oceans. All in all, it used to be a rather nice place-- a garden world-- and Clara rarely saw those the further she went coreward.

She could only wonder what had happened to kill this one. Another world ruined, and no one in the Coalition or anywhere on Earth could figure out why.

An author from a couple of centuries ago once wrote, "Either we are alone in the universe, or we are not. Both are equally terrifying."

What Mister Clarke failed to realize was that when the answer to his implied question was "Neither", it was a far, far scarier answer than any other possibility.

Extraterrestrial life did exist. Once. However, it all was tragically, inevitably, and invariably gone. Every once-inhabited planet or moon Clara and the other nineteen exoplanetary explorers ever visited were nothing more than graveyards. Aside from one blue speck out on the rim of the Milky Way, every world humanity found was dead, dying, or abandoned.

In fact, many in the Coa no longer called it the Milky Way. To them, and to millions of people despairing over what the cosmos had waiting for them, it was now called the Dead Galaxy. Morbid, but accurate.

The caster display in Clara's visor began to show signs of static. She hadn't yet gone more than ten meters from the transit. Dezzie hadn't been kidding about solar activity screwing with the comms.

"I'm going to lose you in a minute. I'll head towards the signal the probe detected, take some initial readings, and come back to upload before continuing."

Dezzie's reply was garbled by the interference.

So...ds good, Three. ...e'll be ...ing for... ...r... ...ort. ...oo... ...2100 hou...

"Already losing you, Dezzie. I'll be back ASAP."

...g y... ...arge... ... ... ...g... ...ood luck, Three.

Eighteen thousand, three hundred and sixteen lightyears from Earth, Clara Washington was further from home than any human being had ever been. Even so, she never quite felt it until her caster's connection with the transit cut out. Acutely alone, Clara trudged through the sun-blasted and airless landscape of FD-2213e.

Maybe this time she would find an answer as to why the galaxy was dead. Maybe this op could point the way towards how to keep whatever was happening to every other life-bearing world from happening to Earth.

The only other option was to stop fighting, give up and surrender to the void. If there was one thing humanity might have about it that could allow it to survive where so many thousands of other intelligent species had failed, it was this.

Humans were stubborn.