This is the first entry in this blog and the beginning of the story. Notes on this entry are posted here.
The probe was not large. Not longer than a meter, the hard and unfiltered light of the red sun lent it an eerie shimmer as it approached the atmosphere. Its skin was unmarked; no sigils, runes, or lettering explained the lonesome traveler’s purpose. The gravity of the world below seized it, pulling it smoothly into orbit, and it flowed along with the stream of nature. No thrusters fired, no electromagnets released their charge, not a thing interfered with the natural process of orbit, orbital decay, and reentry.
As the probe hit the atmosphere, however, some unseen force took action. Pre-programmed sensors, undetectable to outside observation, sent electronic signals to a control system long dormant. The metallic cylinder began to pace its descent, heat shields automatically deployed and shifted against the stress of reentry while some counter-gravitational force made certain that the object’s course was smooth and steady. It wound down toward the waiting world below, through the many layers of the atmosphere, its trail lengthening as it approached its landing.
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The room’s design was simple and practical. Walls and ceiling formed a half cylinder from the single entrance to a well kept workstation. The walls were a shade of neutral gray, just dark enough to disguise the strain and stain of everyday life beneath a clean and sterile appearance and just dull enough to prevent glare from distracting the occupant.
For the room was occupied, a lone figure seated at the workstation and busily tapping a way at a hand-held control unit while studying the screen before him. Images alternated on the screen like a slideshow, the man (for it was a man; dark of hair, blue of eye, face scruffy with grizzled stubble grown during the ascetic working regimen) studying each with rapt interest before entering his observations into the control unit and pressing a button to shift to the next object of study. He worked with neither frown nor smile, though a look of intent fascination would occasionally waft across his eyes. Every now and then he reached up to scratch at his face, the stubble distracting him, but very rarely and never for very long.
It was after one such interval that a red light flashed on the desktop, and a voice spoke. The voice was both neutral and neuter, simply a low-key mechanized series of words without any inflection whatsoever.
“The central government is calling, Father, office of the planetary security branch of the space agency. General Zod is calling, not his aide.”
“Thank you Brainiac,” the man said. His voice was very nearly as neutral as that of the computer, though clearly masculine and with the faintest hint of what might have been affection buried in its tone. “Please, put the general through.”
“Hello my friend,” a new voice said through the desk’s speaker system. It was strong, deep, and rich with vitality and passion. There was no commonality of any kind between this voice and that of the computer, and little between it and the voice of the room’s lone occupant for that matter.
“Zod, my friend, it’s good to hear from you. If this is a courtesy call, I’m afraid I’m rather busy at the moment. The Old Temple of Rao in Kandor is fascinating. I don’t understand why the Department of Archaeology never performed a digital mapping of this scale before.”
“I believe, my friend, that they were more occupied with the study of the
The man at the workstation cut the disembodied voice off, not curtly but in the same neutral tone as before. “It isn’t that I don’t agree with you, you know that Zod. I simply don’t have the time to discuss anything but official business.”
“I’m sorry my friend. I enjoy useless talk too much, as you know, and it distracts me. I simply do not have the proper frame of mind for the Degrees, I am not a scholar or a scientist.”
“Once again you are wandering from your subject.”
“I must apologize again. It’s just that sometimes I think that the Degrees should have been used much more sparingly…”
“Zod,” the man said more firmly, a firmness born of scholarly professionalism rather than anger or irritation, “this conversation will interfere with my work and yours. What is bothering you?”
A laugh echoed through the transmitter, rueful and joyful at once. “Of course, Jor-El, you are right. I must apologize again. An alien space probe landed on the central plain of the Northwestern Continent three hours ago. A couple found it at the edge of their farm. It’s like nothing we’ve ever seen before. No markings, no visible propulsion system, there’s nothing to tell us anything about it from sight. It scans negative for life signs, not even micro-organisms. The technology is too advanced for our scanners to make much sense of it, and there’s no way we can find to open it without damaging it. I’ve communicated with the Council and they declared it a level two priority and that I should use my judgment in choosing an analyst.”
The man frowned this time, clearly not enjoying a distraction from his chosen project. “I am honored that you consider my abilities so great, my friend, but I’ve not found much satisfaction in working for the Council of Science for some time. I will do this for you, if you report to the Council and not me.”
“Of course Jor-El, thank you. I will bring it over myself, immediately. Zod out.”
The man, Jor-El, tapped the control unit in his hand and the screen went blank. He turned to look quietly at the blank screen for a moment. Then he spoke, clear but quiet. “Brainiac.”
“Yes, Father?”
“General Zod will be bringing a new project to the homestead within the next one or two time-cycles. See that he is greeted by a servitor droid and conducted to the Exotechnology Laboratory. I am going to take the waters in my conservatory, see that a lab smock is laid out when I am done and that dinner and drinks are ready when the general and I are done with business. I may have hurt his feelings.”
“Yes Father.”
