Team Rocket

I’m a fish in a tin can. Except I’m no fish. Or dead. Or pickled. But it doesn’t change the fact I’m stuck in a tin can. Next to me sat Ms. Gyver; engineer by profession and arsonist by hobby, doing nothing else than blasting bombs and jiggling like a child when they blow up and turn rock into sand. How much of Earth’s history is destroyed by her exuberant impulse to play? Hidden gems, artifacts and fossils buried for billions of years, vaporized by a maniac and a button-push. It’s not even a red button. Nor a big one. Technically, it’s not even a button. A touchscreen computer display with the word BOOM in capital letters.

“Thinking again, Doc?”

“What else is there to do, Ms. Gyver?” She flashed her wicked grin without looking at me. Eyes always on the display, like the bird of prey.

“How about talking, Doc? Only small selection of people, but I can hold my end of a conversation.”

I grumbled in return and got back to my own displays. Nothing new today.

“Tell me Doc, how did you get stuck with me?” She asked, this time looking at me with a raised eyebrow. “Heard stories. Best with stones and such,” she paused in what I thought of away to put my aversion to the project in politer terms, “but you seem itchy. As if having something stuck up your ass tickling your intestines and you’re holding back to avoid being a pain in my ass. But doing so, Doc, you become a pain in my ass, because I ain’t got no one to talk to. Got needs to, ya know?” She wriggled her eyebrows at me. “So, what’s tickling your ass?”

“Everything,” I blurted without thinking. “This mission is a farce and humaniti’s greatest weakness in a literal nutshell.”

“Ok,” she said with a sliver of a lopsided smile, “that’s a start. Wanna talk about it?”

I clenched my fingers into a fist and breathed in.

“Finding the source of randomly appearing micro-earthquakes? And our travesty of solution is bombing, bombing our way through Earth?”

“It’s so cool, isn’t it?” She beamed and patted her console like well-behaved dog. “I was part of the D&D. It’s so awesome.”

All I could do was shake my head, as she started hopping in her seat like a child. Welcome to the second worst person in history to have access to trigger bombs.

“But why are you here?” She picked the conversation up again.

“Forced labor.”

She stopped tapping on her screen and turned towards me incredulously.

“You’re a slave?”

I shrugged, “I am. I was neither asked nor did I volunteer. They never mentioned payment either. I guess the definition is appropriate.” The thought of it made my stomach hurt. I couldn’t even run away from here.

“How did you get in here, then? They just told me you know stones.”

“Stones,” I winced and shook my head. “I’m a geologist and archaeologist. Best in my field, if I may say so. But excelling in today’s society has obviously become a crime.”

“I still don’t get it Doc. Why are you not excited? The chance to find new species. And alive, for that matter. Ain’t that better than digging up stuff being dead for years?”

“First, Ms. Gyver, we don’t even know what we’re chasing. The evidence of the phenomenon even being an organism remains meager. And digging up ‘stuff being dead for years’, as you so eloquently put it, are pre-historical life forms. Millions and billions of years’ worth of history. I made history by discovering dead life-forms, and look at me now. I am an accomplice in destroying it by bombing it to sand.”

She looked a bit rattled at my outburst, but shrugged it off. “But we’re turning it back into stones. That’s something.”

“Quite so, Ms. Gyver.” I said and shook my head in defeat.

“But why you then? Why not someone less qualified but willing to come along for the ride?”

“Because I carried the burden of luck, Ms. Gyver.”

“You’re a lucky one?”

“I contributed it to extensive research and preparation. My colleagues were more superstitious. When it became apparent my excavations were more fruitful and of higher value compared to my fellow peers, they formed a petition claiming I had the Gods on my side and should lead the search for our mysterious phenomenon. “

“Tremors,” Ms. Gyver said.

“Excuse me?”

“We’re calling it Tremors. Like in the movie. You know, huge worms and razor-sharp teeth crawling through the Earth.”

“I’m not familiar with modern literature, Ms. Gyver.

“Oh, no. It’s an old movie, Doc. But why did your colleagues wanted you for the job? Why not earning all the fame for themselves?”

I thought about it. “They gain from every outcome. In succeeding, we provide new subjects to study. In case of failure and probable death, they inherit the fortune of digging up the stuff I haven’t had the luck of finding yet.”

She was about to reply when her display bipped. “Got something, Doc.”

“Show me,” I said and opened a window on my computer.

Soon after the first signs of micro-earthquakes appeared in densely populated areas around the world, science concluded the phenomenon wasn’t random. The prospect of a creature underground threatening humanity united the world and technology picked up speed. Why explore space and the ocean, with a reason dig Earth? The ship was the greatest invention of transportation since the Wright brothers took off on their first flight. An egg-shaped vehicle of new material, creating a bubble of sand to move through by vaporizing the rocks in front of the ship and solidifying it back into rock in the aft. This way, Earth’s structure stayed solid. New developed sensors created a 3-dimensional visual of our surroundings, the composition of rocks, metals, gases and whatever we might encounter. Whoever gave the ship its name, however, should be banned from science.

“Is it Tremors?” Ms. Gyver asked.

“Not enough information yet. Waiting for spectral analysis. Bring us closer if you would, Ms. Gyver.”

“Ay, Doc. Batmobile moving towards target.” I shook my head and concentrated on the readings on my screen.

“Stop there, Ms. Gyver,” I said with the urge of breaking to a halt with my foot. Old habits.

“What’s up, Doc? Does it have teeth?”

“Stranger things, Ms. Gyver.”

“Shit,” she said and began punching buttons. “Thermo-nukes ready for deploy.”

“What?” I shot around and stared at her. We have nukes?"

“Sure. If Tremors got teeth, I got fangs.” She showed me hers. It wasn’t a smile.

“Put your claws back in if you would, Ms. Gyver,” I said, trying to sound calm. “It doesn’t have teeth. Or at least not showing them.”

“But you said Stranger Things. I saw the monsters, they got teeth!” This new generation of media controlled morons, I thought.

“Stranger things are happening, Ms. Gyver. Tremors, as you call the unidentified object, has no mass.”

“Mass, Doc?”

“It’s made of electricity, Ms. Gyver.” I smiled. For the first time, I smiled a genuine smile. I have found a new life form.

“Electricity? So it’s a Pikachu?”

Alarms started beeping and red interior light sunk the ship into near darkness.

“What’s happening Ms. Gyver?”

“Pikachu used Thunderbolt.”

“I’m not familiar with modern literature, Ms. Gyver. Please be more specific.”

“It’s hitting us with electrical currents.”

“Damage?” I asked, suddenly too aware of being in a tin can.

“Hull is non-conductive. Electricity can’t penetrate us. Not even an EMP would tickle our Batmobile.”

“Can you send electrical currents out?” I asked, an idea forming in my mind.

“Useless to attack Pikachu with electricity. Water is its weakness.”

“What if it wasn’t an attack? Maybe it’s communicating.”

She bobbed her head as if running the question through her mind.

“What’cha suggest, Doc?”

“I’ve got the currents frequency. Send it back the same way.”

“Sounds like poking a bear with a stick.”

“Please do it, Ms. Gyver.” With a grumble, she sent an electrical current through our sensor dish out. I rubbed the sweat of my palms on my pants and followed the readouts of the sensors. It shifted its shape in intricate patterns and moved around our ship, as if inspecting it from every angle.

“Not comfortable with this, Doc. If Pikachu stays on our Six, we can’t charge the Thermos.”

“In that case, I hope it stays there, Ms. Gyver. For now there is no need for any retaliation plans.”

“Better have a plan and don’t use it, then needing one and having none.” She said matter-of-factly. I had to agree with her.

“All right, Ms. Gyver. Please work on non-destructive measures if the new species turns out hostile.”

“Non-destructive? I don’t know how that works, Doc.” I shook my head and frowned.

“Figured as much, Ms. Gyver. Can you build a cage?”

“A cage Doc? Have you forgotten where we are? Few kilometers underneath the surface and such. How can I catch electricity, anyway?” I had to admit and didn’t know the answer myself.

“Non-conductive,” she shouted and swiveled to another set of computers and started punching buttons."

“Ms. Gyver?” I asked.

“I can re-trigger the bombs. Pikachu is unrestricted by matter. But it can only move through the conductive material in the sand. Building a cage without conductive rock, it can’t move.”

“Can you do this?”

“Think so. Solidifying bombs are just putting the pieces back together. At least the compositions. Each component has a unique set of bombing material. Just a matter of mixing the right bombs together.” She turned towards me and grinned again. “Just like baking cake.” I wasn’t comfortable with her cheerfulness around bombs.

“It’s trying to communicate again,” I said, further analyzing the patterns of currents.

“Or trying to find a hole. Currents are getting stronger.”

“Match the current and then try binary output.” I said and send her a list of first communication protocol.

“Done,” she said and looked up at the big screen. It showed the electrical life form flowing around our ship, zipping through the sand like a snake. I wondered how it came into existence, how it stayed alive. What’s its purpose and if there are more. So many questions.

Then the ship went dark.

This is how space must feel like. An infinite void and only breath as accompanying sound.

There’s a reason humans avoid darkness. We dread of what might wait in there. My first instinct was to panic. To scream and trash around, grabbing for something to not float away.

But a flash of white sparks flew past me. Were my eyes open or was is just in my head? No, I saw something. It washed over me like a gentle wave in the ocean. I felt calm and the image of feet in the sand brightened my mind.

“Ms. Gyver?” I said.

“Wha--?” She started answering but stopped herself, as if shaking something off her mind.

“What is our status, Ms. Gyver? Do we have power?” I felt relaxed, as if we were talking about the choice of ice cream.

Clapping sounds came from her direction. Was she slapping herself?

“The monster penetrated our hull,” she barked. “Main power offline. Emergency backup offline. No life support.”

“Hmm,” I said, still walking along the beach in my mind.

“I’m not going out with a fight,” I heard her saying as she scrambled her way aft of the cockpit. I saw a word written in the sand. Life.

Life? What does it mean? If we are life? Is the life-form trying to communicate?

Clattering noises disturbed the solitude on my beach. As if metal was hit, bent and broken.

There’s a smooth shaped rock on the beach and I bent over. At my touch, it turned into sand, forming another word. Hurt.

It was written in dark, almost dirt letters. Water washed them away, leaving a sharp and menacing rock back.

“Ms. Gyver,” I said and turned my chair around. A flicker of light came from the back of the ship. Not enough to see, but I knew she must be in the engine room.

“Ms. Gyver, I think the being is communicating with us. It wants us to--”

I am back at the beach. The water is sluggish and every wave washes trash on land. I stand on a small patch of sand. Everything else looks like a garbage dump. My heart hurts at the image and I can feel the word forming in the sand. Dying.

“Power is back,” I hear Ms. Gyver shouting before the lights illuminating the cockpit back to life. The screens were still black with the computers restarting.

“Ms. Gyver. I think I know wh--”

“Ay, Doc. Me, too.” She started punching buttons with a psychopathic grin.

“Ms. Gyver, we need to get back to the surface. We have to talk to--”

“Agreed. Just leaving a little present for our new friend.” What was she talking about? I looked at the readouts on my display.

“Ms. Gyver, no!” But it was too late. The ship was already turning towards the surface, leaving a single dot on the display back.

“See if you can digest that, bitch.”

“Doctor Grant. How would you describe the life form? And why was it hostile?” They put me in a chair in a room full of reporters. Leaning my elbows on the table in front of me, I spoke into the microphone.

“It wasn’t a life form,” I said, remembering the pain of the images.

“It was life itself.” I took a sip of water from the glass beside me. “The Gaia theory was right.”

I expected the room to explode. But it remained silent. Everyone waiting for me to continue.

After a while, the reporter repeated his question.

“Why was it hostile, Doctor Grant?”

“It tried to communicate with us, like many times before. But were weren’t listening. Now,” I said and looked at my hands as if I had blood on them, “we finished our job.”

I looked up and faced the men and women in the room. Each of them eager to sell a story.

“Congratulations, Ladies and Gentlemen,” I said. “Our planet is dead.”