Siren

A Sci-fi short story mystery.

Siren

The clouds which floated above the planet broke easily against the hardened exterior of the shuttle. They separated under the belly of the ship, opening a vision to a completely blue surface, which reflected distant, wavering lights from the rays of the sun. The dense cloud layer above the planet had been difficult to penetrate without damage to the hull at first, but it steadily became easier to pilot through. Although the drop had been a bumpy experience, it had not really bothered Peter, who was used to turbulent rides by now.

Oceans had always seemed entirely alien to Peter Hanschel, even the ones on his home planet. The dense life that swirled under the ever-moving membrane of the water, and which hid at every opportunity from discovery. The grossly different nature of being which existed in each and every ecosystem. It puzzled, and often disturbed Peter. However, mostly it intrigued him. He had directly requested to be a part of this expedition group, and after a bit of bribing-- and frankly, blackmail--, his request was granted. He was far from the lead scientist on the expedition, in fact he was hardly the lead oceanographer, but he was honored to be a part of such a-- in his eyes-- historic survey and discovery program. He cherished every moment of it.

The ocean planet Argia had always been a puzzling specimen for astronomers, physicists, and oceanographers alike. The first puzzle was the strangely dense atmosphere. The planet itself did not have much mass, and so its gravity was quite weak. So, how was its atmosphere so thick? The first three probes sent in to explore the planet’s surface burned up on their way in and fell apart. In fact, part of the current expedition was attempting to dig up the parts --the trackers had been left intact, along with blackboxes which could potentially aid in future probe development--. The second puzzle was that the world’s atmospheric composition directly matched that of Earth; 78% nitrogen, 21% oxygen, and 1% argon, with small amounts of carbon dioxide and other molecules. Third, the planet had no observable alien life whatsoever, despite its almost perfect capacity for life. Not only did the planet exist within the Goldilocks Zone, but its global temperature was more than hospitable. In fact, it was only 2 degrees warmer than that of Earth. The fact that life had no developed at all anywhere in the planet was extremely puzzling, especially because all the ingridients were readily available within the water.

This was especially intriguing to Peter, and was the primary motivation for Peter’s being there.

“We’re touching down now,” The expedition commander’s voice sounded through the small cabin, in which the 7 scientists sat, mumbling to themselves and each other. “It’d be best to put on your suits. I don’t want to keep the hangar door open too long.”.

The suits were large and clumsy, but protocol for any interplanetary expedition. This protocol was enforced strictly, violators could be fined up to 5000 dollars. Peter, not wanting to lose what money he had left, followed this-- and all others-- instruction loyally. The helmet fastened automatically to the neck of his suit as the mouthpiece fit snugly over Peter’s nose and jawline. It sucked on his lips, pulling the air from his mouth before pressurizing once more. The oxygen tank on Peter’s back felt heavy, but the weight was necessary for keeping below the surface for extended periods of time. When the tank felt light was when Peter really had to worry.

A door slid open to the right of the room, and Captain Liddle-- a name, Peter noted, which betrayed him-- stepped through the small opening, ducking his head to completely fit his large, suited body. The usually loosely-fitting latex was strained against his large stomach. The tank’s straps also fit tightly to his broad shoulders, and stretched warily down the thick sides of his body. He, Peter silently inquired, would have no problem staying below the surface.

“Alright folks,” the captain muttered, his cheeks squished together inside the small helmet, “I don’t wanna have to drag any of ya out of the water, so I hope y’all took your swimming lessons seriously.” Scattered laughter sounded through the small crowd, but was obviously not the deafening reaction the captain was looking for. “Hold on to your pants.”. The captain reached blindly to his left for a few seconds, before finally grasping the lever which stuck out on the wall. He pulled down on it.

A deafening blare sounded within the small hangar, sending more than a few of the scientists into a short panic. A bright green light filled every corner of the room as Peter heard a small voice sound off from the comms box in the back of his helmet.

“Here we go.” Clara Shmitter, a renowned planetary physicist who stood just to Peter’s right, said, breaking the silence that hung in each member’s helmet.

Neither Peter Hanschel or Clara Shmitter had ever actually been on-- or seen in person, for that matter-- a planet beyond the central solar system. Peter had been on a couple trips to Mars, of course, on a vacation here or there. Clara had never actually left the orbit of Earth, most of her career spent studying data brought back from expeditions such as this. Both of them were stunned at the sight which spread out like an ancient scroll before them.

A blinding ray of white light blasted through the large, separating hangar doors. Following it was a thin mist, which creeped and reached into the cramped hangar bay. It touched each member of the expedition like an arm, probing and exploring its visitors-- or perhaps, intruders. Peter began reaching out to touch this mist with his gloved hand, playing with its strange consistency in his palm. He was interrupted by a slight pressure on his back as the ever-more excited crowd of intellectuals struggled to escape the muggy chamber, into the great unknown before them.

The-- seemingly-- entire surface of the huge ocean that covered the planet was shaded in this dank mist. It was strangely thick and stringy. Many of the scientists were feverishly typing on their small touchpads, some scrambling for their many sampling pods. Peter, however, stared past the dank mist, and into the dark abyss. It began to disturb him. Deeply. The absolute stillness of the waters, the dark, lifeless unknown that lay beneath its surface. Oceans had always intrigued him but this time he was just… scared.

However, Peter found himself reaching down to the water. It’s dark blue tempted him and seduced him, pulling him ever-forward into its dark embrace. He began to feel a deep longing for the water, for that feeling of the dive, the water against his skin. The weightlessness of submersion. Temptations spawned inside his mind, speaking in some persuading tongue that only Peter could understand. Something, someone, was pulling him. His thickly suited hand inched shakily past the sticky fog, further into the dar-

“Dr. Hanschel?” A familiar voice broke into his otherwise silent helmet. “Are you alright?” Clara asked from behind him, “I don’t think it’d be best to touch the water until the excursion drones can fully test it.”

“Y-yes, yes. You’re quite right,” He responded, his voice shaky and stuttered “How hasty of me.”

- - -

Clara Shmitter awoke the next day-cycle to the roar of a deafening alarm. She immediately sprang up in her bed, hitting her head flat on the metal bottom of the bunk just above her. She cursed under her breath, and sat up on the side of her mattress. The room was now filled with sounds, not only of the alarm but of scientists yelling their dismay and discomfort for their interrupted sleep.

Captain Liddle burst into the room through the same door as before, this time dressed in his Navy Regular attire. He waddled over a wall across the room and flipped open a small box, slamming his fat finger down on a small red button which lay below it.

“What the hell is going on?!” Liddle burst, dried drool exploding from his cheeks. “Who sounded the f*****g alarm?!”

“We were all sleeping,” Clara replied “I don’t think it was us.”

“Well the only other thi-” The captain stopped himself. “F*****g Christ.” he muttered, running from the room. Clara quickly followed him out.

Clara followed the captain into the hangar bay, where they had all been suited the day before. The bay was mostly silent, save for a few noises, and a small whispering whistle from a wall to their right, just next to the large hangar doors.

An emergency airlock door was cracked slightly open, not fully closed. The air blowing into the room between the crack of the door was whistling quietly.

“Who the hell-” Liddle cursed under his breath, and waddled over to the door. He opened it fully, examining the door and its hinges.

Clara peered past the thick captain, and out to the black sea, her eyes widening as she did so. However, just as she turned back to the door to the barracks, Micard Golding, an oceanographer, entered the hangar.

“Uh, Captain” He said. “Peter Hanschel’s not in his bunk. In fact, I don’t think he’s on the ship.”

“Oh god…” Clara whispered to herself, her hands reaching shakily to her face. But now, it wasn’t Micard, or the captain, or the ocean that she was staring at. It was a blood soaked expedition suit that was curled up in the corner of the hangar. Through the dim light, Clara could barely read the word “Hanschel” on the back of the suit...