Free Mission: Tomorrow - eARC by Bryan Thomas Schmidt

and pulled herself around to the one part of the space probe she had deliberately avoided until this moment. “Iris, in a minute you are about to witness history in the making.”
    “Technically, every minute becomes history, once it has passed.”
    She groaned, fogging up her helmet for a split second. “Have I ever mentioned you are too literal for your own good?”
    “Yes,” I.R.I.S. replied. “However, accuracy is a fundamental component of my programming.”
    “A fundamental flaw, mayhaps,” she muttered, more to herself than the benefit of the robot. She pulled out a small handheld probe she’d nicknamed the Screwdriver, after her favorite science fiction series, and began an array of tests on the small area of paneling that had once held the fabled Golden Record. At first she saw nothing, which is exactly what she had expected, but then when the light passed directly over the center, it seemed to reflect off a small geometric shape imprinted on the surface of the panel. It looked somewhat akin to a snowflake to the naked eye, but her device registered that the crystalline-appearing substance pulsed with energy.
    Strewth! It’s alive!
    Better still, the readings displayed on her helmet’s holoscreen confirmed it was alien.
    For a moment, Tyrille couldn’t move. She could barely breathe.
    She made the effort to exhale, and then inhale—or risk I.R.I.S.’s ire—but continued to float there in a state of shock.
    “The readings indicate there is a foreign object attached to side of Voyager 1 , Tyrille.”
    No bloody kidding, Tyrille thought, nodding, before realizing I.R.I.S. couldn’t see that action. “I see it, too, and am ascertaining what to do with it . . .whether it’s safe to bring aboard or not.”
    “It appears to be extraterrestrial in origin.”
    “Thank you, Captain Obvious. I am aware of that.”
    As usual, I.R.I.S ignored her sarcasm—or simply didn’t recognize it. “I would note that its location is presumably an important indicator of its function.”
    Tyrille frowned. “How so?”
    “It’s been placed in the exact same position the Golden Record was once located. The logical conclusion would be that it was—”
    “— the extraterrestrial’s response to the Golden Record!” Tyrille exclaimed. “Or at least their equivalent.”
    “Indeed.”
    Tyrille’s mind raced with the implications. If this specimen was somehow an alien life-form’s greeting to the human race, that could explain why Voyager 1’s fuel tanks had been replenished and its systems automatically turned on again: it was the most unobtrusive—and even courteous—way for the aliens to alert humans to their presence. And perhaps, to even encourage them in their goal to make contact.
    Or it could be the extraterrestrial version of a Trojan horse, Tyrille thought wryly. “Iris, is there any indication that the specimen could cause any harm—or come to any harm—if we were to bring it onto the spaceship?”
    There was a long pause. “No, Tyrille, there is not. However, while it does not appear to require a breathable atmosphere, due to being discovered in the vacuum of space, the composition of its crystalline structure and its method of power conduction are unknown variables. I could not give you a definitive calculation of how it would react in the Venturer’ s oxygen-rich environment without further testing.”
    “Which we do not have time to do, given our short window.” Frustrated, the astronaut bit her lip. She had to decide now. Even if she sent their preliminary scientific readings to Earth for analysis and a decision, she couldn’t wait the amount of time it would take for them to simply receive her data pulse, let alone wait for their reply to wing its way across the expanse to her. Not when Venturer had to start making its long voyage back to Earth within forty-eight hours.
    Well . . . bugger. I suppose that settles that then. Tyrille looked down to see her hands were in no condition to