The Chronicles of Monster Planet

I chose not to say anything. Perhaps she had the right to say that, who knows.

“Are they really intelligent?” I asked instead.

“Yes and no.”

“What do you mean?”

“They are organized, social, but at the same time incapable of creative thinking. Many of their actions are instinctive, genetically coded, I believe. Like ants. I can't provide more details, I'm not a biologist.”

“But have you seen them?”

“Yes, unfortunately,” a grimace of disgust distorted Anna's pretty features. “I hope never to see them again.”

It was Finn who distracted me from the conversation.

“Max, get up. We have to get together and discuss the situation.”

“Anna, excuse me. It was very nice talking to you,” I said to the girl, standing up, “I hope we'll continue next time?”

“Absolutely,” the girl smiled, leaving her seat.

“You, French folks, just never change,” Finn commented, watching her go. “But we do have a lot to discuss, so let's meet at my place.”

A quarter of an hour later, after a short stay in my own compartment, I arrived at the commander's room. I came second after Boris and perched on the bed. Finn took a stool, while Leonov was sitting on a chair next to him. They looked like conspirators. The Russian astronaut was saying something, but stopped as I entered.

“I think we should present your theory to Max,” the commander told the biologist.

“What theory?” I asked, looking at my crew-mates.

“Boris thinks we haven't left Earth,” John continued.

“An interesting idea,” I remarked, looking at the frowning biologist. “Are there any arguments to support it?”

“Just open your eyes! Does it look like a space base to you?” Leonov rattled on. “And this tall story about new drives just doesn't hold water. Only a naive Asian could fall for such nonsense.”

He was obviously referring to Ji Cheng.

“Well, everything seems logical,” I noted, standing up for our astrophysicist.

“Oh, really?” the biologist threw up his hands, his sunken eyes darting nervously from me to Finn and back again. “I'm telling you, they're doing an experiment on us. Just like the flight to Mars! Do you remember? When they just locked up the crew on Earth.”

“But the participants knew it was staged,” the commander intervened.

“That's it. That's right,” Leonov quickly interrupted him. “They knew it, but we don't. Why? We've got to find an answer to this question. Why are they experimenting on us?”

“I think you're crazy,” I told him bluntly. “Some side effect of the conservation maybe.”

Leonov paused and looked at us. The commander's face showed doubt and pity. It was obvious that he agreed with me completely. The Russian got really worked up.

“I know better! I'm a doctor and a biologist, not you! What is it, do you think?” he asked, raising his hand.

“It's your right hand,” Lisa replied, entering the compartment.

“No,” Boris said after a solemn pause, “This is a bracelet they use to track us and take readings.”

“What's going on?” Lisa asked, perplexed. “Did I miss something?”

“Yep,” I said. “Our learned friend has put forward a conspiracy theory. He believes that there was no flight at all. Instead, we are a part of some experiment on Earth.”

Lisa eyed the biologist suspiciously for a moment, then turned to Finn.

“You know what? I do believe that something is wrong here,” she said.

“And not you alone,” John replied, “which is why we are here. By the way, where's Cheng?

“Powdering her nose maybe. I'll go get her,” Lisa went out.

“Listen, Boris. We readily support your point that this place is weird. But it's quite easy to check your theory. Why don't we…” I stopped mid-sentence, interrupted by a scream from the corridor.

“It's Lisa,” Finn said, as we rushed outside. The door to Cheng's compartment was open. I saw the ubiquitous Werner quickly entering the room. We hurried after him.

Lisa was standing there with her back to us. Cheng was on the bed, dead. Her eyes were rolled back, tongue out. Leonov elbowed his way to the body and felt for a pulse.

“She's dead,” he stated dryly. “Undoubtedly strangled, there are traces on her neck,” the biologist turned and looked at us, as if trying to say, “See? I told you.”

Lisa just stood there, her eyes wide with horror, hands pressed to her mouth. I glanced at Werner, but failed to read anything on his stone face. Not a single emotion. Although, maybe there was just a tiny flash of bewilderment. Or maybe I misread the expression. Anyway, his face showed no sympathy, he was absolutely calm. Could he be observing his own doing? I shifted my gaze to his powerful biceps and knobby hands and easily imagined him strangling Ji Cheng.

“That's enough,” John broke the silence. “Werner, take us to Trevor, we want to know what's going on. Boris, please stay here.”

Werner nodded calmly and went out into the corridor. He waited until we left the room, then took us to the base commandant.

Nobody spoke while we walked along the corridor. Anger raged inside me. Who could do this to our astrophysicist and why? At the same time, I had a feeling that everything happening to us was unreal. We didn’t have enough time to get familiar with the situation around us. We did not understand it. The murder was like a bucket of cold water. Cheng. I looked at Werner's broad back. I was growing increasingly convinced that it was this creepy Bosch who killed my crew-mate. Anger was rising along with confidence. But why? Why would he do that?

Soon we reached the compartment door. There was an intercom on the right. Werner pressed the button. Trevor's voice came from the device, he could probably see us via the camera.

“What happened, why are you here?”

“Emergency situation,” Werner replied. “Murder.”

“Come in.”

A pneumatic actuator hissed, the door split in two, disappearing into the wall. We followed Werner into a large office. There was a table and a dozen chairs in the center. Next to the large metal table, there was a small desk made of plastic or wood, supporting two transparent three-dimensional displays. The office was devoid of any decorations. It was obviously used for meetings only. A door opened on the other side of the room and Trevor came in. He was wearing a black sweater and light-colored uniform pants. His face looked worried. Trevor invited us to sit down with a gesture and took a chair at the small table.

“Report,” he looked at Werner.

The latter was about to speak, but John Finn beat him to it.

“Someone killed a member of my crew. We must find out who did it and why. What is going on here?”