Hello Norman

By Karl Iams

Norman Riley is unhappy with his planetary mission to characterize mundane rock formations on the desolate Hossa. But this is not the first disagreement between Norman and his employer, the young and brash Jason Alcott of Alcott Enterprises. As Norman concludes that his assignment is a convenient way for the Alcott family to put both him and his spaceship out to pasture, he is propelled into a new territory without any idea of what lies in store for him.

After making a startling discovery on Hossa, Norman must jump into action to ensure an important secret is kept safe from human exploitation. Unfortunately, Norman soon realizes Jason has different ideas. Convinced by Normans sudden departure from his companys payroll that he is being tricked out of a valuable ore find, Jason sends his best team to Hossa to reclaim what is rightfully his. Now only time will tell if Norman can pick up the gauntlet and somehow save the day, not just for the universe but also himself.

In this science fiction tale, an unlikely hero is propelled on the journey of his life after he makes a shocking discovery on an isolated planet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 11, 2017
• ISBN: 9781532029158

Karl Iams

Karl Iams is a songwriter who now knows that writing a sci-fi novel is both invigorating and maddening. He is an avid hiker and climber who is a frequent visitor to the stunning Olympic and Cascade mountain ranges. Karl lives with his wife and their various creatures in the Pacific Northwest. Hello Norman is his first book.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Hossa! Norman exploded in disbelief. You’re sending me out to characterize the rock types on Hossa? I can tell you from here that it’s nothing but a heap of useless basalt! Why waste any effort whatsoever on that worthless planet? Norman stared intently, as if expecting a reasonable answer. He knew he wouldn’t get it.

This was, of course, not the first disagreement between Norman K. Riley and his employer, Jason Alcott. It didn’t help matters that Jason was Norman’s junior by some twenty years, or that he had achieved his Directorship position by virtue of being the youngest son of the company’s founder, John Alcott.

We really need to think long term in this business, Jason countered in his usual smooth, yet somehow condescending tone of voice. We can never be completely sure what ores may be commercially valuable in the future. Alcott cocked his head at such an angle that he somehow managed to look down at his taller employee. His face, as usual, was totally without expression.

Norman had heard this line many times before and had quite frankly grown weary of it. The plain and simple truth was that the younger planetary geologists, with their advanced training in field instrumentation, were grabbing the best jobs.

Norman liked to think that his vast array of experiences during his over twenty five years in the field more than compensated for his shortcomings with the use of the latest gadgets. Still, they were getting the hot assignments and he was being sent to a geologist’s nightmare! Mapping and characterizing the mundane formations on the desolate Hossa could be done comfortably with a drone and a high power view scope. Why then, was he being sent to this miserable place?

I’ve already reserved the Kittyhawk VII, Jason’s annoying business-as-usual voice cut through Norman’s less than happy ponderings. She’ll be fueled and ready by 0700 tomorrow. Be sure to lay in provisions for a full earth month so you won’t have to make it a two trip job, Jason said with a note of finality, while reaching to his neck to straighten a tie that was already perfect.

The Kittyhawk’s a dog! Norman blurted without thinking. I was almost marooned by that crate on Darius V when the thruster controls locked up! It was sheer luck that it happened to me and not one of your hot shot new hires, since I’m well versed in bypass wiring and piloting crippled rigs!

Jason Alcott didn’t even pretend to flinch, Norman noticed reluctantly. Alcott’s gaze remained placidly fixed on Norman, his countenance perfect as always. She’s been repaired and all systems are fully functional, he went on, carefully ignoring the hot shot remark.

Too late, Norman realized that luck had nothing to do with his current transport assignment. No one else would take the Kittyhawk VII out for fear of a major breakdown. Norman quelled a wave of silent rage as he came to the inescapable conclusion that this assignment was a convenient way for the Alcott family to put both him and the Kittyhawk out to pasture.

With your exceptional piloting skills, a Hossa landing should be no trouble at all. Alcott continued, making good use of Norman’s own bragging. I’ll be expecting weekly data transfers via hyperwave. Good Luck. With that, Jason Alcott walked away, back to what Norman presumed to be a plush office with all the trimmings.

Still bristling about the prospects of being given an inferior craft on an assignment to nowhere, Norman was relieved that he hadn’t complained about his expected length of stay on Hossa. Spending a terran month on a three day job was still preferable to having to endure another Jason Alcott speech on thorough job completion.

As the next morning dawned, Norman’s grumblings gave way to reality and he settled into his usual pre-expedition routine. He had a typically bland breakfast and caught the automated tram to the sprawling Alcott Space Enterprises complex.

Upon checking in, he was not at all surprised that he only recognized one of the three-person ground launch crew. Norman couldn’t help but wonder why he was still working for Alcott. The smart ones had opted out, he reflected bitterly.

As he chatted idly with the ground crew, Norman continued to ponder why it was that he hadn’t left when it became apparent how the younger Alcott would run the company. He’d been 42 or 43 then, it would have been easy to get on with another firm at that point in his career. Now he considered himself to be stuck. Who would want to hire a guy that was nearly 50 when they could get geologists who were trained on state-of-the-art technology and were just itching to get off-planet?

Norman frowned and scratched the top of his head, easily accomplished through thinning, sandy-brown hair. He reflected briefly on the younger geologists, who preferred to work in teams of two or even three when Alcott allowed it. Norman, on the other hand, was most comfortable alone in the field.

After getting the necessary documentation completed, Norman’s thoughts once again turned to his assignment on Hossa. I’ll do my mapping in the first three days, he chuckled to himself. Then I’ll catch up on my reading. The thought of collecting a salary from that windbag, Alcott, cheered Norman up greatly as he checked out his sampling equipment.

All preparations complete, Norman grabbed his equipment and made his way across the platform to the Kittyhawk VII. Glancing around at the familiar surroundings, he smirked to himself and said. Honey, I’m home!

Norman secured his equipment in the sample hold and headed toward the cockpit. As he slid into the seat, he noticed a small, white envelope near the instrument panel. As he reached to pick it up, he noticed that it was sealed, but did not have any recipient or sender names on it.

Norman stared at the tiny paper enclosure, puzzling over just who might give him a send-off card. The sad fact, he lamented briefly, was that there were in fact, very few people in his life that he had let get close to him. He had spent most of his life chasing one planet after another, always choosing rock formations over people.

Finally coming to a decision, he opened the envelope. He pulled out a single piece of plain, white paper. On one side it said in italicized letters, Have a Safe Trip!

Norman considered the brief message for a moment, and came up with three possible explanations. It might be some new company policy, he thought, for the maintenance department to leave an encouraging note after a vessel overhaul. That didn’t seem too likely in the Alcott organization, however.

He shuddered as he considered the next possibility. The message may be Alcott’s way of getting the last laugh if both Norman and the Kittyhawk met an untimely end. Hmmm… No, those maintenance guys would never let the boss near a rig they were working on. He dismissed that possibility.

Norman smiled to himself as he thought about maybe the most likely scenario for the note. It was very possible that his long-time friend, Frankie had performed the renovations on the Kittyhawk. He wouldn’t have known who the next pilot would be, but maybe he left the note on a hunch.

Frankie, a.k.a. Franklin D. Reiner, had been Norman’s friend since childhood. They had been in Little Explorers together, played on the same sports teams, and even entered the same university together.

A sense of nostalgic yearning washed over Norman as he recalled those earlier times at the academy. Norman and Frankie had excelled at their studies and they had proven to be an absolutely unbeatable team in everything from sky hockey to laser mapping. Norman had been overjoyed for his friend when Frankie had married Elizabeth; what a terrific lady! She was a great match for Frankie and had always encouraged them to continue their life-long friendship.

It wasn’t long, however, before Frankie had come to realize that the schedule of a planet-dashing geologist simply wasn’t conducive to family life. After their first child, Stephanie was born, Frankie had opted for a job in the Craft Repair Division. Norman, meanwhile, began to tackle more comprehensive, long-term planetary assignments. And so, their career paths had parted. Their friendship had remained intact in spite of their jobs, and Norman had grown fond of spending his terran furloughs at the Reiner house.

Ground Launch to Pilot Riley, the intercom cut into Norman’s thoughts. Time to begin Level One diagnostics.

Norman quickly slipped the cryptic message back into the envelope and set it aside. Initiating Level One diagnostics, he replied dutifully.

His mood brightened as he took the Kittyhawk through the standard pre-launch tests. The renovated craft responded flawlessly to each trial performed. Yep, they must have had Frankie work on her, he said aloud, his usual modus operandi on solo missions. Well I guess we’re still a great team, Norman said to himself as he completed the diagnostic procedures.

Norman got clearance for takeoff, and was soon guiding the vessel into position to escape the pull of the earth’s gravitational field. The standard maneuvers were like an old friend as his experienced hands smoothly worked the controls. The Kittyhawk VII was indeed handling nicely. Norman was by now quite sure that Frankie had handled the rehabilitation of the control system.

A smile came to his face as he remembered the difficulties his lanky friend had had maneuvering his 6’ 5 frame into and out of the standard size cockpit. Norman had on many occasions remarked that that his own height, an even six feet, was the model of perfection for planetary geologists. Maybe that’s why Frankie eventually opted for life on the ground," Norman commented to himself with a remembering smile.

Once underway in free space, the craft practically piloted itself. With the course and the light jumps already programmed in the Kittyhawk’s computers, Norman would only need to periodically check his progress. The other planetary geologists considered Norman a bit of an eccentric since he preferred not knowing when the light jumps would occur. The momentary push/pull, inside-out feeling always gave Norman a gentle exhilaration. He saw no need turn the jumps into anxiety attacks by planning for them.

As Norman waited for the first progress checkpoint, his mind wandered back into his own past. Images of an attractive young woman, face thrown back in laughter, came unbidden to his mind. The pretty face belonged to his college sweetheart, Sarah Benton. Though the image was more than twenty five years old, the memory was so clear that when he closed his eyes, he could hear the ring of her laughter.

Norman sighed and opened his eyes. Why had she walked out on him? Their relationship after college was supposed to grow stronger. Instead, it had become increasingly fragile, strained by conflicting career requirements. The death blow had come when he had accepted his first long term exploration assignment in the outer systems.

He recalled, with too much clarity for comfort, the long letter waiting for him when he had finally returned to his home planet. He had read it over and over, but it had taken him several years before he finally understood the substance of the letter. You’ve made your choice, she had written, and it wasn’t me.

Norman slouched deeply in his chair, as if the artificial gravity compensator had just doubled its pull on him. He sighed again, pulling out his wallet to reflect on the fact that the only pictures in there were of someone else’s kids.

A small, blinking red light on the instrument panel caught his attention. He was nearing the first light jump. Having already convinced himself that the Kittyhawk was in top form under Frankie’s care, Norman closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy the ride.

After the hop, he opened his eyes and said, Well, it’s just you and me Kitty Baby, in his best leering voice, (which wasn’t very convincing anyway). After some final instrument checks, Norman decided that the Kittyhawk was right on target and he could get some sleep.

The rest of the trip to Hossa, well, was mostly uneventful. After the second light jump, the Kittyhawk’s proximity alarm woke Norman out of a deep sleep. There shouldn’t be anything out here! he grumbled as he tried to wake up enough to figure out what was going on. I’ve got the only flight plan registered on this course!

Whoa! he shouted when he got a visual on how close the Kittyhawk had come to a tug pulling a damaged freighter. The vessel’s auto-thrusters had responded and prevented a collision, but it was apparent from Norman’s brief radio conversation with the young captains of the two vessels that their attention was elsewhere at the time of the incident. It seems that they were more intent on a burgeoning romance than on safe space navigation.

Hormones be damned! Norman had thundered into his com-unit. Get those crates back on your registered course or I’ll turn you both in!

Norman used most of the rest of his free travel time studying what was known about the planet. Hossa was smaller than earth, but contained a core with a higher density. The planet’s gravity, then, was only slightly less than the terran standard of 1.00.

His references gave an interestingly varied picture of the planet. There was no water in any form on Hossa, but there was oxygen in its atmosphere. Due to its elongated shape, however, atmospheric pressure varied widely. This resulted in a wide range of equivalent oxygen concentrations as compared to earth-based sea level atmospheric pressure.

At the poles, equivalent oxygen content averaged only 15%. Around the equator of this chunk of rock, atmospheric oxygen calculated out to the equivalent of approximately 25%. The rest of the atmosphere was mostly carbon dioxide, nitrogen, and argon.

Upon further study, Norman had found out that Hossa also had a very high velocity spin on its axis. As it turned out, Hossa made a complete revolution on its lengthwise axis approximately every three terran hours. Talk about your short work day, Norman had muttered to himself as he realized that he would only have 1 1/2 standard hours each Hossa day to set up and do his field collecting.

Complicating matters further was the wide range of planetary surface temperatures. Norman preferred to do his field work without the restrictions of the cumbersome suit on planets with oxygen-based atmospheres. This practice had earned him more than a few derogatory nicknames for going natural, so to speak. Even Frankie had taken to calling him Streak after reading about a short lived fad in the 20th century. The name was of course also an apt description of Norman’s behavior when planetary weather conditions changed abruptly.

As Norman was bringing the Kittyhawk into orbit around the odd planet, he discovered a bit of good luck. Hossa was in a nearly circular orbit around a binary system consisting of a Class G star and a red dwarf. Since Hossa was just nearing its greatest distance from the primary star, it was effectively what could roughly be called winter on the planet. This would mean daylight temperatures nearing 25° C at the equator, but falling to -30° C at night.

Norman selected three locations on the very incomplete maps that represented the sum total of all that was known about Hossa’s geography. Just my lot in life, Norman muttered to himself, I was chosen to collect worthless information on worthless rocks on a worthless planet! The chosen locations were all within 200 kilometers of the equator. If his tests showed a healthy atmosphere, these spots would allow him to carry out his field work without the nuisance of a bulky suit.

Norman pulled his craft out of orbit and guided it into a landing position above the first of the three chosen sites. I’ll call this place Alcott’s Folly, he chuckled smugly to himself. Norman continued to muse on all the interesting names he could give the notable features of the planet as he guided the Kittyhawk smoothly toward the surface. Being the first to study this worthless chunk of rock may prove to be highly worthwhile after all . . .

CHAPTER TWO

After landing just after sunrise on a gently sloping rock outcrop at the newly named Alcott’s Folly, Norman began readying his air sampling equipment. The tests would take most of the first day since the light would only last 1.5 terran hours. He grew increasingly impatient as the analyzers continued their battery of tests on Hossa’s atmosphere. Even if the air passed the tests, taking that first breath on a new planet was always a risk. This was, of course, precisely what Norman enjoyed about his job.

Norman looked out at the planet called Hossa while he was waiting for the atmospheric analysis devices to finish their work. What he saw did not surprise him in the least. Looking out the port side of the Kittyhawk, he noted that the planet’s surface was bleak and lifeless, covered only with a fine dust and the occasional small rock. Gazing out of the starboard side of the small craft provided the same view, except he could see that the planet’s primary was about to set. Damn! When will those stupid tests be done?

At last the analyzers had completed their task and given Hossa’s atmosphere a clean bill of health. Now it’s my turn, ya lousy air suckers, Norman said sarcastically to the machines. With that, he stepped into the airlock to begin the procedure of exiting the craft. The surface temperature had already begun to drop as this side of the planet headed toward nightfall. 21, 20, 19, 18° C… The temperature had fallen 3 degrees just in the time it took to seal the air lock. At this rate, he would have all of 5 minutes outside of his vessel!

Finally the pressures equalized and Norman slowly opened the door. Hand still on the door, he took the first cautious breath. OK, he whispered to himself, this stuff isn’t half bad! The air had a particularly dry yet fresh, spirited characteristic that Norman hadn’t experienced before. As he scanned the desolate, uninhabitable landscape before him, he could sense his lungs’ uneasiness with the odd gas ratio. He decided very quickly that he had best call it a day.

During that first night on Hossa, Norman programmed the life support computer to begin adjusting the ship’s air mixture to slowly more closely resemble that on the planet’s surface. The process would be very slow and never quite complete, but it would allow Norman to maximize his time in the field.

Also, since each day was so short, Norman created a work schedule to allow him to maintain a terran 24 hour schedule for sleeping and eating, while optimizing his working time. He grouped eight of Hossa’s daylight cycles, which was the equivalent of 24 earth hours, into a single work unit, that he amusedly called a week. Alcott’s got me working eight days a week! Norman chuckled to himself. He decided to begin day 1, week 1 after a good meal and then sleeping through two and a half cycles.

Norman was up before the dawning of daylight, wolfing down something that nearly resembled breakfast as he was busily preparing for his first working day on the stark planet. With all the necessary field gear stowed neatly in his pack, he nervously entered the airlock. I’ll find out in a hurry if my lungs are adjusting, he said as he watched the primary sun come up over the horizon. By the time the airlock was ready, dawn was over, and it was time to go to work. Norman opened the airlock door and stepped onto the hard surface of Hossa.

Norman took a few very controlled breaths and decided he could manage a short jaunt to test out his land legs. He walked carefully on the hard surface so as not to stir up any dust, which had not yet undergone any testing. Don’t want to wake up any critters on this slag heap, Norman said to himself as he continued his gentle walk.

As he was walking, he thought about why it was that he had started working solo in the first place. It was precisely for what he was doing right now. After Frankie had transferred into Maintenance, Norman couldn’t find a partner that was as anxious as he was to get out and explore new planets. They’d spend most of their time inside, doing instrument work and report writing, while Norman did all the field work. When he finally tried a solo mission, he discovered that not only could he get the job done more efficiently, he enjoyed it more as well.

Having gone some 500 meters over level surface, Norman decided to begin in earnest the tedious job to which he had been assigned. With twenty-some years of planetary study under his belt, the process of taking measurements, collecting samples, and making detailed notes was second nature to him. Indeed, the process itself seemed like an old friend to Norman, and he found himself humming an old college spirit song as he busily went about his work. What a surprise, Norman mused while investigating a small angular rock, Hossa’s a slag heap!

So engrossed was Norman in his work, that he hadn’t even once checked the time. Subconsciously, he began recomposing the old song running through his mind to include phrases like old slag heap and Alcotts Folly. He was toying with the phrase Jason’s wastin’ the old man’s money when suddenly his wrist alarm went off indicating only five minutes until sundown. Surface temperature was beginning to drop in a hurry as well. Damn! he half shouted, I’d better get moving or I’ll have to put on that infernal thermal suit.

Norman took his time gathering his equipment and samples. He felt good about adapting so well to the atmosphere and putting in a full work day. As he finally turned to retrace his steps to the Kittyhawk, darkness overtook him. What, no romantic, lingering sunsets for honeymooners? he laughed as he pulled on his pack, now heavy with samples of the small rocks which seemed to be Hossa’s mainstay.

The temperature was quickly falling, but Norman wasn’t far enough away from his vessel to be worried. As he approached what he gauged to be approximately half way back, however, a sudden pain seared through his head! Feeling as though his skull were about to explode, Norman screamed, doubled over and cradled his throbbing head in his hands. Good God! he cursed loudly as he tried to stumble back to his feet.

The searing pain, which seemed to extend from ear to ear, was slowly beginning to subside, only to be replaced by a steadily increasing throbbing in his temples. Norman was by now dizzy and nauseated from the pain. Struggling valiantly against the cold in addition to the pain, he got to his feet and began to stumble back to the safety of his craft.

After maybe ten shaky meters in the general direction of the Kittyhawk, a fresh wave of pain and dizziness caused him to nearly black out. He thought that he should be close enough to see the vessel, but for some reason he couldn’t find it. As he staggered into a huge boulder, he realized that if he lost consciousness out here, he would most certainly freeze to death before the next sunrise.

Faced now with what was clearly a life or death situation, Norman paused, leaning on the large rock for support. He was definitely feeling the cold, but the throbbing was diminishing with each passing second. Just a little more rest, he found himself compelled to say aloud as he regained his strength. Now, let’s get back to the Kittyhawk.

As he left the support of the rock, Norman was confident that he had recovered well enough to make it back now. He took off with a strong gait and found himself standing in front of the Kittyhawk in just a few minutes time. Home Sweet Home, he gasped to himself as he entered the relatively comfortable domain of the Kittyhawk, and promptly collapsed.

At one point during the next daylight cycle, Norman woke up enough to consider getting up. He quickly dismissed the idea. Norman finally did get up during the following daylight period, and was amazed to find that he had recovered from his harrowing ordeal with no lingering symptoms. No headache, no dizziness; not even the slightest trace of nausea. To top it off, he was starving!

After a quick shower and some less than tasty space rations, Norman decided that he needed a new game plan if he was to continue this project. Let’s see what we’ve got to go on, he said to himself as if facilitating a large meeting. What were the events preceding the pain and near blackout? he queried himself as he began to recall his harrowing experiences.

Norman grabbed a notebook and instinctively began to take notes as he recalled first taking a gentle walk to the selected sample station. He recalled the abundance of small rocks and the fine surface dust. The dust! he exclaimed. I’ve got to get some tests run on the surface dust I was sampling before I head back out. With that, Norman spent the remainder of the daylight period preparing the previously collected samples for analysis.

As the Hossa night fell, Norman had completed his part of the analytical work, and the instruments would take the next hour or so to complete the task. Now where was I? Norman said aloud as he began once again to mentally retrace his steps prior to his mysterious illness. He thought back to the routine sampling and measurement procedures. He recalled with a high degree of clarity putting on the heavy pack and setting off toward the Kittyhawk just as Hossa’s primary sun had quickly set.

Norman continued jotting down notes about his recollections, until he remembered almost fainting and resting on a sizable boulder. That Rock! he cried aloud as he recalled stumbling into and leaning against the large stone.

Where did that huge rock come from? I don’t remember seeing it on the way out to the first sample location! Was I that far off course? How did I ever make it back here then? Norman had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he peered out of the Kittyhawk’s window onto the barren Hossa landscape.

The analyzers finished their work on the dust and rock samples Norman had previously collected. With mixed emotions, he read the printout results: No known human toxins, no organic carbon, principal elemental constituents Si, O, Fe, Mg. You’re a big help! Norman said mockingly to the analytical equipment, I already knew it was a worthless piece of basalt! Unanswered of course, was the source of the sudden illness he had suffered on that first sampling expedition.

After another less than successful attempt at gourmet space food, Norman began to make his preparations for a second expedition. He chose a surface location only 200 meters from his home away from home, in the opposite direction of his earlier trek.

As he entered the airlock with his equipment, a sudden revelation occurred to Norman: Maybe, if he had found a wife and settled down like Frankie had, he’d never have accepted a goofball assignment like this. I’d be home by five with a glass of wine in my hand. Norman chided himself. What an idiot I am!

Norman exited the airlock and slowly walked to the designated area taking measured breaths as he went. He felt strong, but remained a bit nervous as he removed the equipment from his pack to begin his evaluations. The routine went smoothly and Norman finished in less than an hour, leaving plenty of daylight to get back to the Kittyhawk.

Once back on board, he prepared the samples for analysis, and plugged in an old Star Trek vid-com. I’ve earned a little R & R he justified to himself, and I don’t even have a tricorder to figure out what’s wrong with me! After Captain Kirk had once again saved the day by controlling the trible population and apprehending the offending Klingons, Norman decided to get some sleep.

He awoke very refreshed. Well, three nights and two days is a lot of sleep, he mused to himself. His mind, however, came directly to the conclusion he’d been avoiding: the planetary report would never be complete until he got some answers about that large boulder. He had seen nothing larger than ten centimeter diameter rocks on his second expedition.

I guess I go back to the scene of the crime, he shrugged with resignation and more than a touch of trepidation. Norman was unaccustomed to being afraid of surprises on new planets. There was something about this one, however, that disturbed him.

Norman left the safety of the Kittyhawk, and set out in the direction of his first explore. He quickly discovered his own footprints in the fine dust. The prints led him to what was clearly the location where he had encountered the pain and dizziness attack. A multitude of footprints showed where he had stumbled and tried to regain his footing.

He could see where his first footprints led to the initial sample point. There were even knee prints in the dust indicating where he had kneeled, cradling his head. There was, however, no boulder anywhere to be found.

What the hell was I leaning on then? Norman thundered in exasperation. This makes no sense at all! As Norman began to stomp his way back to the Kittyhawk, he noticed what looked like a large rock in a draw over the next low ridge. He headed in a path directly toward the object and began climbing the ridge. Once atop the ridge, however, Norman realized that the rock was on the other side of still another ridge.

Careful to check his watch this time, Norman decided that he had enough daylight to safely cross the crest to get a sample of the rock. Since he was not carrying any samples, his pack was relatively light and he set a brisk pace down into the rift between the ridges. He slowed considerably coming up the other side. Sweating from the exertion, Norman stumbled the last few steps up the incline and scanned the stark Hossa landscape for the boulder.

What the…! he exclaimed as he finally located the rock. This can’t be happening! he yelled aloud as he realized he was still a sizable distance from his objective. The rock was not just down the hill from him where he had expected to find it. Instead, he estimated that it was more than two kilometers away, on the other side of a large bowl, possibly the site of an ancient meteor impact.

Disappointed, Norman checked his watch, already knowing full well that he had no choice but to head back to the Kittyhawk. Something weird about this planet, he grumbled to himself as he began the trek back to his craft. Just then an odd thought struck Norman: What if there actually was something scientifically peculiar about this planet, and he was the one to discover it? What if Norman K. Riley was to make a revolutionary scientific discovery on this hunk-of-junk planet?

Norman chuckled to himself as he envisioned the shocked look he would see on Alcott’s face when presented with his incredible discovery. But hey, no way! Norman mused aloud, If I come up with something big, I’ll re-negotiate my contract. No, better yet, I’ll go to the highest bidder! Norman made his way back to the Kittyhawk in high spirits as he continued to daydream about fame and fortune, ostensibly from his work on the desolate planet.

The Hossa sun was setting as Norman reached the Kittyhawk and entered the airlock. The approaching darkness seemed to bring Norman back into the real world, as he put aside his whimsical notions and began to inspect the samples from the earlier outing. As he expected, the composition of the rock and dust material appeared to be nearly identical to that of the previous sampling expedition.

Norman quickly realized to his own scientific chagrin, that out of a whole planet, he had only succeeded in sampling two closely located positions. "Rock or no