Vessel

by Lisa A. Nichols

  CATHERINE WAS DRIVING home from work the following Wednesday afternoon, looking at all the back-to-school signs in the store windows. It didn’t make her smile the way it had in years past. While she’d always loved fall, even if Texas didn’t have much of one, this year was harder. It wasn’t the impending divorce. She and David were on better terms than they’d been since she’d come home. David and Maggie were seeing each other again, and she honestly wished them nothing but the best.

  There had been no more lost time or voices since she and Cal had come back from Arizona. As long as Iris’s “wall” held, Catherine didn’t think there would be again.

  Cal. Their relationship was in a strange sort of limbo. They were in constant contact, and he often spent the night at her place, but they hadn’t talked about what they were to each other. There just didn’t seem to be any time, life was moving so quickly.

  For the first time since she and David had announced their divorce, Aimee was coming over to spend part of the weekend with her, one last visit before she went off to college.

  So really, it should have been a happy time for Catherine. But there was one major problem.

  She and Cal were running out of time to put together a solid case to persuade NASA to abort Sagittarius II, and she was no longer sure they could do it. It seemed obvious; she had her memories, Cal had his data . . . but NASA had ignored Iris Addy. They could ignore her, too.

  They hadn’t talked about what the two of them would do if their plan failed. She knew from Cal’s earlier comments that pushing this theory of theirs would end up with his losing his job, maybe his career, if their colleagues didn’t believe them. Her future was a little hazier. She was a much more public face for NASA, but then again, they hadn’t hesitated to push out Iris.

  They had to move ahead with what they had. If they waited too long, hoping for some new concrete evidence to turn up in the data Cal was scouring, Sagittarius would be through the wormhole and it would be too late to bring them back.

  She parked her car and unloaded her groceries. This was her last few days with Aimee before she went to school. When Aimee got to her apartment, she looked outraged. “Do you know what the temperature in Cambridge was last night?”

  Catherine laughed, opening the door and pulling her into a hug. “Is it already winter back east?” she teased.

  “No, but do you know how much snow they got last year?”

  Catherine couldn’t help but grin. “I thought you wanted to go someplace where it snowed.”

  “Not that much!”

  “So what I’m hearing is that we should go shopping for some warmer clothes before you leave.”

  “Sweaters. Lots of them.”

  They cooked dinner together, just a simple meal, but it felt good to do something normal. Aimee didn’t comment on the lack of wine bottles in the apartment, but Catherine was sure she noticed.

  While they were eating, Catherine decided it was as good a time as any to dive in and talk to Aimee. Toying with her fork, she said, “I wanted to tell you a little more about what was going on the past few months, if you’re up for hearing it.”

  “Mom, you don’t have to worry about it. I’m not mad at you anymore. I know you were going through a lot.”

  “I know, but I’d like you to know. I know more now than I did then.” She held her breath and waited.

  Aimee’s eyes widened. “Your memories are coming back?”

  “A lot of them have, yes.” She’d talked to Cal about how much to tell Aimee, and ultimately decided to tell her only the bare bones of the story, for now.

  “Do you know what caused the explosion, then?” It was fascinating—and disconcerting—to see in her daughter the combination of worried family member and budding engineer/scientist. Catherine half expected her to start taking notes for future projects.

  “It was sabotage.”

  Aimee blanched. “What? Who? Mom, oh my God!”

  Catherine raised her hand to quiet Aimee. “I know. Tom Wetherbee had some sort of breakdown.” She paused, debating saying more, then pushed ahead. “It was just luck that I was outside at the time.”

  A number of emotions flickered across Aimee’s face: fear, worry, relief. “How long have you known that?”

  Catherine seesawed her hand. “Not very long; a few weeks.”

  “And the drinking . . .”

  “Trying to keep it from coming back, I think,” she admitted. “Aimee, I’m so sorry you got caught up in the mess of me trying to get through all this. You deserved better from your mom.”

  Aimee pursed her lips, thoughtful before replying. “I did deserve better, but I also know you were doing your best. So how can I fault you?”

  It was such a calm, adult, forgiving statement that Catherine’s eyes stung with tears. She leaned around the table and pulled Aimee into a hug. “Thank you. I am so proud of you, of the woman you’ve become.”

  “Mom.” Aimee squirmed away from the compliment.

  “I’m your mom, I’m allowed to be sentimental,” Catherine teased.

  They spent the rest of the evening watching movies and making plans to go shopping before Aimee left for school. The next afternoon, Aimee headed back home to David’s house. Once the apartment was quiet again, Catherine settled on her couch with a long, contented sigh. She had a bit of peace before a lot of craziness to come. She and Cal were going to tell NASA soon. She had no idea what to expect from them, if anything. If they believed her, and aborted the mission, the PR would be terrible, and they’d have to do a lot of damage control. But if they didn’t . . . her career was probably over, and she’d have the possible deaths of six other people weighing on her conscience.

  36

  PAUL LINDHOLM’S OFFICE wasn’t designed to be intimidating to anyone who entered it. Lindholm was subtler than that. It was calming, relaxing. Cluttered enough to look lived in. It was the sort of place you’d feel comfortable letting down your guard. Talking man to man, really. Cal wondered how many people had fallen for that during Lindholm’s tenure as administrator.

  He wondered if he and Catherine were about to.

  He’d contacted Lindholm before Labor Day, expecting at best to be put off until Tuesday, but here they were on the Saturday of a holiday weekend. Lindholm was behind his desk, while Aaron Llewellyn sat to the side of it. Cal and Catherine stood in front of them. So far, both men were riveted by the information Cal and Catherine were presenting. Cal talked them through the scientific evidence that indicated Catherine hadn’t been alone on Sagittarius after the Event, and described the foreign antibody that Catherine and Commander Addy both carried.

  “Medical can confirm about the antibody?” Lindholm asked.

  “That’s who gave me the information, sir.” Cal referred to his notes. “I included a copy of their full report in the packet I gave you.”

  Lindholm nodded. “Good, good.”

  When neither man could poke sufficient holes in Cal’s data, it was Catherine’s turn.

  Using Cal’s evidence as a starting point, she told her story. About why the data looked the way it did. She told them about the lost time here on Earth. That the memories she’d lost on the mission had returned. (But not how—they’d agreed to leave Iris Addy’s role in this out for now.) Finally, she told them about her final confrontation with Tom Wetherbee. And, most important, about her conversation with the alien intelligence.

  When she finished, Cal gave her a reassuring smile, then turned to Lindholm and Llewellyn. “We have to abort Sagittarius II,” he said. “We don’t know what we’re sending them into, save that it’s a hostile intelligence with the ability to control some of us.”

  Paul Lindholm leaned forward on his desk, eyes bright. “You’re saying that it’s . . . I don’t know, some sort of parasite, or—or . . . possession?”

  “They’re just trying to protect their home from a perceived threat,” Catherine said. She started to go on, but Cal gave a little shake of his head. He’d spent more time ponde
ring Lindholm’s question than he would’ve cared to confess to Catherine.

  “We can’t know for certain,” Cal admitted. “But consider this: whatever has been compelling Catherine to do the things she’s done, whatever’s resulted in the periods of lost time, there have been no new attempts since we stopped their original plan to trigger Longbow. As it is, it’s like we’ve thwarted Catherine’s programming and things have stalled out. Perhaps similar to what Commander Addy experienced.”

  “Hmm.” Aaron furrowed his brow.

  “They’ve made it clear they don’t want us on their planet.” Cal leaned on one of the bookcases lining the walls. “Until we have a clearer way to communicate with them, and . . . and a plan, we need to steer clear.”

  “You’re talking about us losing years of work,” Aaron said. “And a mission abort is going to cost millions, which we’ll then have to explain to the American people.”

  “But . . . first contact,” Catherine broke in. “I think that’s going to be bigger news than scrapping a mission.” She addressed Lindholm. “This is exactly one of the things we hoped to do with the Sagittarius missions. This is ‘Mission Accomplished’ in one hell of a big way, Director.”

  Lindholm looked thoughtful, and Cal could see the headlines he was writing for himself in his mind. “Still,” he said, “it wasn’t exactly a positive experience.”

  “A cultural misunderstanding,” Cal said. “That’s been an issue with humanity ever since we first started bumping into one another. That’s why it’s so vital that we get it right this time.”

  He had them, he could feel it. Llewellyn especially. Aaron believed him, finally. He met Cal’s eyes and actually looked a little ashamed. Cal wanted to rush ahead, to say something else, but elected to stay quiet and let them continue to convince themselves.

  “We need to talk about this,” Lindholm said. He glanced at Llewellyn, who nodded in agreement. “If you two can wait outside my office, give us a few minutes?”

  “Sure,” Cal said.

  The lobby was empty and the two of them sat side by side in the guest chairs. “It went well.” Cal wanted to take her hand, as much for his sake as for hers, but refrained. They’d agreed to keep their personal connection to themselves for now.

  “I feel like I’m sitting outside the principal’s office,” Catherine muttered.

  “As long as we don’t get expelled, I’m happy.”

  The minutes ticked by, enough of them that Cal started getting restless. He fought the urge to pace, not wanting to show any sign of his growing anxiety, not to Catherine, and not to Lindholm when he called them back in.

  As the office door opened, Cal stood calmly and Catherine did the same. Lindholm didn’t invite them to sit after he closed the door behind them. Hopefully that meant this would be short. Hopefully that was a good sign.

  “Catherine, I’ve said all along that the ordeal you went through was unimaginable, and now, with all the details . . .” Lindholm shook his head. “It’s a testament to your strength that you’re standing here.” The intercom on his desk buzzed. Lindholm hit the button and said, “Come on in.” To Catherine he said, “I’m very sorry.”

  Before either of them could ask what for, the office door opened, and three security guards came in. Two of them took Catherine by the arms.

  “Paul, what’s going on?” Catherine struggled, panic rising as she met Cal’s eyes.

  “Look at this from our perspective. You’ve told us that you killed Tom Wetherbee. You’ve confessed to attempting to sabotage an ongoing mission—and we even have an eyewitness.” Lindholm nodded to Cal. “That alone would warrant taking you into custody. And if your theory is correct, if you are under the control of a hostile alien entity . . . I’m sorry, Catherine. This is for your safety as well as ours.”

  Oh God. Cal should have seen this possibility. He’d been so sure his evidence was overwhelming . . . How did he not foresee this? “Don’t do this,” he said.

  Catherine’s movements grew more and more frantic as she struggled with the guards. “You can’t do this. My family will want to know where I am. Where are you taking me?” The words came out in quick succession, as if she could prevent this just by saying the right thing.

  “We’re going to put you under quarantine for now, until we’re certain you’re no longer a potential danger.” Lindholm nodded at security, who started to take Catherine out.

  “Cal! Tell them I’m okay.”

  The look in her eyes, the fear, cut him deep. He turned to the other two men. “This can’t be legal.” Aaron Llewellyn wouldn’t meet his eyes. Lindholm looked determined.

  “It is,” Lindholm said. “We’re authorized to quarantine any astronaut who might have brought back any sort of threat from a mission.”

  “But what about my crew—”

  “Cal,” Aaron interrupted gently, “go home. We’ll figure out the best way to deal with this on our own.”

  To the third security officer, Lindholm said, “Please escort Mr. Morganson to the front door.”

  Cal looked back at Catherine, who was quickly going from desperate to resigned. She saw the truth as clearly as he did. They were almost out of time to stop the mission, and now they were out of chances, too.

  37

  AS CELLS WENT, Catherine supposed this one was comfortable. The bed wasn’t bad, the toilet wasn’t exposed, and she suspected some staff member or other was making the home-cooked meals that showed up three times a day.

  None of that changed the fact she was a prisoner somewhere in the depths of Johnson Space Center, or that everyone who came to see her was forced to go through a ridiculous routine of hazmat suits and decontamination, as if she hadn’t been walking around freely for months.

  The first time they’d brought her food in, she’d laughed. “Seriously?” She recognized the staffer in the suit. “I sat next to you in meetings every week. Don’t you think you would have caught something by now?”

  If the excuse for holding her was that she needed to be quarantined, then NASA needed to follow quarantine protocol to the letter. It was almost darkly humorous to watch the charade.

  At least they let her have some visitors. The second day she was there David showed up at her door right after breakfast.

  He gave her an awkward hug through the hazmat suit. “Catherine, what the hell is going on?”

  “Is Cal okay?” It was the one question that had been eating her alive. She didn’t know if he’d been fired—or worse. Was he sitting in a cell, too?

  “Morganson? I haven’t seen him. Tell me what happened!”

  Each time she told her entire story, it got a little easier. She’d been so concerned about being believed—about what other people would think—she’d never stopped to consider how telling the whole story would make her feel free.

  “I’ll see what it will take to get you out of here,” David said. “Do you want me to hire a lawyer?” He didn’t say a single word about aliens, or first contact. Whether he believed her or not, he was still the man with the practical solutions.

  “Please. I need to get out of here.”

  “Catherine, I meant a criminal defense lawyer. They could charge you with killing Tom. With all of them, even.”

  It wasn’t that Catherine was unaware of the danger she was in. They could charge her with whatever they’d like, as long as she and Cal managed to bring back Sagittarius. Six people might well die, or worse, because they had failed.

  “I know,” she said. “But I don’t think they will. I heard someone saying they’re debating bringing me up on espionage charges, but they’re not quite sure how the laws work when the other entity is from another planet. I bet they don’t even do that. Not when they can hold me here indefinitely.” She smiled thinly. “Better PR if I just quietly disappear. So, make some noise and get me out of here.” The only problem was, David wasn’t the type of guy to make noise.

  “They can’t just keep you here; quarantine ends at some point, right?”r />
  “I’m a whole new ball game,” Catherine said dryly.

  “Then I’m definitely getting you a lawyer,” David said. “You’re not going to sit here and let them figure out how to keep you locked up forever.”

  “How’s Aimee doing?”

  “She’s shaken, but okay. She’s coming to see you later today.”

  “I wish she wouldn’t,” Catherine sighed. “She should be at school, not focusing on me.”

  “I know, but it’s her choice.”

  “How is she taking this?” She didn’t want to ask but had to know. She and Aimee had made such progress. Would Aimee be angry that Catherine had—yet again—not told her the whole truth?

  “She’s worried sick about you. We all are.” There. There was the slightly pitying look. David didn’t believe her, not about all of it.

  Their time ended with David promising again to find a lawyer for her. The whole visit was more unsettling than comforting. If David hadn’t seen Cal, then Cal must be gone from NASA—unless he was locked up down here somewhere, too; but even if Cal was free, a visit from him was probably too much to hope for. She doubted they’d let her see him, for fear of some sort of conspiracy.

  Aimee arrived during the long, dull hours between lunch and dinner, ushered in with the same routine of hazmat suit and air-lock doors.

  “Mom!” Another awkward half hug. “How can they do this? Don’t they know what you’ve already gone through?”

  They settled in side by side on Catherine’s bed, and Catherine filled her in on all the things she couldn’t tell Aimee before. Unlike with David, this time Catherine was nervous.

  “So . . . actual aliens?” Aimee’s eyes lit up. “I mean, that must have been awful, but Mom, oh my God, aliens?”

  Catherine couldn’t hold back a smile despite everything. “Yeah, I know. It sounds crazy. Which is why I’m here.”

  “I can’t believe NASA would do this to one of their own astronauts.” Aimee’s face fell into mutinous lines. “If anyone should understand the possibilities here, it should be them.”