Chris waited for Mae to speak, but she looked as if she barely knew what they were talking about.
"Fine!" Terry shouted. "But even Beech thinks we're taking unnecessary risks, he already said so."
"What I said," Owen corrected, "was that it could be argued that it is our moral responsibility to repopulate the human species. And that risking our lives in any way is tantamount to endangering the future of this planet. But I was merely playing devil's advocate."
"Our one responsibility," Chris said, "is to locate the ten billion inhabitants of this world."
Terry didn't seem to have fully followed Owen's explanation. "You know what? If you guys want to play Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson-or even Adam and Eve-then have at it. I've got better things to do."
Chris looked down, studying Terry's hand. "What's in that glass, Terry?"
"What? It's a beer."
"How many times have you refilled it?"
Terry stretched his spine, attempting to stand taller, but it still placed him a full head shorter than Chris. "You insinuating something, Commander?"
"Stand down, Mr. Kessler."
Terry tossed his glass to the side, where it broke against the restaurant wall, and he crossed his arms. "Maybe you haven't been hearing me, but we're not in a command structure anymore! Matter of fact, we're not in anything! There's no society here, no laws, no rules! We can run around naked, paint the town red, have anything we want, plunder, deface, and destroy at our pleasure. Who cares?! No one! There's nobody here, nobody anywhere! You're leading us around on a wild goose chase, getting us into one disaster after another, and for what?! It's all for nothing! Don't you get it? Everybody's gone, we can't bring them back, and we are going to die alone!"
There was a quick thud as a bare, open palm clocked Terry straight on the nose.
He blinked and staggered backward before falling onto his butt.
He looked up in shock.
"I am truly sorry, Terry," Owen said, his open hand still held out in front of him, "but you cannot drag everyone down to wherever you're headed. We all know you're a better man than this; the isolation is just getting to you. It's getting to us all. Take a moment and calm yourself-"
Terry climbed to his feet and launched himself like a tiger in Owen's direction.
Without missing a beat, Owen slid sideways and grabbed Terry's passing arm by the wrist. Terry was suddenly lying on his back, with Owen cocking the man's wrist, twisted and pointed at a painful angle away from his arm, refusing to let go.
"Stay down," Owen said, and there was no mistaking the change in his voice. He had just uttered a threat, and it was a dangerous one that everyone in the room could feel.
Chris and Trisha and even Mae had stopped moving, stopped breathing, staring not at Terry anymore, but at Owen. Chris slowly took a small step backward.
Mae, on the other hand, stepped forward. She let out a guttural "huh" that wasn't a question. It was an observation, maybe even a vindication. Owen glanced at her, but then refocused on Chris.
"I, uh ... I don't remember them teaching us that in astronaut training, Beech," said Chris. "Matter of fact, I don't even remember that from my Air Force basic. And if I recall correctly, you were never in the military."
Owen averted his gaze momentarily, before turning Terry loose and standing up to his full height. Terry backed away slowly on his hands and knees toward the front door.
Chris stood his ground. "Don't try and tell me you studied tae kwon do as a kid, or some crap like that," he said, folding his arms and scowling. "That thing you just did, that move-it was too perfect."
Owen stood stock-still, but something about his manner had transformed right before their eyes. With a simple change in posture and expression, he was very nearly a different person. He didn't look like a bulky scientist any longer; his shoulders were broad, his muscles flexed, and he stood ready to launch an offensive.
"What is this, Beech?" Chris asked at last, his eyes momentarily shifting to Terry on the ground before boring once again into Owen's. "Who are you?"
The void surged into being not far from the spot where Terry had thrown his glass. Its dark blue-black mass spiraled slowly, and then a sudden flash of bright light blinded every eye.
When the flash faded, Chris found himself standing on a surface he didn't recognize. At first he thought it might be another memory of Mars, with the crystal clear night sky overhead. But he didn't know the constellations he saw. Worse, the ground beneath his feet was not red but pale blue. There were no clouds, and no light, save the starlight.
He tried to breathe in, but his heart jumped into his throat when he realized he couldn't. There was no oxygen here, no atmosphere of any kind. It was no different than standing unprotected in the empty vacuum of space. His hands were immediately around his throat, trying to ease a pain that would not be quelled....
There was another flash, and he was standing in the steak house again with his friends. Everyone was exactly where he'd left them, including himself, facing down Owen. But the expressions on every face told him that he wasn't the only one who'd just experienced something very unnatural.
And the void was gone.
Terry staggered up from the ground and ran through the front door, out into the night.
Owen stood across from Chris, his appearance having changed from the imposing stranger he'd become to alarmed and confused at whatever he'd just encountered.
Mae remained rooted to her spot, close to Trisha, but her hands were covering her mouth, as if she was afraid to let herself say anything aloud.
Trisha rose sharply from her table and opened her mouth to speak. But before any words could come out, her eyes rolled back white and she collapsed.
ELEVEN
Mae was already kneeling over Trisha before Chris had found his footing. Owen moved to join the two of them. Terry had vanished into the dark.
"Bag on the table," Mae said as Chris passed the table in question. He grabbed the bag of medical supplies.
When Chris reached them, Mae was taking off her giant coat. She balled it up and placed it beneath Trisha's feet.
"Is she all right?" Chris asked.
"Not cold," Mae replied with a hand on her forehead. "Not in shock... " She looked to Owen, who knelt next to the bag. "Got a thermalometer in there?"
Owen immediately began rummaging, retrieving a thermometer and handing it over.
`Any idea what just happened?" Owen asked. "The void appeared and then I ... I went somewhere. Someplace else. I'm assuming something similar happened to you? To both of you?"
Mae ignored the question, her attention focused on Trisha. She grabbed a wrist, taking her pulse, but Mae had no watch on her hand to look at as she measured. Her fingers remained there for only a moment before moving on.
"Yeah, something similar," Chris replied. `And I think the void may be getting smaller every time I see it. But right now I'm a lot more interested in finding out just who you are, Beech? If that's your real name .. .
Mae looked up just long enough to throw Owen a keen eye, eyebrows lifted high.
Owen ignored her, instead looking after Trisha as he spoke to Chris. "Twelve years ago I was a field agent for a special outfit within the CIA. An outfit most people didn't know existed. It was never officially on the books, so it didn't have a name. We referred to it as `the Division'."
"What kind of outfit was it?"
Owen hesitated. "Black ops."
"Black whats?" asked Mae.
"Wet-work," Chris replied with steely calm, not taking his eyes off of Owen. "Government-sanctioned, stealth assassinations."
"Not just wet-work," Owen hastened to add. Anything the U.S. needed done that political red tape or international relations got in the way of The Division's long gone; it was dismantled and abandoned nine years ago, and those of us working for the Division were cut loose-all ties severed, all records erased. It wasn't long after that that I met Clara, and decided it was time to settle down and forget a
bout the past."
"How did you end up on my ship?" Chris asked, stone-faced. A little more than a year before the Mars mission, I received a visit from a man I hadn't seen since the Division went under. He was one of my superiors there. He said that there was a potential problem with the upcoming Mars mission, a problem that the U.S. could not afford to risk. He said he could arrange for me to be added to the crew, and that my job would be to protect the rest of you and ensure the mission's success. They faked a pair of doctorates for me as credentials, though the skills that those documents profess are real-my position within the Division required me to become well versed in any number of disciplines, languages, and skills."
Chris snorted hot air like a bull. "Do you have any idea how many qualified astronauts were passed over for your position? And you're telling me you're not even a real scientist?"
"Yes, I know exactly how many were passed over, and technically speaking, no, I'm not a real scientist. I just happen to know a whole lot about many different things-a number of scientific disciplines among them. And I was well trained for the mission, to perform my role as expected."
It took Chris a moment to swallow all this. "Mitchell Dodd. A good man, a brilliant scientist, and a friend of mine. You took his seat on the mission. Did he really go to Russia for advanced cancer treatments?"
"It was a cover story. Dodd was taken into protective custody and hidden where the press would never find him. He wasn't told the real reason why only that it was of utmost importance to national security."
`And what about your wife and kid?" Chris asked. `Are they really your wife and kid?"
"I had a blank slate, Chris. I could have been anyone. And Owen Beechum is the man I chose to be. Yes, I really do have a wife and son. That part of my cover story was never a contrivance. I didn't even want to go on the mission. I didn't want to leave my family. I was happy in the life I'd chosen.
"But you don't do what I used to do for this country without being a company man, and I am one. Bones and blood. I think this is why you and I have always gotten on so well; you're as loyal as I am, and in my shoes you would have done exactly as I did."
"Maybe," Chris replied. "But I haven't always toed the line. There was one time when I disobeyed a direct order."
Owen was openly surprised. "Really?"
"During the war. I was ordered to drop bombs on civilian targets. I refused."
For the first time since Chris had known him, Owen was at a loss. "I did not know that."
"Why wasn't I told about any of this?" Chris asked. "As mission commander, I'm entitled-"
"Chris," Owen said, standing. "The mission was believed to he in critical danger. No one was above suspicion."
"So no one at NASA knew? No one at all?"
"Director Davis knew. No one else."
"I can't believe he'd go along with this."
"He didn't. He was vehemently opposed to it. He even kept a personal dossier on me that no one else at NASA was allowed to see. He led a bitter, private campaign against my appointment to the mission that went on for months, right up until just before the launch, eventually taking his case all the way to the president himself. But the decision was made, and the president had signed off on it personally, though this fact was never documented."
"So this Division of yours-which no longer exists," said Chris, "and the president ... What was so dire that they had to put you on the Ares?"
Owen took a deep breath, and Chris had the impression of a man about to divulge his deepest, most impenetrable secret. "They had very few details. Only scant intel about something they considered a potent threat. They called it the Waveform."
"And what is that?"
A covert group, a stealth bomb, code name for a conspiracy, some kind of alien technology they had theories, but no facts. All they knew was that it exists. The CIA had heard it mentioned among obscure radio chatter a handful of times over a period of more than twelve years, and the context of that chatter gave them reason to believe the Waveform was to be used as part of an elaborate plan to sabotage the mission and disgrace NASA-and the nation.
"It was decided that only a man on the inside at NASA had any hope of determining just what it was, and stopping it. Plus, it offered the added security of having someone along for the ride to keep an eye on the ship and her crew should the Waveform be intended as onboard sabotage to be used in space or on Mars."
"So, after all this scheming and planning and lying and undermining of my crew and our mission, did you actually manage to discover what this Waveform was?"
"No," Owen replied, and for the first time Chris saw crease lines of regret take shape around the edges of his mouth. 'Obviously, the mission was never sabotaged in any way, your `missing time' experience notwithstanding. I went over the ship, the Mars Habitat, the mission plan-everything-again and again. Nothing was ever out of order. But I was able to determine one critical clue. I found reference to the Waveform in some very old personal notes hidden deep in the Top Secret, Access Only archives at Johnson Space Center."
Chris leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He let out a very long breath. "It all comes back to Houston. Did these notes say anything about what it is?"
"No. But it was mentioned in conjunction with future space exploration. It was almost like a warning of ... something that NASA's astronauts might one day find."
"So now you're thinking, what? That the Waveform is connected to D-Day?"
"It would be foolish not to consider the possibility."
`And you didn't think this might be information you should share with the rest of us before now?"
"Chris, this is above Top Secret information we're discussing. Only five people in the entire world knew the details about my mission, and I was under the strictest of orders-"
"The mission is over!" Chris yelled. "It's been over for almost a week! "
"The mission isn't over. You know it. That's why you're still leading us, and why you still need Terry in line. We both have our roles, Chris. Only this thing is bigger than any one of us now."
"Well, then give this some thought," Chris said bitterly. "I had another memory flash this morning, and in it I saw things ... things that are impossible. Like the moon moving too fast, or a dinosaur walking out of a cave, or billions of people disappearing in a split second."
"Then it's as we feared. Everything's connected," Owen immediately said. "The disappearances, the void, the Waveform. They could all be one and the same. Or at least symptoms of a shared disease."
"Shhhh .. ." Mae said, looking up at both of them. "Needs rest." She cocked her head toward Trisha, who was still unconscious.
She maintained her station while Owen and Chris walked to the other side of the room. Terry's pistol lay abandoned on the floorChris figured it had fallen out of the young pilot's pants when he was backing away from Owen. Chris picked it up and stuck it in his pocket.
Owen watched as Chris processed everything he'd just learned. So much had gone wrong since their landing. Owen wondered momentarily how much of it-if any-he might be directly responsible for. Had he told them what he knew upon their return to Earth, would anything have played out differently? Would they have found Mae? Would Chris' arm he in a sling right now? Would Trisha be passed out on the floor, and Terry gone? Would they have been caught in the flood in Biloxi, or trapped atop that bridge in New Orleans?
He didn't know. He tossed the thought away. The past could not be changed.
They stood face-to-face at the far end of the restaurant, back near the kitchen and well out of earshot of Mae.
"I believe I may have an idea of what's wrong with Trisha," Owen said quietly. "That is, if you still care to hear my opinion."
Chris met his eyes with a hard stare. Owen knew that he had to appear differently to his friend now, but to Owen's surprise, his response was, "Bogus credentials or not, you're still the smartest, most capable man I know."
Owen offered a slight nod.
"Should we run some
tests on her?" Chris asked.
Owen shook his head, glancing back at Trisha and Mae. "I don't believe scientific readings would be particularly helpful in this instance."
"Then what's wrong with her?" Chris asked.
"She's suffering the physical effects of a broken heart."
Chris blinked, said nothing.
Owen was ready to defend his assertion. "There have been countless published reports linking dire emotional states to-"
Chris nodded, waving his hand dismissively. "I believe you."
Owen continued. "Then I'd further postulate that her condition is made worse by the intense loneliness she currently feels-that we all feel" He glanced at Mae, who was still tending to Trisha without a thought of anyone else in the room. "Well, most of us."
Chris sighed. "Trisha's always ignored her own pains in order to put the mission and the team first."
Owen stared, his features hardening. "Chris, if you know something about Trisha that you're not sharing, now's the time."
Chris sighed again, frowning. Owen watched him make a decision on the spot. He crossed his arms.
"Trisha suffers from fibromyalgia."
Owen's eyes darted back and forth, accessing information buried in his extraordinary mind. "I don't understand. From what I know of it, that means muscle pain of varying severity that's nearly omnipresent. Not life threatening, but in some cases can be severely debilitating. And it can cause extreme exhaustion." He looked up at Chris again. "How did she ever-?"
"Make it into the space program with such a condition?" Chris finished. "It's not something that shows up in physicals, so she's learned to monitor and hide it. Haven't you ever noticed how strictly regimented her lifestyle is, even for an astronaut? How careful she is about what she eats, how obsessive she can be about getting exercise?"
"Of course," Owen replied, "but I assumed that-"
"That that was just Trisha," Chris finished again. "She didn't choose to do those things; they chose her. Trisha confided her secret to me years ago, after I caught her taking over-the-counter painkillers on a consistent basis during her training for the Mars mission. Her case is mild compared to some, though extra long hours or heavy exertion can cause her intense pain and exhaustion. Occasional headaches and migraines are just one symptom. There are more, like the weariness, or this `brain fog' that can limit clarity of thought. But she worked and trained every bit as hard as the rest of us, if not harder, and she wanted the job just as badly as we did. She was capable, she was determined, and she was deserving. I didn't see anything to be gained by ratting her out.
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