Finality

by Amy Cross

  Sitting on the bed, I stare at the screen. When I was at the academy on Mars and we were taught about Hidden Eye Syndrome, I thought it was something that only afflicted people with weak minds. It seems naive and arrogant now, but I managed to convinced myself that somehow I was immune, that my personality would be too strong and too rigid to be so easily fooled. And yet after only a week out here in deep space, I can't deny that I had some kind of major psychiatric breakdown.

  "You look surprised," Sutter says after a moment, as he switches the monitor off.

  "I don't really remember much of it," I reply.

  "I wouldn't worry too much," he continues. "You spent most of your time talking to a hallucination. You seemed to be imagining you could see Deborah Martinez."

  "Huh," I reply. "I think..." Pausing, I think back to the moment when I was standing by the window. It's almost as if there were two separate voices speaking to me; they both sounded like the same person, but one of them was outside my head and the other was inside. It's almost as if one was a hallucination and one was a genuine memory.

  "Don't worry," Sutter continues. "There's no need to be embarrassed. Well, actually, that's not true. You probably should be embarrassed. It's pretty significant that you had such a serious collapse just a week into deep space work. By rights, I should be straight on to the home-base, and they'd undoubtedly recall you." He pauses. "It might please you to know that I won't be doing that."

  "Why not?" I ask.

  "Because I think you could still work out," he replies, "and because I think your head has been messed with so much, it's not a surprise that Hidden Eye Syndrome developed. Pre-existing fault-lines had been left dormant, waiting to be exploited."

  "I thought I saw..." Turning to the window, I'm suddenly struck by the memory of vast cities all over the surface of Io-5. Getting to my feet, I head over to the other side of my room and peer out through the porthole, but all I see is the planet's dusty surface, and there are no vast fleets of alien ships anywhere around. With a shiver, I realize that it was all just a hallucination. My mind couldn't accept that there's so much emptiness around us, so it filled in the gaps with paranoid fantasies. In other words, it was classic Hidden Eye Syndrome.

  "Don't beat yourself up," Sutter says as he makes his way over to the hatch and climbs through to the control room. "Follow me. I want to show you something."

  Getting to my feet, I'm surprised to find that I'm sore and bruised. Limping a little, I make my way painfully through the hatch and find that Sutter is working at one of the monitors.

  "So how exactly did you cure me?" I ask.

  "Adrenalin," he replies, focusing on a file-bank instead of looking at me. "There have been studies that show a high dose of adrenalin mixed with a few base hormones effectively resets enough of your nervous system to shock you out of the hallucinations. Once that's been done, it's just a matter of getting some rest. You were out for nearby twenty-four hours, but you should be fine. It's lucky your case was fairly mild. It was the pre-existing issues that made it seem worse." He glances at me. "I need to show you a video."

  "You filmed me?" I ask cautiously.

  "No," he replies. "It's a video I offered to show you while you were at the height of your mania."

  He hits a button and then turns away, as if he doesn't want to see the image. Staring at the monitor, I realize it's a surveillance recording of the bay door area, and there's a woman working on one of the panels. A shiver passes through my body as I realize that I'm watching a video of the accident that killed Deborah Martinez. I should look away, but my eyes remain fixed on the grainy image of Deborah performing routine maintenance work on a panel right by the door; after a few seconds, the door snaps open and I watch in horror as Deborah is sucked straight out into the void. By the time another second has passed, there's no sign of her, and eventually the door slides shut.

  "When I saw what had happened," Sutter explains after a moment, still keeping his back to the monitor, "I immediately closed the bay door. I knew there was no chance of getting her back, so..." He pauses. "You can watch it again, if you want. Just make sure you delete it when you're done. Unless you think I faked it somehow, in which case you should keep it as evidence. I already told the home-base that the video doesn't exist, so if you want to get me in trouble, send it to them."

  I watch the video as a second figure steps into view, and I realize that it's Sutter. He moves toward the door before turning and hurrying away.

  "I believe you," I say eventually.

  "Don't say it if you don't mean it," he replies firmly.

  "I do mean it," I tell him. "Really." It's true: now that the mania of my condition has passed, I'm starting to see Sutter differently. He was clearly affected by Deborah's death, and there's a part of me that feels bad for having accused him or murdering her. "I suppose I should -"

  "No need," he says, interrupting me.

  "Yeah, but -"

  "Don't apologize," he says firmly. "You were sick."

  "You told me she committed suicide," I remind him.

  "She did," he continues. "She'd set the system up so she could blow herself out into space."

  "But why?" I ask.

  He pauses. "Do you remember anything else I told you during your sickness?" he asks eventually.

  "Not really," I reply. "It's kind of a blur."

  "Then let's see if that blur clears itself up," he replies. "You've got a lot of things to remember, Crizz, but they need to come naturally. If we try to force it, you could end up getting sick again. I won't be reporting what happened, but I will be keeping a close eye on you. If there's even a hint of trouble again, I'll have you restrained so fast, you won't even know what's hit you."

  "It won't happen," I tell him. "I swear."

  He pauses for a moment, and it's clear that he's not entirely convinced.

  "Get to work," he says eventually. "You haven't been very useful around here over the past few days, so I figure it's about time you took some of the weight off my shoulders. I've disabled some of the panels, just in case there are any problems, so don't be surprised if things don't work too well for you. All you need to do is keep watch, try not to press any buttons, and wake me if anything happens. Do you think you can manage that?"

  "You can count on me," I reply.

  Once he's gone through to his room, I turn and look at the main control console. Sutter's locked it down pretty well, which I guess makes sense; he can't be certain that I've fully recovered from my bout of Hidden Eye Syndrome, and it's probably going to take me a while to regain his trust. A lot of the events of the past few days are kind of blurry, but I figure the worst of it is probably over for now. I just need to focus on keeping my head straight and ensuring that I don't make any more mistakes. Sutter's already being very generous, and I can't risk causing any more suspicion. My head should settle soon, and at least I can take some comfort in the knowledge that Hidden Eye Syndrome almost never strikes the same person twice.

  We're alone out here, in the depths of space. I can deal with that fact now.

  Spotting something on top of one of the monitors, I head across the room and find a small piece of wood carved into the shape of a man. Holding it up, I can't help but feel that I've seen it somewhere before, but the precise details won't quite come to me. Assuming that it must belong to Sutter, I put it back, but for a moment I can't shake the feeling that maybe it should mean something more to me.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sutter

  Sitting in my bunk, I stare at the diary pages. It was a shock to find them in Crizz's possession, but I guess Deborah must have stowed them away somewhere in her room and in my haste to scour the place, somehow I missed them. It's not hard to see how they might have helped spark Crizz's problems, but at least I've managed to get hold of them. With any luck, there won't be any more problems.

  Pausing for a moment, I listen to Crizz's footsteps as she makes her way across the control room. She should be okay, but I need to be v
ery cautious for a few days. Her mind is still so fragile, and as more and more of her old memories start to resurface, she's likely to experience other problems.

  Leafing through the diary entries, I finally come to one from almost a year ago, back when Deborah and I were starting to contemplate the next phase of our plan:

  Sutter doesn't want to admit it, but sooner or later we're going to have to face the inevitable. The plan was set in stone a long time ago, and any variation would be foolish. We knew the situation when we came to the station, and petty human emotion mustn't be allowed to get in the way. As soon as word comes through from Mars, we have to start preparing for the accident.

  I doubt Sutter will be much help, but I have no doubt I can do this. For the good of the cause, the sacrifice must be made. I'll probably use the bay door. It won't be hard to stage an accident, and I imagine it'll be a quick and fairly painless death. The added bonus is that there won't be a body left behind for Sutter to deal with. He's already going to be facing so much trauma, and I don't want to add to his burden. My part in this plan is going to be so easy; he's the one who has to deal with everything that comes next. I can't imagine how hard it will be for him to look at Amanda and have to pretend not to recognize her.

  Putting the pages down, I can't help but try to imagine what it must have been like for Deborah as she stood at that bay door, waiting to push the button. I remember wondering why she was taking so long to fix a routine vent problem, but in the back of my mind I was aware that she was going to stage an accident at some point. I guess I was delaying the inevitable moment, and I sure as hell wasn't able to talk to her directly about her impending death. I was a coward, and she was a hero. Just like back in the war.

  I wish she was still here. I wish I could tell her how much I loved her, but the only thing I can really do for her is ensure that her death wasn't in vain.

  Epilogue

  Ten years ago

  It's getting late, and the city is beginning to buzz with the chaos of another hectic night. Bars and restaurants are opening, and people are starting to fill the streets as they look for respite from their long, dull days. The weather department has canceled a controversial rain shower that was due to take place tonight, and which had been widely interpreted as an attempt to minimize attendance at an anti-corruption rally in the main park, and so people are faced with a pleasant evening that they hadn't been expecting.

  As pleasant as the Martian bio-domes can get, anyway.

  Making my way through the crowded streets, I can't help but glance up at the sky every few minutes. My time off-world has taught me to always be cautious, to constantly check for any hint that I'm being watched. Sometimes I wonder if I'll become the first person to ever develop Hidden Eye Syndrome in a crowded Martian city, but fortunately I'm long since past the point at which paranoia can really have much of an effect on me. I've lived half my life in the shadows, and the other half on the run. In my line of business, paranoia is a necessity, not a curse.

  "Over here!" a voice hisses.

  Turning, I spot Josh gesturing for me to join him in the doorway of a small restaurant. Hurrying over, I follow him inside and find that the place is mostly deserted. Some of the fancier places around the main square have recently received a fresh delivery of meat from Earth, and the city's food snobs have been flocking there in droves; most of them insist that Earth-raised meat tastes better than anything found on Mars, and for all I care, they might be right. The only good part of the situation is that other restaurants have been more or less emptied for a few nights, so it's easier to find a quiet spot for clandestine meetings.

  "Are you going to the rally?" Josh asks as he leads me to a booth in the corner.

  "Of course I'm going to the rally," I reply. "Why the hell would I want to get myself associated with something like that? You know they'll be pinging anyone who gets within a hundred feet of the damn thing."

  "Wise move," he says, turning to me as we reach the booth. "We've got a lot to discuss."

  "We've got a plan," Deborah says, smiling at me from the seat in the corner. "Glad you could join us, Nick."

  "It was either this or skulk about in my apartment," I reply as I sit next to her. Glancing over my shoulder, I realize that we're the only people in the restaurant right now, and I can't decide if that's a very good thing or a very bad thing. I guess I'll wait and see if the place explodes in the next few minutes. "So what about Amanda?" I ask, turning first to Deborah and then to Josh. "Any luck tracking her down yet?"

  "We don't think they've moved her from the facility," Josh replies. "They will, though. At some point, they have to feed her into the next cadet intake. Obviously there's a chance that the reprogramming hasn't worked properly, so they might have to try again and wait until the next intake. Either way, we're pretty sure we know their next move, so all that remains is to sit it out. We have agents in the intake groups, and they know how to spot her."

  "In theory," I reply. "They might have changed her appearance."

  "I doubt it," he continues. "They never perform facial reconstruction. Call it a quirk, but they seem to like keeping some vestige of the original person. Maybe they get off on it or they think it's a sign of their dominance, but they always leave the face alone. It's the mind that interests them. As far as they're concerned, the face is just an afterthought."

  "We think we can have her located within forty-eight hours of her deployment to an intake group," Deborah explains. "After that, it's just a matter of watching and waiting. We're going to need to be patient, more than anything else. I think we should all accept that we're in for the long-haul. This isn't something that's going to be resolved in a few months. We're looking at years. Five, maybe even ten. I know it's not ideal, and none of us wants to put things on hold for so long, but it's better than pushing ahead and facing certain death."

  "I'm heading out to the Nebulan Cluster next week," Josh continues. "I'll link up with everyone else and we'll get on with some tech work. It's not exactly ideal, but I figure we'll use the extra time to see if we can gain a tactical advantage. There are already some ideas kicking about, so we've got some projects to keep us busy." He looks over at Deborah for a moment, and they exchange a brief, worried glance that immediately makes me worry. "The fleet needs time to recover," he adds, turning back to me. "We can patch up the -"

  "What?" I ask, interrupting him.

  He stares at me.

  "I saw that look," I continue. "Something's up, something you don't want to tell me. It's not gonna get any better if you keep it to yourselves, so why don't you just spit it out?"

  I wait for one of them to have the decency to reply.

  "Seriously?" I ask eventually. "Do you think I'm some kind of idiot who's going to just roll over and perform on command? If you want me to help, you need to tell me what's happening and how I can contribute. If you can't manage that, this is barely one step up from begging."

  "We've been discussing the next main step to take in terms of infiltrating Supreme Command," Josh says cautiously. "We considered trying to get some people into S.E.A.S., but the odds are tiny and we'd probably just end up drawing attention to ourselves. At the moment, they think we're fragmented and disorganized. Hell, I don't think they're even bothering to look for us right now. With Amanda out of the way, they think we're finished. Supreme Command just listens to S.E.A.S. and assumes they're always right, and there's limited value in getting anyone inside Supreme Command. All of which leaves only one other option."

  "Deep space," I reply.

  "It's quiet out there," Deborah points out. "Quiet and lonely. You can get a lot done without anyone noticing."

  "So what's the plan?" I ask.

  There's an awkward pause, and it's clear that both Deborah and Josh are worried about telling me the truth. I've been in this kind of situation before, and the result is usually some kind of hyper-embarrassing confessional that does no-one any favors. They quite obviously have a scheme up their sleeves, and it only r
emains for me to find some way of wringing the truth out of them.

  "Come on," I continue. "At least one of you can summon the courage to tell me."

  "We're going to embed ourselves," Deborah replies.

  I stare at her.

  "In a deep space station," she adds.

  "And?" I ask.

  "And then we wait."

  "For what?"

  "For Amanda to find us. Or whatever the hell she's called by then."

  I pause for a moment. "And how exactly is she supposed to find us?" I ask. "By osmosis?"

  "She'll be guided in the right direction," Josh explains. "We're going to have people embedded in the hierarchy at Supreme Command. Low down, but still... They'll be able to ensure that Amanda is assigned to a deep space station where we already have a representative. If you think about it, the set-up is perfect. We just have to let the engines of bureaucracy do their thing, and then we're waiting at the other end for everything to work out in our favor."

  "And who exactly do you expect to stick on some deep space station," I reply, "waiting for Amanda to maybe, just about show up?"

  I wait for a reply, but they both seem to be just staring at me.

  "No," I say after a moment.

  "It wouldn't just be you," Deborah continues. "It'd be me too. We'd both go out there."

  "And then what?" I ask. "They wouldn't put three people on one station -"

  "We'd find a way to get someone sent back to home-base," she replies. "Someone would get sick. Really, it's quite a simple idea."

  "And you think home-base would fall for it?" I ask. "Seriously? You think they wouldn't ask any questions about the fact that suddenly someone became conveniently sick just when a highly important cadet was ready to be sent out?"

  "Not if we timed it right," Josh interjects.

  "You're insane," I reply. "It would never work."

  "Amanda believed in it," Deborah replies, "and if she thought it was worth a shot, who are we to disagree? She was right about so many things, so why don't we just trust her on this? There were so many crazy ideas she put forward in the past, and they all worked. Face it, Nick... She has a great mind when it comes to things like this, and sometimes the best approach is to just trust her." She pauses. "Can you do that, Nick? Can you trust her?"