The Comet's Curse

by Dom Testa

  If we don’t catch him soon I’m going to rethink my decision about opening the Storage Sections. Roc is working on it, and I’m willing to give it one more day or two. After that we go on the attack; I’m tired of waiting for this person—whoever it is—to show himself.

  She wasn’t particularly tired yet, so rather than shutting off the light in her room and climbing into bed, she flicked on her vidscreen and checked a graphic that showed the location of Galahad within the solar system. Their track was holding steady on a course that would shoot them past the orbit of Mars and on towards Saturn. She scanned ahead and eyed the future path of the massive ship as it rocketed towards the outer planets. Their final contact with human life would come briefly near Saturn. There, an orbiting research station with a crew of thirty scientists would share radio contact with Galahad and check on their status. That team would then relay a final report back to Earth, acknowledging the passing of the vessel on its way out of the solar system. Triana did not necessarily look forward to that communication. It would seem like another good-bye, which she dreaded.

  After that, appearing on her screen as a weak point of light, was Eos. Between them, several light-years of inky blackness, and the great unknown.

  After pausing for another moment, Triana clicked open her e-mail.

  And immediately let out her breath in a gasp.

  It was another note from the stowaway. The subject line read “Time to exchange a handshake.” After hesitating briefly, she slowly clicked open the letter and began to read.

  Greetings again, Ms. Martell. I extend to you an invitation to join me for a lively discussion on the future of your assignment. I know that you must have several questions, and it will be my pleasure to answer as many of those as possible.

  By now I’m sure you have discussed my first letter with your fellow Council members, and I’m equally sure that they have counseled you to refrain from meeting alone with me. If I read you correctly, you have not reached this same conclusion. My impression is that you prefer to handle matters yourself. I appreciate that. It has always been my way, as well.

  Tonight would be an excellent opportunity for us to exchange a handshake and get to know each other better. I’m quite confident that after you hear my thoughts, you’ll wonder why you were ever so concerned. Please allow me the chance to put your mind at ease.

  I will wait for you in the Storage Section of the ship between midnight and 12:30 A.M. That should give us the peace and quiet that we need to seriously discuss matters. I doubt that we’ll be disturbed at that time of the morning.

  Again, I respectfully request that you come alone. If I see more than just your bright young face, I will disappear, and this offer will not be repeated. Do we understand each other? If you do not come alone, you will miss your one and only chance to visit with me.

  If you do not appear by 12:30, I will assume that you refuse this meeting, and I will move on to my next task. A task, I might add, that you will find most distressing, to say the least.

  Until then, Ms. Martell, I bid you good night.

  Triana reread the note, biting her lip. She glanced quickly at the clock in the top corner of her vidscreen: 12:02 A.M.

  Her mind raced. It would only take a few minutes to reach the Storage Section of Galahad, which allowed her time to make the appointment. It did not necessarily give her time to contact the members of the Council and collect their opinions. Besides, she already knew that their answers wouldn’t be any different from the last time. And this intruder, whoever he was, had now eerily threatened further damage, a threat that Triana took very seriously. In her judgment a private meeting was better than leaving him to possibly cripple their ship.

  Well, she had just expressed a desire to go on the attack. Now, it seemed, was her only chance.

  She stood up to change back into her clothes, then had a sudden thought. Sitting back down, she snapped on her vidscreen audio and called out, “Roc?” It made sense to her to at least tell the computer what was happening. Somebody needed to know what her plans were, and Roc would be able to convey the message to the other Council members later, should anything go wrong.

  But there was no answer from Roc. The audio speaker remained silent. “Roc?” she said again. Still silence.

  Now Triana was more troubled than ever. She wondered if the threat mentioned by this intruder involved somehow disrupting communication with Galahad’s master computer. He had said that Triana had until 12:30. It was now 12:03.

  With her heart racing, she changed back into her everyday work clothes and started to race out into the hallway, pausing only briefly to glance at the picture of her father beside her bed. “Help me, Dad,” she said softly, and then broke into a run out the door.

  At that moment Gap was in his room, leaning back in a chair. His feet, clad only in socks, were propped up on the table, his shoes tossed haphazardly to the side. A blanket his mother had made was wrapped around his upper body, more as a comfort piece than a practical tool for keeping warm. His eyelids were heavy, and occasionally his chin would bob onto his chest, jerking him back to attention. After one particularly long yawn he stretched his arms upwards, trying to fight off the urge to sleep. He was exhausted. After a quick glance at the clock on the vidscreen he figured about another hour and he would be able to fall into bed.

  His roommate, Daniil Temka, was sleeping soundly across the room. That didn’t help much, either.

  For the third night in a row he had kept up this vigil. On the vidscreen before him was a live security camera shot. It was focused on the hallway at the end of this particular section of residential quarters. Through the dim light Gap was able to watch the last fifteen feet of hallway and the entrance to the lift. His eyes never left the vidscreen for more than a few seconds, which only made the task of remaining awake that much more difficult.

  Yet he was determined to stay awake each night and keep watch over the hallway and the lift. If his hunch was right, Triana would not report her next message from the secretive stowaway. She was more likely to accept his offer to meet, which meant putting herself into more danger than she probably realized.

  Gap would not let that happen. He reasoned that Triana would be asleep by one o’clock each night at the latest, so it shouldn’t be that difficult to keep watch for a little while. If by one there was no sign, then he was confident she wouldn’t be sneaking off to a private rendezvous. It just so happened that he was particularly tired this night. The time dragged.

  Suddenly an image flashed across the vidscreen. Gap shot upright in the chair, his blanket falling to the floor. He leaned forward and looked closely at the screen. It was Triana.

  She raced up to the lift door, waving a hand over the sensor. In a matter of seconds the door opened and she scampered inside. It closed just as quickly, and she was gone. It had all lasted less than ten seconds.

  Gap sat stunned. He had watched for this, anticipating that it could happen. But he was still unprepared for it. His action plan wasn’t exactly complete. It had allowed for keeping watch; it hadn’t really included what to do after that. His thoughts tumbled into one another, backing up and slowing his reaction time.

  Snapping out of his frozen trance, he punched in the code that would open an audio link to Lita’s room. At the same time he reached for his shoes under the table. A light tone sounded, signaling a connection to his fellow Council member.

  “Lita!” he called out. “Lita, wake up. It’s Gap.”

  He fumbled with his shoes, slipping them on and snapping them shut all in one movement. “C’mon Lita, wake up.”

  “Mmmh,” he heard her mumble through the speaker. “What?”

  “Listen, it’s me. You gotta wake up and call the others. Tree is on the move.”

  “What are you talking about? What time is it?”

  “A little after twelve. C’mon, snap out of it. Tree is on the move.”

  Lita’s voice sounded sluggish. “Yeah, I heard that. What do you mean? On the move
where?”

  “Listen, there’s no time for this. Tree just tore out of her room, and I know she’s going to meet up with the stowaway. Just wake up the others and meet me …” Gap trailed off, his mind racing. That was a good question, now wasn’t it? Meet where?

  “Meet where?” Lita said at the same time he was thinking it.

  He stopped, glancing back at the monitor that now showed an empty hallway in front of the lift.

  “Meet me in the Storage Section. Hurry up!”

  He snapped off the intercom without waiting for a reply. Pushing back from the chair he called out, “Roc!”

  There was no answer. Daniil had awakened and was propped up on one arm, trying to comprehend what the commotion was all about.

  “Roc!” Gap tried again, leaning towards the red sensor.

  Silence.

  “Oh, no,” he said under his breath. Without waiting to investigate, he scrambled out the door and broke into a sprint towards the lift.

  The lift door opened on the bottom level, but Triana hesitated. For a moment she remained at the back of the lift, leaning against the wall, grasping the hand railing, peering out into the shadowed gloom. The hallway curved to the left, limiting her field of view to about thirty feet. A heavy quiet greeted her.

  Triana’s breathing quickened. Her heart banged wildly against her chest, and a thin layer of moisture broke out on her palms. “Calm down,” she told herself. “Relax.” She swallowed and forced herself to take long, deep breaths.

  Letting go of the railing, she took one tentative step out into the hallway. It wasn’t simply the faint light that was spooking her, she realized. It was that tomblike silence. A ship this size, with this many people aboard, shouldn’t be so …

  Then it hit her: it was too quiet. The soft background sounds normally supplied by Roc were gone. No wind. No crickets. Nothing.

  She paused with her hand across the door sensor, preventing it from closing, using the light that streamed from inside the lift to see as far as possible. What she wouldn’t give right now for a simple flashlight. Straining, she listened for the sound of a footstep, a voice, even the sound of breathing.

  Nothing.

  For a moment she considered calling out. But somehow that seemed creepy, too. No, the intruder had said to meet her on this level. Well, she was here. Time to go find him.

  “I can’t stand here all night,” she finally thought. “Time is running out.”

  She left the comfort of the lighting within the lift and took a few more tentative steps into the gloom. Her feet padded slowly along the corridor, barely making a sound, while the deafening thud of her heartbeat echoed in her ears. She worried that the pounding might obscure any sound that would alert her to the stowaway’s presence. Her breathing was in control now, but the sweat on her palms had not let up.

  Brief thoughts of turning back darted into her head, and at one point she actually came to a halt, just before the bend of the hallway. Should she backtrack and call the other Council members? Suddenly this idea of the private meeting did not seem so wise after all.

  Shaking her head, Triana took a few more steps. As she rounded the turn she ran through a mental review of this level. Five sealed Storage Sections, inaccessible to the crew—but not to their guest, it would seem. Several more hallways branched off from this main artery. The Airboarding track was at the end of one of these branches, dark and deserted now. Farther ahead, towards the end of the main corridor, were the Spider bays. A large observation window loomed just outside the entrance to the bays, the window that Peter Meyer had sought before his encounter with the intruder. And finally, at the end of the main hall, an emergency stairwell.

  There was something else on this level, however, that hadn’t occurred to her until now. Something that she had forgotten about. Something that should have registered from the beginning. Something that suddenly clicked.

  She saw it as she finished rounding the turn. There, at about waist level, was the access panel to Galahad’s computer controls. The entry point to the massive electronic brain they lovingly called Roc.

  And the panel was open.

  She stared at it, trying to comprehend what she was seeing, unaware that she had been holding her breath until it escaped from her in a rush.

  There had been no answer from Roc in her room. The comforting Earth sounds were missing. A new, stabbing fear, different from the others that had been crowding her mind, shot through her in a flash. Damage to the ship’s computer brain could spell disaster for the entire crew. Roc controlled almost every function of the vessel, including …

  Including life-support control. Gravity. Heat. Air.

  There was still no sound. Her eyes now accustomed to the murky darkness, she cautiously stepped towards the open access panel. As she dropped to one knee to inspect it, more details made sense.

  Peter had seen the intruder at this spot. He had told Triana that it seemed as if the man had just stood up. Peter wondered if he had been kneeling. Of course. Opening the panel would require that.

  Gap had found the coin at this spot. Somehow that was connected, too.

  Triana looked first at the panel as it hung from its hinges. It wasn’t as if security at this site was a priority, but Dr. Zimmer still had insisted that it take a special tool to open this section. There were only two of these tools that she knew of; one in her possession, another with Gap. Who might have a third?

  Next, she peered inside, wishing once again for a flashlight. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, but her computer classes seemed like eons ago. What had happened here?

  Triana had become so preoccupied with the open access panel that she never heard the quiet footsteps approaching from behind. So focused was she on the problem at hand that the voice, when it came, brought a scream to her lips and a chill to her blood.

  “Well, hello, Triana. I wondered if you were going to make it.”

  That was followed by one of the most hideous laughs she had ever heard in her life.

  34

  Opening the window didn’t do much good, since the air was still and dry. There was no breeze to ventilate the house. After being locked up for several weeks it was definitely hotter inside than out, and Wallace Zimmer thought that any exchange of air would help reduce the heavy feeling that hung within the walls. He leaned against the windowsill and gazed out at the quiet street. The usually bustling neighborhood was subdued, as people sought refuge inside from the stifling late summer conditions. Even the birds had decided to call it quits for the afternoon, as if it required too much energy to muster up even the smallest chirp.

  He had lived in this house for almost twenty years. Or, rather, he had owned the property and listed the address as home, even though he actually spent more time away than here. During the two years of overseeing Galahad he could count perhaps ten nights that he had slept in his own bed. His neighbors were gracious, keeping his lawn in passable shape and stopping in to make sure everything was in order. One thing he was sure of: never take great neighbors for granted.

  He was struck by another coughing attack. This one was more severe than most, and the pain in his chest radiated out to his arms this time. More blood collected in his mouth, too much to swallow this time, and he leaned forward to spit it out the window. Thank goodness the neighbors didn’t have to see that, he thought.

  No sooner had he collected himself from the attack when another spasm wracked him, more violently than the first. Another mouthful of blood was ejected onto the rocks outside his window, and a tear seeped out of one eye. The pain was becoming unbearable. It was time for another dose of the cough suppressant he had picked up from his doctor this morning, wasn’t it? Had it been long enough between doses?

  Did that even really matter anymore?

  He trudged into the kitchen as mild aftershocks of coughs rippled from his chest. He decided he didn’t care if he was an hour or two early for the next dose. All he could think about was stopping the pain. Just stop the pain.
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br />   He unscrewed the cap on the medicine, ignored the spoon lying next to it, and tipped the neck of the bottle into his mouth. Two quick swallows began coursing through his system, and within a minute he felt the pain subside. He rested one hand on the kitchen table and the other on his forehead, gathering his strength. This couldn’t go on much longer. And, sadly, he knew it wouldn’t.

  Eventually he pulled out a chair and sat, then slowly replaced the cap on the medicine bottle. The table was littered with books and papers from the Galahad project, along with an assortment of e-mails and letters from the families of the kids who had made the trip. Each one thanked him again for the opportunity he had given their child to survive. Each one wished him well. Each one was, in its own way, another good-bye.

  He flipped through these notes absentmindedly, looking at them without really seeing them. After reaching the bottom of the stack he started to sort through them again before catching himself and pushing the pile aside. The house was quiet, and lonely.

  The sound of the tone from the vidscreen on the table was soft, but still caused him to jump. He checked the incoming call and saw it listed as F. Bauer.

  Connecting, he smiled when he saw the face of Dr. Bauer’s wife, Sharee. She looked weary—that look was commonplace these days—but managed to smile back at Zimmer. He had only met her on a few occasions, but had instantly decided that she was one of the truly warm, caring people in the world. Fenton Bauer had been very blessed.

  “Hello, Sharee,” he said.

  “It’s good to see you, Wallace,” she said. “How are you?”

  “Oh, I’m all right, I suppose. A little tired. You look as lovely as ever, of course.”

  Her smile brightened slightly. “You’re sweet, but I don’t feel lovely. Not anymore. And you know what? I hate to say this, but I don’t even try anymore. The way I figure it, this is how I look, so the world better just deal with it. I’ve retired my makeup bag for good.”