by Dom Testa
This connection had been possible because of the unique wavelength that Bon’s brain emitted. A dozen Galahad crew members had exhibited painful symptoms of this bizarre connection, yet it was Bon who was the most in tune. His brain had become the focal point of the Cassini’s attempts to communicate with the shipload of teens.
It had come at a severe price, physically. Bon had been wracked with pain that dropped him to his knees, even causing him to lose consciousness. In the months since that episode, he had been reluctant to discuss it. Without a doubt it was an experience that he wished never to repeat.
And now Triana was asking him to do just that.
She bit her lip, aware of the tension that had settled upon them. “If you’d like,” she said, “we can discuss this later.”
“We can discuss it now,” Bon said firmly. “I don’t ever want to make that connection again.” He turned to face Triana. “Besides, what purpose would it serve? Suppose we find out that the Cassini are responsible for the Kuiper Belt? Then what?”
“Then you ask them how we get through to the other side.” Bon snorted in disgust. “If they did put this…this fence around the solar system, why would they help us out?”
Triana didn’t have an answer. She looked at Hannah, who shrugged her shoulders. Gap and Channy also seemed to have nothing to say.
“Listen,” the Council Leader said. “I don’t enjoy asking you to do this. Believe me, if I could do it myself, I would. But right now we’re in serious trouble. We’re trying to tiptoe through a minefield where the mines keep moving, we’re potentially seconds away from colliding with something, and we have a growing number of people on board who want us to turn tail and run back home.
“The one thing that could help us the most would be a little more information. If there’s any chance to get some help, we need to take it. Suppose there is an answer to getting out of here?”
Her tone softened a bit. “Bon, I know it’s the last thing you want to do. I just don’t know if we have any better option.”
For almost a full minute he stared back at her. Then, without saying a word, he set down the cup of water and walked quickly out of the room.
Channy looked down the table at Triana. “Oh, boy. Now what?”
“I don’t know,” Triana said with a sigh.
Gap leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand. “You know what I think? I think he’ll do it. He growls a lot, but when it comes down to it, he is just as driven as the rest of us to make this mission succeed. He knows that he’s going to be in agony, but he’ll do it. Just let him walk around for awhile.”
Triana thought about this. Then, rubbing her forehead, she said, “Let me go talk to him.” She pushed herself up out of her chair and walked out.
Hannah looked nervously at Gap, who said, “Everything’s going to be okay.” When neither she nor Channy responded, he said it again. Even to his own ears it sounded unconvincing.
Sheesh, can we ever get away from these crazy Titan aliens? Hey, I watched what Bon went through last time, so I don’t blame him for stomping out. Hooking up with those guys is a pain, literally.
Besides, we don’t need their help, do we?
23
Lita had grown up around her mother’s medical practice, so she knew the smell of a hospital better than most people. To her, Sick House didn’t have that particular odor, and yet it still carried a scent that recalled memories of patients and procedures.
Not all of those hospital memories were unpleasant. One of Lita’s most powerful memories was of trailing her mother, Dr. Maria Marques, during a typical morning round. A nurse had frantically rushed up to them, with news that an elderly man had unplugged his IV and monitor, and was demanding to be discharged to go home. The nurses had tried, in vain, to convince the man that he was in no condition to leave the hospital, and that his doctor was on the way. That doctor, however, was tied up in the emergency room. When the nurse had seen Lita’s mom, she had begged her to help in some way.
Lita could still remember the way the old man’s room had looked and smelled. A handful of small vases held flowers from well-wishers; a tray, carrying unappetizing breakfast items that had been only picked at, sat near the window; a television, its sound muted, flashed overly dramatic scenes from a soap opera, set ironically in a hospital.
The elderly man sat in his own clothes, his faded hospital gown tossed over the end of the bed. He clutched a small duffel bag in his lap, one toe tapping to a rhythm that played in his head. He fixed his eyes on Lita’s mother as soon as she walked in the room. She smiled her electric smile at him.
“Well, good morning, Mr. Romero.”
He grunted back, “Who are you?”
“My name is Maria.”
“You a doctor?”
“I’m many things. I’m a wife, a mother, a pretty-good cook, a very-good singer, and a wicked canasta player. I do a little doctoring when it fits my schedule.”
Mr. Romero grunted again. “I don’t want to talk to another doctor. I’m going home.”
Lita remembered her mother’s patient response. “I don’t really like talking to doctors, either. That’s why I listed it last.” She propped against the bed and clasped her hands together. “Why are you so anxious to get out of here? Aren’t they feeding you well?”
The old man stared up at her. “Hospitals are for sick people. I’m not sick.”
“You’re fighting off a case of pneumonia, Mr. Romero. How would you do that at home? You live by yourself, don’t you?”
“I know how to take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you do. You’re eighty-one years old, so you must know a few things about taking care of yourself. And I see here on your chart that you retired from the plumbing business, is that right?”
Mr. Romero nodded, his head up, a look of pride and defiance on his face.
Maria continued. “My husband thinks he’s a plumber sometimes. He’s not. He runs a grocery store. But last year he decided to add another sink in our bathroom, and the next thing you know water was shooting everywhere. It looked like a fire sprinkler system had gone off.”
“I’ve seen it a thousand times,” Mr. Romero said. “People always think they know better than a professional. They just end up paying us more to fix their messes.”
“And that’s exactly what happened,” Lita’s mom said with a laugh. “I never let him forget it, either. If he had just called you in the first place it would have saved us a lot of time and trouble.”
She reached out and took the old man’s hand. “So I’m sure you understand that these wonderful nurses here, who have been working so hard to fix you up, would hate to see you try to do their job, right?”
Mr. Romero’s eyes darted to the two nurses who stood in the doorway. He made another small grunting sound, then looked back at Maria. She smiled and said, “They’re doing such a good job, I’d hate to see them have to work even harder to fix something you’ve tried to do yourself.”
He took one more look at the nurses, then nodded. “They’re almost finished, right?”
“I think they’ll be able to get you out of here in another three or four days. But if you leave now, it might take them a couple of weeks.”
Lita remembered standing quietly behind her mother, listening intently to her words. More than that, however, she remembered the impact those words had on the old man. He stood up and reached for his hospital gown.
“Do you really sing?” he said with his familiar grunt.
“Like a bird. Let these fine women get you back into bed and I’ll come back and sing any song you like.” Dr. Maria Marques had turned, taken her daughter by the hand, and gone about her rounds.
Now, six years later, young Lita Marques stood in a hospital ward, more than a billion miles from Veracruz, Mexico, and took in the scent that carried a mixture of memories, both tragic and hopeful.
Alexa Wellington was the patient in this case, yet she was in no way able to get herself up from bed.
Her condition had not changed. The coma was baffling to Lita, and frightening. Had it been caused by a mistake that Lita had made during surgery? Was there something else wrong inside Alexa, something that Lita had not detected? Was there a solution that Lita had not considered, something that would snap Alexa out of the coma and on to a stable recovery?
The questions tormented Lita. She had dedicated herself to solving the problem, choosing even to miss the emergency Council meeting in order to focus on Alexa. She looked at the monitor as it paced through its readings, looking and listening for something that might make everything clear.
She heard the door open in the outer office, and wondered if it might be Triana coming to recap the meeting. Instead the face of Merit Simms peered around the corner.
“Hi, Lita.”
“Hello, Merit. Feeling okay?”
“What? Oh, no, I’m fine. I just wanted to stop by and see how Alexa was doing.”
Lita walked past Merit, into the Clinic’s office. He turned and followed her. “So, what’s the word?” he said.
“I didn’t know that you and Alexa were so close,” Lita said. Merit smiled. “I don’t know her very well. Does that mean I shouldn’t care how she’s doing?”
Lita returned his smile. “She’s resting comfortably, but she’s not up for having visitors right now.”
Merit put his hands on the top of a chair and leaned against it, his black hair spilling down around his shoulders. “I heard that she’s in a coma. Is that right?”
It would be impossible to keep the news from spreading throughout the ship, Lita realized. Plus, there was nothing to be gained by lying. “Yes, that’s right. But I don’t expect it to last for long.”
“Is she going to be okay?”
Lita fought the urge to snap back. Keeping her voice calm, she said, “Alexa will be fine. Her appendix was definitely the problem, it’s been successfully removed, and in time she will heal. The coma is a temporary setback, and, although we don’t know exactly what caused it, she’s getting the best treatment we can give her, and I expect her to recover completely. Is there anything else you need to know at the moment?”
“You don’t want to talk with me about this?” Merit said.
“First of all, Alexa has a right to privacy. Plus, I don’t like the fact that you show up here, probing for information, not because you sincerely care about Alexa, but to see if it can help you rally support for your agenda. I consider that despicable. I don’t know if I should be angry with you, or feel sorry for you.”
Merit scanned her face for a moment, then stood up straight. “Or there’s a third possibility,” he said. “Perhaps you don’t completely understand what’s going on. My ‘agenda’ that you refer to is based on the fact that I care about the well-being of every crew member on the ship, not just Alexa. The fact that she’s struggling with a health issue right now is a symptom of our problems, not the problem itself. And, if I’m going to speak for a group of people about that problem, I need to have my facts straight.”
“So this is research, is that right?”
He shrugged. “If you want to call it that. But I do care about what happens to Alexa, even if she’s not my best friend.”
Lita tried to read his face. She was irritated by the trouble he had kicked up recently, but there was nothing wrong in what he was saying at the moment. Like any good motivator, he could be very convincing. How much, she wondered, was sincere, and how much was manipulation?
She felt her earlier doubts returning. Home did sound good, never more so than right now. Merit got on her nerves, but underneath it all his promise of better days ahead—on Earth—was tempting. Very tempting.
Rather than let him see the hesitation she forced herself to refocus. “Well,” she said, “now you have the facts. Alexa is in a coma, but she’s stable and getting good care. I’m optimistic that she’ll pull out of this soon, and everything will be fine. Okay?”
Merit nodded. “Yes. And thank you very much for sharing with me. Even though I probably can’t be of any real help right now, please let me know if you can think of anything I can do.”
“Thanks,” Lita said. “I appreciate that. Now, I hope you understand that I’m pretty busy.”
“Of course. I’ll see you around.”
Lita walked back into the hospital ward. Merit watched her go before turning and strolling out into the corridor. Waiting for him were two of his followers, leaning up against the wall. Merit reached them in three quick strides.
“Okay,” he said, “you can get started. Let everyone know that Alexa is not only in a coma, but that she’s getting worse. Tell them that Lita is worried that she might not make it. Got it?”
The two boys nodded and turned toward the lift entrance. Merit smiled, pushing a strand of hair out of his face.
24
She knew exactly where to find him. The narrow dirt path was damp, with a few scattered puddles that had collected the run-off from the morning watering schedule. Most of the tropical fruits were grown in this portion of Dome 2, giving the area a distinct smell that reminded Triana of citrus groves, along with an almost muggy feel to the air. Her shirt clung to her skin. Beads of perspiration had popped up on her forehead, either from the humidity in the air or her nerves. Or both.
She had waited almost an hour, giving Bon time to walk and think. It had also given her time to think as well. It didn’t escape her attention that she was asking Bon to step up for the second time in four months, to help the crew of Galahad out of a tough situation. Why, she wondered, out of such a large crew, was it him, of all people, who was able to connect with the Cassini?
And why, given his dark and brooding nature, did it pain her so much to ask him to make this sacrifice? He wasn’t exactly the type of person who evoked sympathy.
The answer to the first question evaded her. The answer to the second question was much more clear.
Triana could no longer deny that her feelings for Bon were real. She had run from those feelings, just as she had run from other things in her past that had weighed heavily upon her. She didn’t want to fall for him; in fact, he seemed to make it difficult for anyone to like him that much. But she was troubled right now because she did care deeply for him, and she was about to ask him to suffer unimaginable pain.
She pushed through an overhang of leaves and there he was, sitting on a metal box that housed an irrigation pump. His long, blond hair reflected the artificial sunlight that poured from the crisscrossing grid above. His shoes and socks were in a pile nearby.
“Thought I might find you here,” she said.
“And I was sure you’d come looking,” he said.
Triana looked around for a place to sit. The soil was wet, and Bon made no effort to share his perch. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one side, trying her best to look at ease.
“If you knew I was coming, then you probably know what I’m going to say.”
“Yes,” he said, “but let me hear you say it anyway.”
“All right. I’d like to ask you to attempt another connection with the Cassini.”
He glared at her. “Just like that? You think it’s that simple?”
“No, Bon, I know it’s not simple, and regardless of what you might think, I’m not making this request lightly. But I’m quickly running out of options.”
Bon reached over and picked up a clod of dirt, then crushed it, letting the fragments fall between his fingers to the ground. When he didn’t answer, Triana softly said, “Talk to me about this.”
“It’s not something I can explain to you. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
He looked off through the plants and took a deep breath. “It’s not a simple matter of ‘connecting,’ as you call it. And even though the physical pain is staggering, it’s not just that.” He took another deep breath. “When I…when I make that connection, it’s as if my brain becomes filled with thousands of other people. I lose all control of my senses, my
emotions, my thoughts. The communication process is very…one-sided.”
He looked at Triana. “When I made the connection at Saturn, I didn’t think I was going to survive it. I was slowly slipping away, the pain was tearing me apart, and the…” He paused. “The presence in my mind was overwhelming. The rush of sound was deafening. The fact that you took hold of me and helped me relay the message is the only thing that saved me. I couldn’t have done it on my own.”
Triana felt a pang of sympathy. She knelt down, ignoring the muddy stains that covered her knees. “Maybe…” She reconsidered her thought, then decided to press on. “Maybe it will be a little different this time. Maybe you and the Cassini have established some sort of…I don’t know, some sort of relationship now.”
Bon shook his head. “You don’t understand. They’re so far beyond us, so advanced, that they don’t form ‘relationships.’ They do what they do, and they don’t make allowances for pitiful little beings such as us. We are like amoebas to them. If they can help us, they will. But they won’t change for us.”
He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “No, it will be the same.”
Triana remained still. She felt that she was making tentative progress, slowly breaking down their own communication barrier, one that had gradually grown between them ever since their one intimate moment months ago. She also realized that she was seeing Bon in a new way.
She had always defined him through his external image, a troubled, brooding young man who built up a tough façade in order to protect himself. She had maneuvered close to him, then backed away, always playing by his rules…or the rules that she perceived were his. She realized that all of her actions toward him had been reactions to his temperament, and not based on her own instincts.
But suddenly there seemed to be a part of Bon that was leaking out from behind that façade. When he mentioned the feeling of ‘thousands of other people’ forcing their way into his mind, it struck her: He’s as alone as I am.