by Dom Testa
“Don’t launch the Spider,” he said, bursting into the room.
Triana’s eyes grew wide. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Bon put his hands on his hips and caught his breath. “Nothing happened. Just don’t launch the Spider.” As he said it, he looked through the window into the cavernous bay that held Galahad’s fleet of Spiders and the SAT33 pod. There were no people inside the hangar.
“Where’s Gap?” he said.
“He’s gone,” Triana said, her voice betraying a tinge of alarm. “He and Mira left forty minutes ago.” She took a step toward Bon. “What’s going on?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Where are they right now?”
Triana looked at the vidscreen above the control room’s console. “They’re confirming a positive seal around the croy.”
Bon looked back at Triana. “They’ve already made contact?”
She nodded. “Everything’s fine. The croy has synced up with them, and attached itself over the Spider’s hatch. Mira’s confirming the airtight seal right now. Tell me: what’s wrong?”
Bon was silent for a moment. His glance shifted from the vidscreen, to the empty Spider bay, and back to Triana’s face.
“Whatever they find inside the croy,” he said, “tell them to leave it. Don’t let them bring it back to the ship.”
11
Hannah peered into the dim examination room in Sick House. It was vacant at this time of the evening, with the exception of the large pressurized tank that held Torrec. He’d made it clear to Lita and her staff that excessive lights were not only unnecessary, but distracting to him; his home star system was a place of faint light, where visual processing was secondary to other sensory perceptions. The abundance of light aboard Galahad was, to him, a deafening white noise.
The clinic often ran on a skeleton staff in the late evening, making it much easier to whisk Merit into the back room without being questioned. The secretive nature of the visit only added to Hannah’s irritation with being blackmailed in the first place. She rationalized that the clinic staff likely wouldn’t mind anyway, since Hannah had a free pass to visit with the jellyfish ambassador at will.
“Thanks, I can find my way out on my own,” Merit said. “I’m sure you have other things to do.”
“What, leave you here?” Hannah said. “Alone?”
He smirked. “I’m not going to kidnap our little friend.”
Hannah crossed her arms. “Sorry, that’s not part of the deal. If you wanna talk to him, fine. But I’m staying in the room. And please, don’t threaten me again. Just get on with it.”
Merit opened his mouth to object, then seemed to think better of it. He settled for another oily smile and a shrug.
He turned to face Torrec. It was his first opportunity to see the Dollovit up close, and, like all of Galahad’s crew members, he was noticeably affected. His gaze swept through the tank filled with the sparkling syrupy liquid, scanned the floating tentacles of the jellyfish, and then inspected the bulbous head. He walked slowly around the tank, then reversed his step and came back to the front.
“How do I talk to it?” he asked Hannah.
“Just talk. His name is Torrec.”
Merit cleared his throat, and then clasped his hands behind his back. Hannah almost laughed aloud; it was Merit’s trademark pose whenever he began a speech, but it looked especially humorous with one arm in a plaster wrap.
“Mr. Torrec,” he said, raising his voice. “My name is Merit Simms.”
Hannah tried to stifle a laugh. She leaned forward and whispered: “It’s just Torrec, and he’s not hearing impaired.”
Merit cast an angry glance at her before continuing. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay with you.”
The oddly metallic tone came from the vidscreen next to him. “What is your position aboard this ship?”
Again Hannah giggled, but Merit ignored her.
“I’m a concerned crew member who’s thankful for the opportunity to consult with an experienced and intrepid galactic citizen like yourself. I’d be humbly grateful if you’d share your accumulated wisdom.”
Torrec didn’t respond right away. To Hannah’s eye, it appeared that he was sizing up this unexpected visitor and deciding whether this was a good use of his time. But eventually he answered.
“Ask.”
A smile flashed across Merit’s face, and then he grew serious. “As I understand it, your people … um, I mean, your species, has the ability to instantly transport to any location throughout the galaxy.”
“That is incorrect,” Torrec said.
Merit raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”
“We harness power that allows us to navigate across great distances. However, certain locations are inhospitable, and therefore unavailable. The center of a galaxy, for example, contains cosmic forces that are too dangerous to breach, including radiation and excessive gravity.
“Acceptable targets are located outside a particular star’s primary field of influence. The resulting shock wave from the opening of a Channel is too disrupting within a star system.
“And additionally, there are certain areas that are no longer accessible, due to prior experiences.”
This last statement caught Hannah’s attention: No longer accessible due to prior experiences. What did that mean? Did the jellyfish have enemies?
Merit merely nodded. “How many systems have you visited and cataloged?”
“That information is of no relevance to you,” Torrec said.
“I see. Are you chiefly observers and scientists, or are you conquerors?”
Hannah started to step in, embarrassed by the question, but before she could speak Torrec responded.
“We are explorers and collectors.”
Merit smiled again. “Of course, if you were here to conquer us, you certainly wouldn’t tell us.”
“If that were our intention, our business would have concluded long ago, and we would not be having this conversation.”
Right, Hannah thought. The question had been ridiculous. She wondered what Merit was really after.
“Are you almost finished?” she said to him.
“Relax,” he said. “Mr. Torrec, should you choose to observe and explore within the Eos system, would you ever become involved in existing relationships between opposing groups?”
“Explain your question,” Torrec said.
“Okay. Using a vulgar human expression: do you take sides?”
Hannah fidgeted, uncomfortable with the line this interview was taking. Merit flashed a look her way, a glance that conveyed a reminder of his earlier warning regarding her promise of silence.
Torrec seemed nonplussed. “We observe, explore, and collect,” the ambassador said. “However, there are other forces which, as you call it, take sides.”
“The Cassini?” Merit said.
“I do not see the point of this exchange,” Torrec said.
It was obvious that the interview was over. Torrec had dismissed Merit, as much with his tone as with his words.
Merit must have realized it as well. He gave an impromptu bow toward the jellyfish, and said: “Thank you very much for this brief time together. I look forward to visiting with you again.”
He turned and walked past Hannah, a grim but satisfied smile on his lips.
* * *
Triana grabbed Bon’s arm. “What is it? What do you know about the croy?”
He started to answer, stopped, then tried again. “I don’t know anything. It’s just…” His voice faltered. “It’s just a feeling, okay?” he said. “I’ve been … I’ve been doing some thinking.”
She let go of him and crossed her arms. “Thinking, or linking up with the Cassini again?”
He turned away from her and walked to the window separating the control room from the hangar. “Yes, I’ve connected again.”
“Perhaps I should take the translator back,” Triana said.
“I don’t have it. Lita
has it.”
“Lita? Why—” Then it registered. “You don’t need the translator anymore, do you?”
He shook his head once, but kept his back to her. Triana chewed on this new information.
“You still haven’t given me a good reason to abort the recovery mission,” she said. “I can’t go on a feeling, no matter what caused it.”
There was a crackle from the vidscreen speaker, and Mira’s voice broke through.
“Everything checks out. Seal is good, pressure fine.” She snickered. “Looks like something out of a science fiction movie the way it’s stuck on us.”
Triana punched the console to reply and said: “Thanks, Mira. Stand by just a minute.” She looked back at Bon. “Okay, let’s have it. You synced up with the Cassini, you don’t know what the message was, but you feel like we shouldn’t make any kind of exchange with the croy. What do you expect me to do here, Bon?”
He stared into the Spider bay for a few moments before turning to face Triana. He looked tired, defeated. “Nothing,” he said. “There’s nothing you can do. I probably shouldn’t have even come down here.”
They were separated by only five or six feet, but Triana felt like the gulf between them was a gaping chasm. More than ever she wanted to cover the distance in a flash and embrace him, to say “let’s go back to the way it once was,” to connect with him the way he somehow connected with the Cassini. She wanted to feel what he felt, to eliminate the cold barrier that had somehow divided them. But …
But this was not the time. Mira and Gap were out there, waiting for the okay to unveil another alien mystery. The ship was spiraling into some form of atomic disruption that required an immediate escape. And, to make matters more complicated, Triana wasn’t even sure who she was anymore.
It was never the right time, she realized. For every time she imagined that she would repair her connection with Bon, there was always something in the way, some emergency that demanded her attention, or some emotional crisis that held her back. Would it ever be the right time? Would she ever make it the right time?
“Wait here,” she said. Punching the console again, she called out to the Spider drifting miles away. “All right, Gap, go ahead. Mira, flip on the video link, but still give me a play-by-play. You’re gonna see things that don’t come across the video.”
Gap’s voice came through with its telltale energy. “I have to agree with Mira about one thing: it looks odd. How many of these things did you say you saw on the other side?”
“Too many to count,” Triana said.
“The way it’s stuck onto the Spider makes it look like it’s trying to absorb us,” Mira said. “Okay, Gap. Ready.”
An image flickered onto the vidscreen in the control room. Triana saw Gap, in full EVA gear, tethered to a support ring near the hatch. He looked back, giving a thumbs-up signal.
“Here we go,” Gap said. “Let’s see what the space blob looks like in close-up.”
A subdued whirring sound was followed by silence, then the distinct sound of a compressed seal being released with its signature escape of air. Gap busied himself at the door, and for a moment the camera view was jostled as Mira repositioned herself for better sight lines. “Hatch is cracked open,” she said. “Pressure normal. Torrec was right, the seal from the croy is solid. As predicted, an air bubble inside the croy has formed, and that’s what has locked onto the Spider. No fluid leak, no seal compromised.”
Triana sensed Bon approach and stand behind her. She could hear his breathing.
“Swinging the door open now,” Gap said. Triana saw him make a slight adjustment with the hatch, and then it swung out. Across the miles of space, Triana got a fresh glimpse at the inside of a croy, stirring memories from only—could it be?—days ago.
The pale blue mixed with green, the streaks of white, all on a surface that seemed stretched, almost elastic. The slick texture, speckled with sharp points of light that brought to mind the firing of neurons in the human brain. The almost sheer quality to the sides, a filmy wall with hints of the starry backdrop peeking through.
And the feeling of life, the unmistakable sensation that this bloated form was not only alive, but supporting life, too. Triana had felt it in person when Torrec transferred into the pod, and she felt it now, across the miles and across a video transmission. The croy was living tissue, functioning as a machine.
The view rocked again. Mira was obviously amped up over the rendezvous, and found it difficult to remain still. Gap steadied himself along the side of the hatch, and leaned to look inside the Spider’s new attachment.
“Um…” he said, then turned to look back at Mira and the camera. “There’s not much of an air bubble in here; about the size of a walk-in closet. And there’s a lump on the floor.” He studied the interior again. “It reminds me of a roll of carpet.”
Triana bit her lip. Bon took another step closer, now almost touching her. She kept her gaze locked onto the vidscreen, and waited patiently for Gap to proceed.
“This will support me, right?” he asked, gingerly tapping the bottom of the croy with an outstretched foot. “I mean, I won’t break through and fly off into space, right?”
“It’ll hold you,” Triana said. “It looks flimsy, I know, like a bubble or something. But it’s remarkably strong.”
“Um … okay,” Gap said, but Triana recognized the same fear that had coursed through her in that same position.
Mira adjusted the camera to capture as much of the croy’s interior as possible, but whatever Gap saw was tucked off to one side. He took his first tentative step inside, leaving the security of the Spider and venturing into the alien cocoon.
“Spongy,” he said. “Like walking on angel food cake.” There was a pause, and he disappeared from sight. Then: “I’m at the lump. It’s got a coating of some sort, can’t make out … wait, I see it. Okay, I see how to open it.” He paused again. “I am supposed to open it, right?”
Triana took a deep breath. Her initial reaction was for Gap to bring it into the Spider, then back to the ship. But, for security reasons, it might be best to peel it open now, while it was still nestled inside the croy.
“Open it,” she said.
Mira adjusted the camera again, but the best she could manage was a shot that displayed half of Gap’s back. He kneeled, his head forward over the end of the lump. Triana watched him work, gently pulling back thin layers of the coating. He’d described it well; to Triana it did resemble a roll of carpet.
Gap stopped and pulled his hands back. Then he jumped back, staring down at the shape below him. Triana heard him say, “Oh, no.” He took another two steps back, then turned and faced the camera.
“No,” he said, his voice loud but trembling. Mira zoomed with the camera, and his face came into sharp focus through the helmet’s visor. His eyes were wide, his mouth open. “No.”
Triana unconsciously took a step closer to the monitor. “What is it? Gap, what is it?”
He looked back over his shoulder at the package on the floor, then faced the camera again.
“It’s…”
“Gap!” Triana said. “What is it?”
“It’s Alexa.”
* * *
I take back what I said about Bon. He was right.
Boy, if it’s possible for a computer to be weirded out, I’m weirded out. Just as I’m getting used to vultures and jellyfish in outer space, now we have blond girls coming back from the dead?
Hey, don’t ask me what it’s all about. I might have a better seat than you for this action, but I’m just as clueless.
Wish I had nails to bite.
12
It was the most bizarre medical procedure that Lita had ever experienced. At Triana’s suggestion, she’d approached the jellyfish ambassador and asked if he would be open to a direct physical examination. She’d expected Torrec to decline, and was surprised when he not only agreed, but offered a sample from one of his tentacles. Lita had been horrified, and insisted that it wasn�
�t necessary. But Torrec explained that it was routine among his species, and that the small section would regenerate quickly. He assured Lita that it would be painless.
Now she studied the picture on her vidscreen, a magnified view of the small slice of tissue that once dangled in the tank filled with supercritical fluid. Three of Lita’s assistants were clustered around her, including Manu, who was well overdue for a day off. As he’d told Lita, however: “Day off? And miss the most spectacular biopsy of all time?”
“Roc,” Lita said, adjusting the contrast on the screen. “I know this is nothing like any animal life on Earth, but if you had to pick something, what would you say this is closest to?”
“I’d have to say a skillet in your mother’s kitchen,” the computer said.
“Something tells me you’re not joking.”
“Well, I am, but not much. The most interesting news is that our little Medusa here is biologically different from the last creature we got a good look at. In other words, this Dollovit is vastly different from the vulture that he developed.”
“For instance?” Lita said.
“The vulture was a machine, more or less, built on a silicon-crystal framework with living tissue functioning as one part of its brain. This guy is fully alive, but not in the way we’re used to it. It is, I’m happy to say, carbon-based, just like us. But the comparison pretty much ends there, unless you count the trace elements of sulphur. And while I wouldn’t exactly call them cells, there are some compartmentalized zones that seem to be the engines for its biochemistry. How’s that?”
“About as clear as I expected,” Lita said. She looked at Manu. “When will the results on the fluid be ready?”
“Another twenty minutes,” he said.
Lita checked the time. There was a critical Council meeting set for ten o’clock, their first late-night meeting. By then Lita’s report would be substantially finished, and whatever had been aboard the croy would be safely stored. With half an hour until the meeting, she’d be cutting it close.