by Dom Testa
“I’ll let the crew know,” she said, quickly regaining her composure. “Any other information from our friends?”
Bon shook his head. “No, just this final course correction. I got the feeling that they were washing their hands of us … for now. Of course,” he added, “it would probably be a good idea for me to check back in to make sure.”
Triana looked down at the Swede. On more than one occasion he had subtly suggested that she allow him to keep the translator. She tried to read his face, but came up empty. “Right,” she said quietly. “Well, we’ll talk about that.”
She turned and made her way to an empty workstation and sat down. “Roc,” she called out, “analysis of the space up ahead.”
The computer’s voice responded. “Dark and empty. Reminds me a lot of Gap’s head.”
“Be nice,” Triana said with a smile. “What about our course to Eos? How far off have we veered?”
“Not too bad, but it will take some more adjustments once we’re safely out of any danger of getting creamed by a stray boulder. Not that the super brains on Titan seem to care about our travel plans.”
Triana said, “I know, you don’t care for them. But they did get us through this mess safely. Can’t you show a little gratitude?”
“Hmph, if you say so.”
“All right, go ahead and pout because you weren’t the hero this time. Anything else to report?”
Roc was silent for a moment before answering. “Nothing. All systems on the ship are fine, the path ahead is pretty much clear, and I think I set a new record for solving Rubik’s Cube.”
“Congratulations.”
“Don’t think I don’t hear the sarcasm in your voice,” Roc said. “Let’s see you try it with no hands.”
Triana pushed back her chair and stood. “I’ll be in Engineering if you need to brag about anything else.”
Bon had finished his work, and joined her as she walked toward the lift. She sensed that he wanted to say something to her, but kept quiet. They had just stepped into the lift when she heard Roc call out from the Control Room.
“Uh-oh.”
Triana put her hand up to stop the door from closing, then stepped back out of the lift. “What is it?”
Roc’s playful tone had evaporated. “There’s something up ahead. And it’s not a chunk of rock or ice.”
Triana’s gaze shot quickly up to the large vidscreen. It showed only inky blackness, with a panorama of softly twinkling stars. She squinted, trying to make out any unusual object.
“Correction,” Roc said. “Lots of somethings.”
3
With all of the drama you juggle each and every day, it’s a wonder to me that humans are able to sleep at all. Roy—my creator—once bragged that he only needed three hours of sleep each day; any more than that, he said, was a waste of his valuable time. Experts would tell him that he’s (a) not allowing his body to recover from the stresses of the previous day, and (b) not allowing his brain to process and filter all of the information that it soaked in during that day.
I know that you’re already enormously jealous of me, but here’s another tidbit that you’ll hate: I don’t sleep at all. Not even a catnap.
That means I don’t have to deal with nightmares, which occur during REM sleep, or night terrors, which happen earlier in the sleep cycle, and are seldom remembered.
I don’t know what you’d call Alexa’s dreams … just be glad you don’t have them.
* * *
It was the worst part of her job, but Lita understood that it had to be done. She had followed her mother’s path into medicine in order to help people, and to bring a gentle, human touch into circumstances where people were rarely at their best. All of that inspired her. Writing these reports, however, did not.
In earlier days, she realized, it was much worse. Back then it was pure paperwork, and entailed endless hours hunched over a desk with mounds of paper piled up on all sides. Today it was all keyboards and touch screens, and could be accomplished in a fraction of the time.
It didn’t make it any more enjoyable, however. “I’m a bookkeeper as much as a doctor,” she thought, keying in another entry from the previous day’s physicals.
Keeping all 251 crew members fit was a top priority of the five-year mission. They had been quarantined during the final thirty days before the launch from Earth. Holed up inside the Incubator, isolated from all outside human contact, it was hoped they would begin their journey without carrying along the worst kind of baggage: Earth’s collection of infectious diseases. Then, once on their way, it was Bon’s job to produce a healthy balance of foods in the two domes that sat atop the ship, and Channy’s responsibility to drive each of them during their daily workouts.
Lita’s role was to monitor their medical data on a regular basis, which meant brief assessments every ninety days. Space travel was a challenge to the human body; fortunately the ship’s artificial gravity eliminated the problem of bone and muscle atrophy, and the combination of proper diet and exercise kept their cardiovascular systems running smoothly.
Still, Dr. Zimmer had stressed the importance of staying on top of everything, not allowing any condition to fester and lead to complications. The physicals, while necessary, meant several hours of record keeping. Lita’s top assistant, Alexa, handled the bulk of the filing, but it was easily a job for two.
Lita pushed her chair back from the desk and rubbed her eyes. The constant staring at the vidscreen always sapped her energy. She looked across the room and found Alexa staring back at her.
“Having fun?” Lita said before noticing the expression on her friend’s face, a look that caused her to sit up straight. “Hey, everything okay?”
Alexa continued to stare through her for a moment, then blinked and offered a slight smile. “Uh, sure. Just thinking.”
Lita hesitated before offering the question that was on her mind. “Been dreaming again, haven’t you?”
Alexa blinked again, then looked down at her work. She said nothing.
“Wanna talk about it?” Lita said gently. “I know it troubles you; maybe it wouldn’t be as … as heavy … if you talked about it.”
When Alexa still didn’t respond, Lita wondered if she had made the situation worse by adding a new level of pressure. The truth was, she wanted Alexa to open up and discuss the prophetic dreams that tormented her, but she wanted her to do it without feeling as if she was being analyzed or tested. For weeks Lita had allowed her friend the privacy that she seemed to long for; at the same time, might it be better if she shared the fears that obviously weighed on her?
They had developed a close bond from the moment they met, and the two years they had trained and worked together had only cemented their relationship. When it had fallen on Lita to operate on Alexa in order to save her life, she might just as well have been rescuing her own sister. And, when things had initially turned scary, Lita’s pain was unbearable.
Since then, a veil had somehow dropped between them; their relationship was still good, but a shift had occurred. Lita knew that most of it was the result of the gift of future-sight that had befallen the medical assistant following her surgery—if gift was the right word. Lita suspected that it was more likely a curse.
The week before, Alexa had marked her sixteenth birthday, a day that normally would have found the two of them celebrating. Instead, Alexa had requested the day off, complaining of a headache, and spent the entire day in her room. Lita had dropped by with birthday greetings, but their visit had seemed rigid, uncomfortable.
Lita mourned the loss of their special connection, but held out hope that it was temporary.
For now, she decided that a good friend should never shy away from trying to help. “I know this is awkward for you,” she said to Alexa, “but we’ve been friends a long time. I really think it would make you feel better if you talked about it.”
After another moment of hesitation, Alexa looked up at Lita. “I have talked about it, actually. I don�
�t know if it makes me feel any better, but … but Bon and I talk about things every few days.”
Bon and Alexa.
Although Lita knew that their bizarre mental transformations had created a unique link between them, it was startling to imagine Bon showing that much interest in someone, or opening up to her. His personality was nothing like Alexa’s.
Or, at least, it hadn’t been. Things on Galahad had changed so much in less than a year.
“Do you feel like it helps you?” Lita said.
Alexa shrugged. “Yes and no. I guess it feels good to talk about it with someone who understands…” She paused, a sudden look of alarm on her face. “Not that you don’t understand. I mean, he just … I mean—”
“It’s okay, I get it,” Lita said with a smile. “You’re both experiencing things that the rest of us might never really understand. It’s natural for you guys to grow close.” She chuckled. “Well, I take that back, it might be natural for you, but not our Nordic Grump.”
Alexa smiled back. “Oh, he’s not as bad as most people think.”
With raised eyebrows, Lita said, “Oh, really?”
A blush spread across Alexa’s face. “Stop it. We just talk. You’re starting to sound like Channy.”
Lita raised her hands, palms up. “I’m not saying anything.” Then her face grew serious again. “But you said yes and no. What’s the no?”
“Well, it gets stuff off my chest, but … but verbalizing it almost makes it seem more … I don’t know, concrete, I guess. When it’s just a dream I can treat it that way. When I talk about it, though, it’s like I’m…” She trailed off.
Lita said, “Yes?”
Alexa exhaled loudly. “When I talk about it, it’s like I’m planning it, or something. Like it’s all my doing.”
“You know that’s not true, though,” Lita said.
“Of course I do, but you know how our brains work. Rational and logical don’t always win out.”
Lita nodded. “Well, I can tell from your face that you’ve had another experience. I just want you to know that you can talk to me about it, too. I might not have Bon’s exact frame of reference, but I might be able to help you sort things out.”
“And I appreciate that, I really do,” Alexa said. She smiled. “I might be a weirdo these days, but I’m still glad you’re my friend.” She seemed to think hard for a moment. “And you’re right, I did have another episode last night. I … I just don’t think I can talk about it right now. I haven’t even told Bon yet.”
“Okay, I won’t pressure you,” Lita said. “As long as you know I’m here.”
Alexa smiled again, then bent back over her work.
Lita decided to give her some privacy for a moment. She stood up and walked out to the corridor. A good five-minute walk would do her good anyway, blow out some of the carbon, clear her mind a bit, and prepare her for another hour-long session of staring at a vidscreen.
As she walked she wondered what it must be like to carry the burden that Alexa did. Some people wished for the ability to see the future; apparently those who could do so would trade it away in an instant.
“Would I want to know?” Lita thought, walking with her head down and her hands behind her back. “Would I?”
* * *
The cursor on the vidscreen before her blinked patiently, but Channy’s fingers rested without movement on the keyboard. Three drafts of the letter had come to life, and almost immediately had been discarded. The fourth didn’t seem to be coming at all.
Talking with Taresh had come easily at first, when there were no feelings involved. Now that he occupied her thoughts on a regular basis, she found that her words sounded clumsy and forced. Things had been fine until the night before, when she had awkwardly pursued questions about his family, his hobbies, and—she sighed just remembering it—his cultural background. When he had finally lapsed into a quiet stage, Channy realized she had been very obvious.
But, she asked herself, so what? What’s wrong with letting someone know that you’re interested? Why should games always be a part of the early relationship dance?
She hadn’t convinced herself.
After leaving Triana and Lita at breakfast, she decided to make a quick stop at her room and compose a brief note to Taresh. Its primary function was to save face from her enthusiastic gushing of the night before, but also to reinforce the fact that she was interested in more than just a simple friendship. Subtle, yet direct, she decided.
Except subtle was a suppressed gene in Channy’s molecular makeup.
“C’mon,” she said to herself, wiggling her fingers above the keys. Nothing came.
She stood up with a huff, pushed back her chair, and marched a small circle around her desk. “What’s so hard about this?” she said. “Just tell him. ‘Hey, I like you, I think we could have a lot of fun together, I’ll let you skip an occasional workout in the gym.’”
She stopped, turned, and paced in the opposite direction. “‘Look, no pressure, I understand you want to take it slow, so do I, we can maybe have lunch tomorrow, may I kiss you, please? No, forget I said that! I was just kidding. No, really, I think you’re an amazing guy, and—’”
She had come full circle again around the desk, and plopped back into her chair. “Aarrgh! This is not difficult, Channy! Quit being so odd!”
What made it all the more frustrating was her own reputation. Often hailed as the ship’s unofficial matchmaker, she prided herself on her ability to detect hidden romantic feelings between crew members. More than once she had murmured sly comments to those involved, which brought either a hail of denials—guilty, lame denials though they were—or flushed looks of embarrassment.
So how could she, Galahad’s resident Cupid, suddenly find herself at a loss when it came to her own emotions? This was unacceptable.
On more than one occasion she had been called on it. Lita had often responded to Channy’s romantic meddling by asking, “And what about you?”
She had been crafty in deflecting all such questions, using her wit and charm to divert attention away from her own love life. No one had pressed the issue, which had been a blessing for Channy because of the secret that she kept hidden from everyone.
Deep down, she was terrified of falling for someone.
Whenever the possibility had presented itself, she had moved in another direction, afraid of taking the chance, of opening up her heart. It was much easier, she decided, to occupy herself with everyone else’s pursuits. No chance of getting hurt when you kept yourself out of the game.
The trick had been to keep a clamp on her emotions and not allow herself to spiral in too closely to someone. Taresh, however, had caught her off guard. His soft-spoken demeanor made for an interesting combination with his strong presence. It had an intoxicating effect on the young Brit, and she was stunned when it dawned on her: she had fallen hard for him.
Her inexperience, however, soon became apparent, culminating with the embarrassing exchange the night before. It was the reason she believed some damage control was called for.
This left her now, sitting again, staring at the flickering cursor on the vidscreen.
She sighed. Her hands flew across the keys, two quick paragraphs, hastily written. Punching the final period, her finger hovered above the Send key. After another moment of hesitation, it fell hard on the key, and the message was away.
Five seconds later she groaned aloud. “Oh, no, what have I done?”
She sat back and laced her fingers together over her head. She stared at the vidscreen’s mocking text: Message Sent.
In an instant her mind raced through every possible fix. She would immediately write back to Taresh and tell him it was a joke. No, she would simply act like she’d never sent it, never acknowledge anything, and ignore him for a month. No, she would ask Kylie, her roommate, to snoop around and find out if Taresh was saying anything about the email to his friends.
No.
No, she would own up to it. She would
accept the fact that she had fired off an email in an emotionally unbalanced state, that she had opened herself to embarrassment and ridicule. She would live with the consequences, no matter what they might be.
And then she would go to the Spider bay, open the hatch, and jump off the ship.
* * *
An alarm sounded in Triana’s head. Roc, for all of his glib humor and often reckless attitude, knew when to stow the comedy and get down to work. There was a definite tone he was able to summon in that manufactured voice that said, “This is no joking matter.”
That tone was in effect now.
Triana walked briskly back to the empty workstation in Galahad’s Control Room. “Explain, Roc. What’s out there?”
“Can’t get a visual fix on them. I count…” He paused. “… Between eight and ten. Small. Fast. Very quick in their maneuvering. Makes it hard to get a good read on them.”
“Wait,” Triana said, “slow down. Did you say maneuvering?”
“I did. It’s what brought them to my attention in the first place. Things out here … well, they tend to go about their business in one direction, right? Until they bump into something, or get tugged by gravity. But even then they just bend a little bit.” The computer hesitated before adding, “These little devils are darting in several directions.”
“Location?” Triana said.
Roc seemed to calculate for a moment. “Straight ahead, swirling along both sides of our path. They were scattered when I first picked them up, spread out over a pretty large distance. But now they’ve collected themselves. They’re like…” He didn’t finish.
Triana turned to Bon, who had followed her to the workstation. “Please find Gap and get him up here.” She then looked back at the vidscreen, peering through the star field, searching … for what? Her mind tried to fill in several blanks at once.
The dread that had clawed for attention the past few weeks pushed its way back in. Triana recalled the suggestions made by both Bon and Alexa that something might be waiting on the other side of the Kuiper Belt. Neither of them could say what that something might be, nor could they offer any explanation for their feelings. Which, Triana decided, had made it even worse. Every horror movie fan knew that the terror didn’t come when the monster jumped out at you; no, the real panic lurked in the shadows, torturing you with what might be there.