Sand and Shadow

by Laurisa White Reyes

  Her expression broke, and she began to cry. Adán curled his arms around her, drawing her close. He felt the small shudders of her body against his.

  “Shhh. It’s all right,” he said, trying to console her, but it was no use. She clung to him, weeping into his shoulder.

  When the crying had subsided a bit, Dema raised her head to look at Adán. Her face, wet with tears, glistened in the unnatural light of the lab. She began to lean closer as if to kiss him, but then shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “This isn’t—I can’t—” She started to back away, but Adán held onto her. She did not resist.

  He didn’t know what came over him at that moment, but he pressed his lips to hers. They were so warm, so soft, and they parted, inviting him in. He obliged, and the electric pulse that rushed through him set every nerve on fire. He slid his hands down to Dema’s waist and felt the curve of her body pressing against him. His lips slipped from her lips across her chin and down her throat. Dema tilted her head back with a gentle moan, succumbing to Adán’s caresses.

  Cautiously, he felt for the zipper at the front her jumper and began coaxing it down. He paused, waiting for Dema to stop him or slap him or just walk away, but she didn’t. Her breathing was shallow and fast, and Adán felt her heart thumping wildly beneath his fingers. He tugged the zipper down further until the insides of her breasts were visible. When he touched them, she gave a shuddering gasp. He kissed her lips again, and she was kissing him back with abandon. He felt her arms around his shoulders, her hands in his hair. Then suddenly, those hands slipped down to Adán’s chest, and Dema gently pushed him away.

  “Stop, Adán,” she pleaded, fresh tears cascading down her cheeks. “Please stop.” She turned as if wanting to get away, yet her hands gripped his uniform as though she needed his support to remain standing. He held onto her.

  “I’m sorry, Adán,” she said.

  “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “No, that’s not it.” She was gasping through the tears that now fell in steady streams. “I just—I can’t…” Her face twisted in grief and confusion.

  “You can’t what, Dema?” asked Adán. “You can’t be with me?”

  The way she looked at him then shot daggers through him. “Why not? Is it because of Scott?”

  She seemed to struggle against a surge of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. Then she nodded fiercely.

  “You love Scott, is that it?”

  “No,” she protested.

  “You two were together before. I understand—”

  “No, you don’t understand, Adán,” she insisted. “I hate Scott. I hate him!”

  Now Adán was more confused than ever. “Why do you hate him, Dema? You can tell me. Did he hurt you?”

  “No,” she insisted, her eyes brimming with tears.

  “Then what is it? Dema, please tell me. I need to understand.”

  She looked at him so intensely he felt it in his gut. “You can’t understand,” she said. “No one can.” Then she abruptly pushed away from him, briskly drying her eyes on her sleeve.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  “Dema—”

  She shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes again as she hurried past him and out of the lab.

  Private email correspondence recovered from NASA computer data banks during the Congressional Tribunal Investigation

  Attn: Megan A. Whitlock

  From: Colonel Jane Foster

  No doubt you’ve been informed about our little “situation.” You also know that the fetus would never survive the cryo process, and I cannot guarantee the absence of complications for the mother should we attempt it. I’d like permission to replace her with an alternate.

  Reply: Megan A. Whitlock

  Two weeks before departure? The media would have a hey day with that. We can’t allow things to get out of control again, jeopardize the mission again. If we lose public support, we could lose funding. Replacing her at this juncture isn’t an option.

  Comment: Colonel Jane Foster

  She won’t agree to the alternative.

  Reply: Megan A. Whitlock

  Don’t give her a choice.

  There would be no sleep for the Carpathia’s crew tonight, not after losing Lainie. Adán thought about her, about the blood and the way her body had been slashed open—like the tent and Fess’s leg. What could have done that? The storm was fierce, true, but what had cut her? Maybe it was the generator she’d been carrying. The metal box had sharp corners and edges. But if she had injured herself on it, so close to the shuttle, how had she ended up ten yards away only to bleed to death there? Could the wind have carried her that far?

  Most of the crew sat numb and silent in the common room, the minutes ticking by on their E-Tabs’ digital clocks while the world outside remained stagnant and still. Adán had once again volunteered to take watch in the cockpit, watching the atmospheric readings and keeping an eye out for transmissions from the Ensign.

  In truth, he was exhausted and longed for sleep, but it would be three hours before Scott came to relieve him. He’d finished the Stephen Crane book he’d been reading. Maybe a movie would keep him awake.

  He thumbed through the endless lists of film titles in the database, most of which did not appeal to him, though he did briefly consider delving into James Bond, but he really wasn’t in the mood for a movie after all. Instead, he selected “Spring” by Vivaldi, his favorite music composition, and turned up the tablet’s speakers.

  As the urgent, jubilant voice of the violins cut through the cockpit’s silence, Adán tried to play along with his recorder. Yet trying to keep up with the fervency of the violins with a cheap child’s instrument frustrated him. What he wanted, what he should have had, was his violin.

  Adán punched his finger against the ‘stop’ icon on his E-Tab, and in the silence that suddenly filled the cabin, he let his mind settle on his situation. He was on a faraway planet. Earth was long gone. All that remained of civilization were his handful of fellow crewmates, a few hundred embryos, and whatever information about culture and history the shuttle had stored in its databases. Like Vivaldi, Adán thought, glancing at the album cover on the tablet’s screen. Thank God someone back on Earth had been smart enough to save Vivaldi.

  Adán swiped a finger across the screen, and the cover disappeared, replaced by the library menu. The archives had thousands, millions of songs by every artist who had ever recorded anything. It had films, TV shows, even commercials. The shuttle’s memory included books, newspapers, magazines, blog posts, websites. Adán skimmed countless lists, their titles a blur. When he got bored with that, he sought out more serious stuff: science studies from hundreds of publications in many different languages, government documents, religious manuscripts. It went on and on and on.

  His mind drifted, and he thought of Dema, how she had reacted to him in the lab. Something other than Lainie was bothering her, something that weighed heavily on her mind. Whatever it was, it was an obstacle between them, a barrier Adán suspected he could never hurdle on his own. Was it that she didn’t trust him enough to confide in him? He’d felt slighted when she’d pushed him away, but the more he thought about it the more he empathized. He had things too private to share with other people, didn’t he? Things he wouldn’t tell Dema. Then again, maybe if she’d let him in, if they took the time to really know each other—

  It was Scott. Though she’d denied it, he knew it had to be Scott. He’d done something to her, something that had left a scar on her heart. Whatever had happened between them, Scott would get what was coming to him. Adán would see to that.

  He kept scanning, but he was no longer interested in movies or music. He returned to the NASA emblem and clicked on it. This is where Tink had accessed the schematics for the shuttle, where Dryker had found the vids about their mission. He scrolled down the menu until he came to the very last link: RESTRICTED.

  Restricted to whom, he wondered? He clicked on the link an
d, to his surprise, entered the portal without a hitch. He had expected a code request, like what Scott had entered for the official vids about their “new” mission, but no request appeared. So, he proceeded.

  “That was easy,” he said to himself with a little laugh. “Forgot your firewall, guys.” But then again, it had to have been intentional, as though NASA wanted the information to be accessible. He had assumed there’d be safeguards in place, but there were none.

  He scrolled through all kinds of official-looking documents: public announcements, contracts, letters, emails. Curious, he typed “Planetary Colonization Division” into the search bar, and a new file opened. He spent an hour browsing through the pages, following hyperlink after hyperlink, barely glancing at all the titles, until he came to a list of the shuttle fleet’s crew registers. That caught his attention. Adán clicked on Carpathia’s, and the names of all twenty-four team members appeared. He paused. Seeing them all listed there, seeing their photos beside each name, filled him with regret. They’d never had a chance, it seemed.

  What the hell had happened? Commander Parks claimed it was sabotage, something to do with a terrorist group and a mole.

  Adán decided that would be the next thing to research. With so much endless information stored in the Carpathia’s memory, surely there must be something that could answer his questions. And why hadn’t Dryker, the shuttle commander, searched for it already?

  He looked at the clock. Scott would be showing up soon. He didn’t have time to dive in now. Besides, he told himself, I’ve literally got all the time in the world.

  He scanned the crew list again. They were all there: Dema, Jonah, Tink, Lainie...

  Lainie.

  Adán swallowed hard, forcing back a wave of emotion.

  And there were the names of those who had died before: Alan, Jermaine, Sophie, and all the rest. Each was highlighted in blue. They were hyperlinked. Probably leading to their bios or their NASA applications.

  Adán found his own name and tapped it, but instead of taking him to the expected text, a holo appeared.

  “Damn,” he said as the initial images started to play. Then he settled back into his seat to watch.

  WIRED MAGAZINE

  “WHERE TECH AND PSYCHOLOGY CONVERGE”

  by Edgar Sanchez, Contributing Writer

  Excerpt:

  Researchers in Norway have successfully completed testing on the highly controversial Cognitive Outreach Project or COP, an advanced method of ESP. With COP, researchers utilize complex computer software to project a subject’s brain activity to a platform outside the subject’s body.

  “We have thus far been able to form distinct three-dimensional images from the brain activity of five separate subjects,” says Peder Vooler, COP’s project coordinator. “It is very much like creating a hologram, which uses cameras and special lenses to transfer the likeness of an object from a computer to an outside location. COP, however, transfers the image that exists only in the mind of the subject.”

  When asked if COP is capable of transmitting more than just images, Vooler suggested the possibility of expanding the program’s ability in the near future. “As technology improves,” he said, “so does our understanding of the human mind, which contains within it not just images, which are directly associated with memories, but also impressions left behind by our five senses, dreams, hopes, fears, and desires. Will it be possible to somehow transfer these expressions of the human psyche outside of the body? Only time and technology will tell.”

  Vooler went on to explain that the ultimate objective of the project is to be able to hone COP’s transference capability into corporeal energy.

  “Imagine being able to fly an airplane, move heavy machinery, or fight forest fires by just thinking it. Until now, manipulating our physical world with the human mind has been stuff of science fiction. Yet in time, that’s exactly what we hope to achieve.”

  Adán couldn’t sleep that night. He wanted to tell Tink what he’d discovered, but he resisted the temptation to wake him. It could wait, he convinced himself.

  During breakfast, he mulled over the hologram he’d seen, though it wasn’t so much a hologram, a stationary three-dimensional image, as a movie. Yet it was even more than that. It was more than visual. It was—how could he explain it?—omni-dimensional. He had felt as much as seen. How that was even possible, he had no idea. He hoped maybe Tink would know.

  A sharp “Fuentes!” pulled him out of his thoughts. There was a conversation going on, and it seemed his mental absence had been noticed.

  Dryker was glaring at him.

  “As I was saying,” he barked, jutting a finger at the closed shuttle hatch, “the only thing I know for certain is that if that breach isn’t repaired, we are all stuck here.”

  “I don’t want to go out there,” said Fess, huddled on his cot in the corner.

  “You have no choice, Fess,” said Scott. “You’re the only one who can fix it.”

  So, they were talking about repairing the shuttle. Tink had repaired the electronics, now it was time to place a permanent patch on the hull. Adán glanced over at Dema, hoping for some clue as to what he’d missed in the discussion, but when his eyes found her, she looked away.

  Jonah, sitting at the table, trimmed his nails with a pocketknife. “Fess isn’t going,” he said with calm resoluteness. “Neither of us are.”

  “If we don’t repair the hull, we can’t fly to New Earth,” Scott insisted.

  “Then we don’t fly.” It was the first thing Adán had heard Dema say all morning. She looked intensely at each crew member in succession. “We could drive the shuttle to the colony, on the landing wheels.”

  “That may be fine on the flat terrain,” said Scott, “but it’s not designed for long distances. And there’s the canyon—”

  “The canyon is in the opposite direction from New Earth,” said Tink.

  “The mountains then,” said Scott. “We have no idea how steep they are or even if they’re traversable at all.”

  “Then we’ll get as far from here as we can,” said Dema, “and we’ll walk, or hike, the rest of the way.”

  “Over Chernobog Mons? Impossible.” asked Tink, sighing. “Let me do a more thorough study of the range and see if I can find some way through it, a pass of some kind.” He looked to Adán. “What do you think?” he asked. “You haven’t said anything yet.”

  Scott wanted to fly the Carpathia to New Earth. It had been their original plan, the only way to transport all the surviving crew and the embryos at once. Other than the breach in the hull and the damage to the electrical system, which Tink had been working on since they’d awakened, the shuttle was in good shape. Adán carefully considered what to say.

  “Commander Dryker’s right,” he said, which elicited protests from the others. He continued anyway. “We already talked about this.”

  “But that was before…” said Jonah.

  Adán understood their reluctance, but he didn’t see any viable alternative.

  “Even if Tink finds a pass, how many trips would it take to get all our cargo there safely? What if the rovers break down? I know you’re scared,” he said. “We’re all scared, but flying’s our best bet.”

  “Lainie is dead, Adán!” Fess shouted. “Whatever killed her—”

  “—is gone now,” said Scott. “What happened to her, it was some crazy storm, right? But look at the instruments. The storm is gone.”

  Adán noticed how everyone’s agitation was growing. Fess’s eyes pleaded with their commander. He would not relent. “Did a storm slash through the tent? Leave this gash on my leg?”

  Adán pressed his eyelids shut. He hated to contradict him, but he felt compelled to stick to facts. “We don’t know what did that,” he said.

  Jonah folded his knife and slipped it into his hip pocket. “I’m with Fess,” he said. “I won’t go out there again. Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.”

  Adán rose from the table and grabbed a comm and
suit. “That’s BS, Jonah, and you know it. I’ll understand if you don’t want to go out there,” he told Fess, “But I for one want to get to the colony and am willing to do whatever it takes to get there. Like Scott said, we still have a mission to accomplish, and we can’t do it here, can’t do it alone. We have to deliver those embryos to New Earth, and we’re gonna have to fly to do it.”

  Adán clipped the comm onto his visor and secured the gloves around his wrists. He’d talk to Tink about the holo later. There were more important things to take care of first.

  Scott grabbed a second comm, but Adán stopped him. “No,” he told him. “You’re the commander. Keep an eye on the controls. If it looks like the wind’s picking up, let us know so we can get inside before it gets dangerous.”

  “All right,” said Scott with a nod.

  Adán left the hatch, hoping though not expecting anyone to follow. If Fess wouldn’t fix the breach, then he would sure as hell figure out how to do it himself.

  Scott was right about the air being still. Not a breath of wind blew, not a puff of dust lifted from the ground. Except for the sound of his own breathing, the area around the shuttle was swathed in an eerie silence.

  Adán made his way down the length of the shuttle until he reached the breach near its rear, the section where the cryo units were. Fess’s temporary patch still held, and Adán wished it were enough to ensure structural integrity in the air, but he knew it wasn’t. He would need a sheet of coated Nomex felt several yards long to cover the hole. He turned to head under the ship to the cargo holds when he spotted Fess coming toward him. In his arms was a roll of the material.

  “I thought you might be needing this,” said Fess sheepishly. He set the roll on the ground, spreading the sheet out. “Jonah said I didn’t have to come, but you’re right. We need to do something, to act. Why don’t you hold this in place while I apply the adherent?”