Vessel

by Lisa A. Nichols

  He got to his office and settled behind his desk. The problem was, he couldn’t kid himself that he was objective anymore. But then, he never had been, had he? At first, he was digging into Catherine’s records because he wanted to find some evidence of wrongdoing. Now he was looking because he wanted to confirm that she’d done nothing wrong. Whatever she was doing, he was convinced she didn’t remember it.

  A knock at his door interrupted him. “Cal, hey.” Aaron stuck his head in the open doorway. “Just wanted to say good job defusing the interview issue with the crew earlier.”

  “That was easy. We should’ve seen it coming.”

  Aaron chuckled. “Yeah, everybody’s gonna wanna write a book when they get back. If they wanted the lion’s share of the glory they should’ve been first, right?”

  Cal didn’t point out that the other five people who’d been “first” hadn’t come home—but that was part of being first. You took the bigger risk. “Right,” he said instead.

  “And good job with the Wells thing. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that the ice has thawed between you two. Finally figured out she was telling the truth, huh?”

  “Yessir. I believe her story.” That wasn’t a lie—he didn’t say which story he believed. “I was just being cautious. That’s one reason you hired me, right?”

  “You bet. And I’m glad we did.” He tapped the doorframe. “Get out of here, would you? It’s nearly eight. We’ll be busy when the crew gets to ERB Prime soon. Save some juice for then.”

  “Yeah, thanks. Just have a few more things I need to do then I’m out.”

  He stared at the door Aaron had just exited through. What had Catherine been doing in Aaron’s office that night? Cal had to admire her for not wanting to read top-secret information once she’d come to, but it sure would help if they knew what she’d been after in her altered state.

  Maybe . . . he shouldn’t even try to do that, but he could . . .

  Cal got up and shut his door, although the floor was empty by now. Even Aaron’s office light had gone off, thank God.

  No one would ever mistake him for a hacker, but he knew how to access and read server logs. Of course, if the files Catherine accessed were out of Cal’s security clearance, it still might not help him, but it was worth a shot.

  Catherine had showed up at his house at two that morning, so all he needed to do was see what files were accessed from Aaron’s computer shortly before then—assuming she’d come right over after being in Aaron’s office. He looked through the logs until he found the right time frame. The files she’d been looking at should be . . . there.

  Cal stared. That couldn’t be right.

  He double-checked the date, the time, the workstation.

  They were all correct.

  Fuck.

  Cal didn’t need to open the files to know what they were. He knew exactly what they contained. He’d written most of them. And only half a dozen people at NASA even knew they existed. Half a dozen people, and now maybe Catherine Wells.

  Before he could think, he grabbed his cell phone and called Catherine. Shit, how was it ten o’clock already? Voice mail.

  “Hey, it’s Cal. Call me when you get this. It’s urgent. I figured a few things out. We have to talk.”

  While he waited, waffling on his next step, he pulled up one of the docs she’d accessed that night. He knew the text by heart, but looked at the memo anyway.

  . . . Longbow Protocol is a last-ditch contingency. When the three-step process is triggered, a signal is sent to the Sagittarius mission craft, at which point the computer will begin to shut down all life-support systems. The crew will receive no warning. An hour after life-support shutdown, the interior modules will be flooded with gamma rays to ensure that no foreign antigen or life-form survives and reaches Earth. This radiation will also neutralize any crew that might have survived the first line of defense.

  Catherine—or more accurately, whatever was controlling Catherine—now knew all about Longbow. Including . . . wait. He paused to double-check the server logs again . . . Shit. Yes. Including the codes and locations needed to trigger the first sequence.

  Fidgeting, he dialed Catherine’s number again. Voice mail.

  His heart raced in his chest as he pictured her, blank-eyed and determined, coming into NASA that very night to set the protocol in motion.

  She’s known about it for weeks; there’s nothing that says tonight would be the night.

  But the skin on the back of his neck crawled with panic. It was fine. It would be fine, he told himself. He’d just go to her place. Wait, no. She’d moved.

  Even if he found her, what would he do, exactly? Tell her what he’d found? Kill her? No, of course not; that was a ridiculous thought. But they could talk it through. Aaron was the only one with the fail-safe codes to disconnect Longbow; they might have to tell him everything.

  Then a worse thought occurred to him: What if she’s not there? What if she’s on her way here right now? Or already here?

  He grabbed his coat and ran.

  28

  TURN SIGNAL. SMILE at the guard.

  They were all automatic responses from deep within. They repressed the disgust they felt on coming in contact with the sickening, soft flesh of these creatures. The dull human wearing a weapon and a uniform waved them through the gate, seeing only Catherine Wells.

  Time was running short. They knew what they had to do, but they could feel the wall slowly wearing away in Catherine’s mind. She was becoming aware of the forces in her mind that were compelling her. They found that troubling, that one single mind could resist so strongly against their larger, unified whole, many minds working as one.

  The time to act was now, before the opportunity was lost. The initial plan, to keep the ship from launching, had failed. Since they could not stop the ship’s departure, they’d have to destroy it. The imperative planted deep within Catherine’s mind was simple: no ship could make it through the wormhole.

  They moved through the building, uncomfortable in their borrowed nervous system. Everything they took in through Catherine’s senses displeased them. The building’s angles were too sharp, too squared-off. Too mechanical. There was nothing organic, nothing beautiful. No natural stone or soft colors. Perhaps humanity surrounded itself with hardness to give them the armor their soft, flimsy bodies lacked.

  It was simple to enter the locked offices in this compound. Child’s play. The first office they’d entered before, the one belonging to the man Aaron. They accessed his workstation with a few keystrokes, not bothering to sit down. What they had to do wouldn’t take long.

  (Stop)

  The dim whisper of a voice in their mind, an annoyance brushed away as easily as a buzzing fly.

  The codes they had retrieved from this very office were clear and sharp in their memory, and they typed in the first of the three.

  SEQUENCE INITIATED, the screen said.

  (stop)

  Ten minutes now to enter the remaining two codes, and their mission would be complete.

  The second station was down the hall. It gave them a special sense of satisfaction to break into this office, the office of the man who couldn’t stop meddling.

  They quickly entered the second of the three codes.

  (please stop, don’t do this, don’t make me do this)

  Now for the hardest part. It would take most of their remaining allotted time to get to Mission Control. That was, they supposed, built into the process deliberately, to reduce the chances that any one person could do what they were doing right now. But no matter. It was well within their capabilities, and when that was done, it would be the end of any further human missions through the wormhole.

  They started shutting down Cal’s workstation.

  “Catherine?”

  (CAL STOP HER, STOP ME)

  They stumbled back a step. That voice wasn’t so much a buzzing fly anymore. They had observed Catherine’s behavior for so long that they knew how to respond, turnin
g her smile to him. “Hey, there you are.”

  “What are you doing in my office?”

  “Mission Control said you might still be up here.” Acting like Catherine wasn’t a problem. It was as easy as driving a car, as chatting up the security guards.

  Cal was looking at her strangely, though. “But how did you get in here?”

  “It was unlocked. I was just about to leave you a note.” The seconds were ticking by. They didn’t have much time. “But now I don’t have to!”

  “Cath, we need to talk.”

  “We really do.” They stepped over to him and put her hands on his shoulders. “And we will, but I have to go. I have to get home. Aimee’s in trouble.”

  Confusion flitted across his face. These people were as soft-brained as they were soft-bodied. “Aimee—what happened?”

  (Cal I’m in here that’s not me)

  “I don’t have all the details yet. I’ll call you when I know more.” Taking a risk, they leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. They had observed Catherine’s thoughts and feelings, but the look of surprise on Cal’s face said they had misjudged. “We’ll talk when I get back.” They breezed past him and walked out of his office. There was still time to get to Mission Control.

  “Wait!” Cal’s voice came from behind them. “Why a note? Why not just call me?”

  They kept going, walking a little faster.

  “Catherine, stop.” It sounded like an order.

  They broke into a sprint for the stairs.

  Behind them, Cal cursed and they heard running feet on the tile floor. They hit the stairwell door with both hands and jogged down the first set of stairs.

  (stopstopstopstop)

  They tripped as Catherine swept forward, trying to take control of her body again, but they shoved her down. Behave, or you’ll get yourself killed.

  It was enough of a stumble that Cal caught up with them, grabbed them by the arm. “Cath, what are you doing?”

  Catherine’s smile vanished as he whirled them to face him, and they responded with the instinct of two different species. They hissed at him, a dry, sibilant warning, but Catherine’s body had its own set of defenses when it came under attack and it responded to him as well. They broke free of his hold and drove a hand up into his chin with a solid thunk.

  (no!)

  Yes. They pushed her advantage, knowing they could be more ruthless with him than he would be with her.

  He blocked the next two punches, but a third got through, smashing into his soft cheek and through to the bone with a satisfying crunch. He staggered back into the landing wall.

  (Cal run, get away from me if you can’t stop me)

  That voice. It was getting louder. Their time was running out. They had to act fast. They grabbed Cal by the shirt, pulling him away from the wall and turning him toward the stairs.

  “Cath. Catherine.” He grabbed them by the arms and spoke urgently, looking them in the eyes. “I know this isn’t you. I know you’re in there. Can you hear me? Come on. You can stop this; you have to fight it.”

  He was heavier than she was, and stitches in his shirt ripped as they tried to spin him toward the stairs.

  “Catherine, come on. Come back. What you’re doing is going to kill six innocent people. You have to stop. Please.”

  (I can’t, I can’t stop this)

  His feet dragged. Just a few more steps. He stopped trying to hold on to her and started trying to pull free, realizing what they had planned. They could see it, envision it, his body tumbling down the stairs, hitting his head. Would it break?

  (YOU CAN’T! DON’T HURT HIM)

  But they could, and they were going to. They had to. The mission was waiting. How long did they have now? How many minutes remained?

  They hauled Cal up, ready to let go.

  (stop this let him go let him go let him—)

  “—go, let him go, let go!” Catherine’s eyes widened as everything snapped into focus and she surged forward, taking control of her body again.

  29

  THE STAIRWELL WAS the first thing that came into focus, and Catherine staggered backward, staring down at the step below her feet as if she’d never seen a step before. Her hands were clenched in Cal’s shirt. There was blood on his face. “Oh my God.” She let him go and took several steps back.

  “Catherine?” Cal stepped toward her, his hands out. “Can you hear me?”

  “What did I do?” she asked. Everything was vague and fuzzy. She was at Johnson; she could see that much. The clearest thing was the sense of urgency that she had to—she had to—but whatever it was, it was gone. Cal was looking at her with faint horror, and from the way her knuckles ached, she was sure she was the cause of the blood on his cheek. “What did I do?”

  “Nothing. You—you tried. But I stopped you.” He reached for her as he got closer, and it took an act of will for her not to step away.

  “I hurt you.”

  He touched his cheek absently and winced. “You’ve got a good right hook on you. I think you might’ve cracked a molar.”

  “I’m so sorry—”

  “Shh. No. It’s okay. You didn’t know what you were doing.” He slipped an arm around her and they started back up the stairs.

  “You knew what I was doing, though.” She stopped at the top of the stairs and looked at him. “How bad is it?”

  He didn’t look at her; instead, he opened the fire door for them to go through.

  “Cal. You’re gonna have to tell me sooner or later.” The longer he was silent, the worse things got in her head. What had she done?

  “I know; hang on.” He went to his office, expecting her to follow. She did, though she felt unsteady on her feet.

  Once in his office, he closed the door behind them. “I’m about to break the law, but really, I can argue that you already broke it, and on some level you already know what I’m about to tell you anyway.”

  Catherine resisted the urge to grab him and shake him. The tension was growing unbearable. “What are you talking about? Tell me!”

  “I’m talking about the documents you accessed when you broke into Aaron’s office. They contained instructions on how to destroy a Sagittarius mission ship remotely.”

  She opened her mouth to interrupt.

  “Hang on,” he said, raising a hand. “It was a fail-safe, in case the ship picked up anything that was a threat to Earth. Top secret for a reason, obviously.”

  “And you didn’t tell any of us? Cal, I was on that ship, and someone could have—”

  “Ava knew,” Cal said quietly. “John Duffy knows. No one else needed to. Chances are so remote that we’ll ever need to use it, we decided there was no need to worry the entire crew.”

  “But Jesus, are you saying that I . . .” The full import of it hit her. Her knees wobbled, and Cal pushed a chair behind her, easing her down into it. “I almost killed them?” She couldn’t say it above a whisper.

  “You didn’t, though. You didn’t enter the third code.” He knelt beside the chair and took her hands. “You didn’t. I stopped you. You stopped you.”

  “But how did you know I was going to do it?” Her eyes stung.

  Cal looked down before he answered. He was debating a lie, so it must be bad. His shoulders dropped and he looked her in the eyes. “It was pure luck. I realized what you’d been looking at that night, and you didn’t answer your phone when I called. I got paranoid. I knew you’d have to start in Aaron’s office and then mine, then Mission Control—so I started looking.”

  Catherine started to shudder. She’d— she’d almost— oh God. Cal rose up on his knees and put his arms around her.

  “Shh,” he said, and lowered her head to his shoulder. She stared blankly at his office wall, unable to accept his comfort. He held on to her for several minutes, until her shaking stopped, then he helped her to her feet and out the door. He made sure to lock his office door behind him. “Let’s get you home, okay? We’ll figure this out, I promise. You’re not in this
alone anymore.”

  Sagittarius I Mission

  DAY 1138, ONE DAY AFTER THE EVENT

  TRAPPIST-1F TWILIGHT LANDING AREA, ON BOARD SAGITTARIUS

  Alone.

  No human had ever been as alone as Catherine was. She had an entire planet to herself.

  Since the explosion, she’d been trying to figure out what happened. Had Tom set a fire? Stayed behind in it to die with the others? The command center was in the middle of the Habitat. The chances that he could have set a fire and gotten out in time . . . No, she had to assume everyone was dead.

  She was no closer to any answers than she’d been a day ago.

  She sat in the command module of Sagittarius, eating a cold MRE out of the pouch as she stared blankly out the windshield. Through it, she saw the vast rock formations of TRAPPIST-1f, glinting in the reflected light of her sister planets. The soil was the color of old, dried blood in this light.

  Survival was the best thing she could manage right now. She wanted to make a plan to get home, but was there even any point? How was she going to fly back all by herself?

  The comm screen beeped loudly and Catherine gave a small scream, jumping out of her chair. She was just about to write it off as her imagination, but then it beeped again, and she thumbed the receiver.

  The screen flashed just two words: SURRENDER, CATHERINE.

  Her makeshift dinner threatened to come back up her throat, stopped only by the fear that constricted it. She leaned in to the mic. “Who the hell is this? Tom? Is that you?” Her heart pounded so hard that it only increased the sick feeling in her belly, and she swallowed the rush of saliva in her mouth.

  The screen flashed again. GIVE UP. GIVE IN. SURRENDER.

  Fuck that. “Fuck you.” She enunciated clearly into the mic. “Whoever you are, if you want me, you’ll have to come and get me.”