The Fyal data disappeared, replaced by an internal schematic of the Andorran. Beneath, a digital clock that represented time to the thousandth of a second was displayed in bright red.
“What will this show?” Lara asked.
“Too much, I suspect," Fran sighed. "Look, Lara, I've got a lot to explain, and this visual is the strangest piece of evidence. Let me start at the beginning so you understand what's happening here.”
“That seems fair.”
“First, there was the microcellular scan in the stasis chamber. Bottom line: There is no microcellular evidence that a Fyal was in that chamber at the time of the explosion.”
“Not conclusive,” Peter mumbled, but Lara was undeterred.
“How can that be?”
“Number of possibilities, Lara. I'll get to them. But there's more to this. I studied the permastat valves in the unit that was supposed to hold the Fyal. There are four of them in each stasis unit. They act as conduits for the refrigerant to enter the unit. They're shut off when it's no longer necessary to keep the specimen in stasis. Had the refrigerant been entering the unit as normal prior to the explosion, there would have been a film residue on the valve knobs. But there was none. So I pried open the back of the unit and ripped open one of the conduits. It was clean, as if it hadn't been used in months.”
“But wouldn't the computer have said something if those conduits weren't functioning correctly?”
Fran sighed. “That, Lara, is the problem. The computer has always said the units were working perfectly. The only malfunctioning parts were the hydrothermic regulators, and Dan was trying to repair them for the second time. When I finished the microcellular scan, I contacted Pete. He had just finished his diagnostics. Lara, the explosion in the unit occurred because of a sudden buildup of pressure in the hydrothermic coils. The coils act as a venting system, since there are inevitably going to be fluctuations in the pressure from time to time. But the coils are programmed with a fail-safe shutdown chip that is triggered whenever the pressure reaches a specified level.”
“But it didn't shut down? Or was there not enough time?”
“The shutdown is instantaneous – less than one-hundredth of a second. And Pete says the chip was functioning fine right up to the exact nanosecond the explosion began.”
“Correct,” he whispered.
“But if the chip didn't catch on to the pressure buildup, how could it have been functioning normally? It had to be the computer's fault, right?”
“Don't know what else it could be,” Peter said. “There has to be a programming flaw in the stasis unit itself. Probably been there since the thing was designed.”
“So it's not the ship's main computer?” Lara asked.
“Nope. I know Andorran's mainframe systems better than anybody except maybe the original designers.” The redhead shrugged. “Plus, I ran a ship-wide diagnostic just so someone like you would have piece of mind, Fran. There are no glitches. As for the missing Fyal, I think we probably have a case of sabotage. There were enough members of this crew who never wanted that thing put into stasis in the first place. Given all the eight-month rotations with just two of us awake at any given time, well …”
“Ludicrous, Pete.”
“There would have been ample time to ship that thing through an airlock, then come up with a method of disguising the unit’s contents so no one else would realize the thing was gone.”
“But who?” Lara asked.
“Well, let's start with this last rotation. Fran says the valves hadn't been in use for a few months. You and Dan ever ...?”
“No! No, Peter, we never considered that. Daniel was committed to keeping the Fyal intact for Earth research, and so was I.”
“But you opposed stasis, Pete,” Fran folded her arms.
“Sure did. And so did Olivia, Boris and Anatoly. And as I recall, Olivia and Boris became a hell of a team during their rotation.”
Fran kicked at the workstation. “All right, cut it, Pete! I ran a diagnostic review of the ship's airlocks. There has not been one breach since we left Centauri III. And we both know it's impossible to erase such a breach from the archives.”
Peter threw up his hands. “All right, Fran, we've got a missing Fyal and a programming error in the stasis unit. What are you proposing?”
“Nothing, yet. But take a look at this, Pete.” She pointed to the monitor.
“Schematic. Chronometer. Yes?”
“Watch, Pete.” She turned to the monitor. “Computer, play sequence up to the initiation of the stasis explosion.”
Immediately, the chronometer counted off four seconds. The diagram of the interior of Andorran was brown, with an intricate grid of white outline displaying all corridors, research pods, vehicle bays, decks and living quarters. There were nine tiny yellow pricks scattered through the schematic, set against a deep blue background.
When the chronometer completed the countdown, Fran turned to both Lara and Peter. “Did you see it? Either of you?”
“No,” Lara was confused. “Nothing happened.”
“Sorry, Fran. I missed it, too. Why don't you try again?”
“Tell me something, Pete. Did you include a review of the internal heat sensor array when you performed your diagnostics?”
“Exactly like you just did.”
“At what interval did you study the frames?”
“Half-second.”
“Tsk, tsk, Pete. I'm disappointed in you. Computer, begin replay of final four seconds prior to stasis explosion, but display frames by one-tenth of a second.”
Lara turned her head between the two of them. “What is this showing?”
The chronometer was now below three seconds, and Fran explained. “The countdown is proceeding at 10 percent of real time. We're able to see how the schematic changes at each tenth of a second. When I first played this back at real time, I wasn't sure I'd seen anything unusual, so I slowed it down. At half-second frames, I still wasn't certain. It's coming up now. Look closely, Pete.”
The chronometer dropped to 1.6 seconds, 1.5 seconds, 1.4 seconds, 1.3 seconds.
In that instant, the schematic burst into life, with a blur of yellow pricks of light clustered throughout the design. The effect lasted exactly one second, then the schematic returned to normal.
“What the hell was that?” Peter stepped forward, looked over Lara's shoulder.
“Computer, end countdown and freeze frame at 1.3 seconds prior to explosion.”
Fran grimaced as she turned to the crewmates. “You do know what those yellow symbols represent, don't you, Pete?”
“Something that isn't possible. If this anomaly lasted one-tenth of a second, it was obviously just a glitch.”
“A glitch? For a computer that is functioning perfectly, Pete?”
“What does this mean?” Lara interjected.
“Lara, the heat sensor array detects the presence of body heat. This program is used whenever you ask for an imprint scan in order to locate a crew member. This is indicating the presence of more than 300 lifeforms on this ship for one-tenth of a second.”
“Oh, gracious heavens, Fran,” Peter was exasperated. “Listen to what you're saying! Three hundred lifeforms for a tenth of a second. It's a glitch. Probably a brief overload due to the sudden malfunction in the stasis unit.”
“You think so? Consider this: The computer stopped registering the presence of the Fyal in that stasis unit at 1.6 seconds before the explosion. Now, Pete, listen to your beloved, perfect computer speak on this. Computer, identify source of the heat anomaly.”
The mechanical voice replied: “LIFEFORMS OF UNKNOWN ORIGIN.”
“Be more specific. How many lifeforms and what physical makeup?”
“TOTAL LIFEFORMS: 322. INSUFFICIENT OPPORTUNITY TO SCAN FOR COMPOSITION.”
“Thank you, computer. Discontinue replay.”
Peter did not have a response. Instead, he backed away from the work
station, rubbing a contemplative thumb against his lips. Lara didn't speak – she wasn't really sure what to say.
But Fran did. “Listen to me, Pete. I don't think you can go on denying we've got ourselves a potentially serious damn problem here. If you're wrong, it's possible the whole goddamn mainframe system is malfunctioning. And if that's the case, there's just no telling how much wrong information we're receiving. Hell, for all anyone knows, there's something damn wrong with our ability to receive communications from Earth – only the computer might have neglected to tell us that.”
Peter stopped pondering, and Lara saw the fear in his eyes.
“I hope that's all it is, quite frankly,” Fran continued. "Because if it's something else, and it has to do with that damn Fyal ... well, folks, I got some theories bouncing around in my head and every one of them scares the hell out of me.”
Peter shrugged. “Fine, Fran. Fine. Let's get the captain in on this.”
33
T
he very notion that the mainframe computer might be malfunctioning was worrisome enough. But if the computer's inherent problems were capable of escaping the eyes of a diagnostic program designed to hunt down even the tiniest glitch, then sabotage was the only practical answer.
When Captain Miguel Navarro was presented with Fran's evidence, it was the only deduction he could reach. “Obviously, the computer has too many redundant safeguards to allow it to overlook any corrupted programming,” he said. “Therefore, it must believe what its diagnostics are showing – that it is functioning normally.”
“So you're suggesting,” Peter said, “that the computer is actually proceeding as it was originally programmed.”
“Which was what? To deceive us?” Lara asked.
“That much I can't answer,” Miguel continued. “The concept is mind-boggling to say the least. Andorran has functioned perfectly throughout the mission. Any problems have been minor and always uncovered. The ship has performed beyond what the designers expected. I can't understand why the computer would wait until now to start providing incorrect data.”
Fran arose from the swivel, stretched, then strolled over to the nearest rotating row of aeroponic crops. She turned on her heels.
“Pete, remember what you said several hours ago when Lara first got us all together in the Commons to discuss our situation with Earth? You questioned the accuracy of the computer, said you wondered if maybe the Fyal hadn't played around with the programming during the time they spent onboard.”
“I was just shooting from the hip. Like everyone else, I was kind of panicked about the lack of response from Earth. I was trying to implicate the Fyal – anything to help this make more sense."
Lara interjected: “So you're suggesting maybe the Fyal really did create this malfunction, Fran? Something they did to the programming 15 years ago?”
“What I'm suggesting is maybe we should seriously consider the potential. Listen to me, folks, there are two things we know for sure about the Fyal who spent most of 23 days onboard. One, they were part of the ruling caste and by their own admission among the intellectual elite on Centauri III. Two, they possessed an intricate symbiotic relationship with the organic technology they created. Those machines were, in essence, an extension of themselves.
“So, who are we to say they couldn't have learned how to integrate with our own technology? It certainly would have made it damn easy for them to go into the core of the mainframe matrix and alter programming without our knowledge. The only question that remains, and it's a goddamn big one, is this: Given that they did not catastrophically sabotage the ion propulsion – our only way home – what would be their purpose for something like this?”
Miguel paced. His voice was hesitant, dry. “Obviously, we have a problem with the computer. But does this imply the explosion, the missing Fyal, and the anomaly on the heat array are linked? And if they are, how? Why? What else can we do to get some concrete answers?”
Peter exhaled, groaning as he did so. “Well, Captain, it is possible to determine if the programming has been altered from the original specs, but it's a hell of a chore.”
“What would be required?”
“I can run a scan of the core matrix and compare its ordinal prefixes to those of the hard copy provided by the original designers. The problem is that finding a discrepancy will be unbelievably tedious and flat-out difficult. It might take five hours, or it might take five days. We're talking about quadrillions of prefixes.”
“But there is a strong possibility we could pinpoint the source of the sabotage,” Miguel asked, “if in fact that's what we're dealing with?”
“Yes, a strong possibility.”
There were many more words following those, most of them technical, but Lara's mind quickly grabbed hold of three words and refused to let go. They bounded through her head like an echo, and she knew they were important to her. They had come from Miguel's mouth: “A strong possibility.”
She closed in rapidly on the meaning of the words. Yes, she had heard them recently. It had been an important moment. Confusing moment. But there had been a distraction; something prevented her from following up.
“I forgot,” she whispered, and only Fran noticed when Lara stood up.
“You remember something?” Fran asked.
Lara shook her head, brushed back her hair and grimaced. Her blue eyes opened wide and focused upon the captain. The moment was now replaying in her mind.
34
I
t is a strong possibility,” she heard Miguel saying. “We have no answers for the lack of response.”
They had been together, in a SlipTube. Lara had responded, saying something about Mifuro and his findings: He thinks the signals are being jammed. He called it a Grayson-Ridder signature, I think. Miguel, if we're going ...
She pivoted to the Brazilian, blinked twice, felt cold for a split second, and was certain she was looking at a paralyzed man. Miguel had been perfectly erect, head cocked slightly toward her, eyes open but glassy, and lips pursed. Not paralyzed, she thought.
Frozen.
She had blinked again, and Miguel smiled. “It is a strong possibility,” he said. “We have no answers for the lack of ... Excuse me? What?”
“Strong possibility we're being jammed?” She said hesitantly.
“Jammed? You believe our signals are being jammed?”
“No, Mifuro found the evidence ...”
And then there had been a jerk. It was sudden, violent. They were swaying within the SlipTube.
“Mother of ...” Miguel had shouted as a rumble followed the jerk, and the SlipTube vibrated, then halted.
It was the explosion.
Daniel.
…
…
“What's wrong, Lara?” Miguel asked her, and she looked up. There were three crewmates standing around her, and she was in the agripod again.
“I'd forgotten about it,” she told the captain, and stepped toward him. For a couple of seconds, he seemed different to her. Older, more feeble. Different.
“Lara, what did ...”
Miguel was cut off by Mifuro Nakahita's voice, which rang out through a comm-link next to the SlipTube.
“Captain Navarro, we have a problem. Please respond.”
“I'm here, Mifuro. Go ahead.”
“Olivia just contacted me from medpod. Apparently, Susan awoke and became quite violent and struck Olivia, then left the medpod.”
Miguel sighed. “What is happening to her? Is Olivia all right?”
“Yes. But she is concerned about what Susan might do next. I have just run an imprint scan, and she would seem to be on a course toward the cargo bay. She appears to be avoiding the SlipTubes.”
Response was slow to come, as the foursome in the agripod shared quizzical looks. The answer dawned on Fran, who shouted.
“Damn! She's going after Nat again! He's in the cargo bay with Boris working on the shuttle.”
/> Miguel spoke quickly. “Mifuro, please alert Boris and Anatoly. I'm on my way.”
The captain turned to Lara and offered a grandfather's smile. “Hold your thought, whatever it is. I promise we'll continue this.”
Lara didn't respond, both because there wasn't an opportunity – he and Peter disappeared into a SlipTube immediately – and because she wasn't sure what to say.
“You got something important on your mind?” Fran said as she stepped quickly to the comm-link and requested an emergency Tube. “You don't look right, Lara.”
“How else should I look?”
The Tube arrived in seconds, and Fran stepped in. “Are you coming, Lara?”
“Maybe I'll do more research. Yes. No. No.” The words were awkward, and that's just the way Lara felt. “I can’t handle something else. Not now.”
35
F
ar inside a mountain somewhere in the Dakota Territory, the exhilaration of the moment faded.
Dr. Adam Smith found it hard to believe there had been such a great sense of hope – a moment of destiny – surging through all of Second Sunrise a short while ago. Less than 25 minutes passed since the armored Sprints launched, and another 30 minutes remained until those 12 men and women would enter the Lesser Antilles.
Perhaps the electricity generated by the launch had been short-lived because there was still so much work to do. Perhaps it was the recognition that a second launch – that of the orbital shuttle New Terra – was pending and of even greater significance. Or, perhaps, Adam began to understand, there was a growing sense of despondency because the hope of victory could never satisfy the soul like victory itself. And hope, he reminded himself, was always tinged with the unspoken realization that failure was never far away from success.
He felt this confusion of emotions many times during the troubled years just before the inauguration of the ECs, hopeful at one turn that his post-ASTROcom career would shield himself and his family from the silent purges of colonial advocates. But at another turn he was paralyzed with the fear that at any moment, forces he could not see would end all their lives.
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