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by Microsoft Office User

  “Oh, yes. Of course.”

  They're ready. All of them. They'll move across space very soon. High dosage of ku-ccha. Varying degrees of irrational behavior.

  The concepts exploded into her mind, and for the first time, Lara thought she heard a familiar voice. Yet it was barely a whisper.

  One of the crew.

  That last echo alarmed Lara, but she had no idea why. In the confusion of the moment, Olivia walked past her, headed toward the Tube. She motioned for Lara to follow, but Lara instead looked to her side and studied Anatoly, who remained quiet throughout. At this moment, she felt overwhelming sympathy for the man.

  “I'm sorry what she put you through,” Lara whispered, and the man frowned, glanced at Susan. “But it wasn't her fault. It was all the ku-ccha. She didn't really want to kill you. It wasn't her fault.”

  “What are you ...?” the Georgian started, but Olivia interrupted.

  “Come, Lara. We've got to hurry.”

  Lara planted herself on the Tube's G-stamp. Where is this coming from? Why am I saying these things? The computer! I've got to get on a computer!

  “MED Sec 1, Pod 2. You were apologizing for Susan?” The doctor said after a few seconds of silence. “That's a nice sentiment, Lara, but we can't be sure that the imbalance caused by the ku-ccha actually dictated all of Susan's actions. We simply don't know the entire truth – the issue of the rape is still a point of contention.”

  Lara bit her tongue. It was imagined. All of it. There was never a rape. Somehow, she knew the truth. It had been told to her. Sufficient evidence in the computer's logs.

  Upon their arrival, the doctor ordered her up on an examination couch and proceeded to gather instruments. As this was done, Lara studied the medpod for computer access. She visited here dozens of times but never needed a remote workstation. And she needed it desperately. There was only one. This isn't going to work.

  “Have you regained any of your memory from the 25 minutes you were not with us?” Olivia asked, focusing her attention on Lara's eyes.

  “No, Liv. I don't even recall a passage of time. But I do feel fine now, and I realize that we've got a lot of work to do. If you'll let me, I can assist you.”

  The doctor continued her probe in silence, positioning a hand-held monitor against her patient's chest. She nodded.

  “You don't feel at all faint, dizzy, nauseous?”

  “No, Liv. None of that.”

  “Hmmph. Your primary specs seem to be in order. You're certain you don't want to rest for a short while?”

  “No. You said I could assist in bringing up the decon field?”

  Olivia dropped the chest monitor to her side. “Good enough. Let's proceed this way. I've got to run the diagnostic on this nanotrax and start the viop download of all medical logs for the hibersleep units. What you can do is run the preliminary security diagnostic for the decon field. But the program will take about 12 minutes. Remember, every system on this ship is interlinked to the decon field. The diagnostic will hunt down any glitches in those links. I doubt we'll find a problem.” Olivia stifled a laugh. “Given the way things have been going, there's no telling what we'll find, is there?”

  Lara wasn't about to debate that point. At this moment, she needed access. Tension in the nape of her neck suggested time was becoming precious. She tried to put the voices of her crewmates out of her mind, but the RIF provided a continual distraction. So far, she heard nothing of consequence – Mifuro and Anatoly divvying up their command deck responsibilities (Anatoly was beginning an orbital scan for approaching craft); Susan trying in her own alluring/frightening way to break the ice with Boris as they headed toward the cargo bay; Peter ordering everyone to keep conversation to a minimum (“just like on Centauri III, let's keep this to the essentials, folks, or we'll drive each other crazy”).

  “I'll work in the hibersleep pod,” she told the doctor, who posted no objection.

  “Advise me when we're ready to proceed with the decon sweep.”

  Lara straightened her bodysuit and started quickly for the next pod, but as she placed her hand to the printlock, she felt nervous. As if something was directly behind her, breathing on her. She looked over her shoulder. Olivia took a place at her personal workstation and removed the vial from her hip pouch.

  One of the crew. They can come to each other by way of their physical travelers.

  A shiver rebounded throughout her body, followed by a carpet of goosebumps. Who is it? Who can come?

  In the midst of this fear, the growing compulsion to ask questions of the computer drew her into the hibersleep pod, and she took her place before a viop workstation.

  Voice distraction continued on the RIF:

  - “not unless we have to.”

  - “yep. concur. we're going to need a SIM-TRAC unit in the bay. Not going to clean up this mess soon enough.”

  - “anything's possible with me on hand, love.”

  - “then you retrieve SIM-TRAC.”

  - “come on, folks, let's get the job done. Stop haggling.”

  - “Mifuro, look at this pattern.”

  Cutting the vocal transmit of the RIF was a simple, half-second maneuver that involved the tip of one finger. She wished Boris and Susan would utilize it. And yet, she knew it was essential.

  “Computer, instigate preliminary diagnostic of the ship-wide decon field interlink system,” she said. “And display on viop.”

  “PLEASE CONFIRM VOICE ACCESS IDENTIFICATION.”

  “Lara Bettina Singer, Linguistics Officer, Personal Code CR7-433.”

  The viop's holographic display danced into color-splashed view less than a foot in front of her face, and it immediately began a rapid journey through the ship's internal matrix, a seemingly endless avenue of conduits, system ports and microprocessor arrays. Lara turned her attention away from it. She realized this was nothing more than busy work, given to her by the doctor as a compromise for a patient who simply did not want to take a nap at this critical juncture. Olivia could easily have run this program herself while conducting her other diagnostics. Nevertheless, Lara was grateful for this opportunity.

  One little annoyance remained. The RIF:

  - “yes. Could be the rescue ship. Focus the scan on that vector minus zero-point-two degrees.”

  - “how soon before you can make communications link?”

  - “no, don't try, Mifuro! Remember, they contact us first, verify who they are.”

  - “I won't get ahead of myself, Peter.”

  Lara knew she would have to violate orders. She could not ask for this information while she had an audience. One of the crew.

  When she reached up and tapped the end of the RIF extension over her mouth, Lara felt that breath again. No, it was more like ...

  A breeze.

  “Olivia, how is your diagnostic of the sample coming?” She asked, but there was no response.

  Other voices continued their banter, but Olivia was silent, so Lara knew her vocal link was properly disconnected. Thank you!

  “Computer, I need for you to run these scenarios through your central archive. When you are finished, please present me with the names of the crew who are common to every scenario. Do you comprehend?”

  “OF COURSE, LARA. WHAT INFORMATION DO YOU NEED?”

  “Good. First, I need to know the names of each crew member who has spent at least one rotation on the return voyage with every other crew member. Please eliminate the names Daniel Loche and Miguel Navarro from all these searches. Second, list the names of all those who have accessed the supply of nanotrax emulsion during the return voyage. Third, list the names of all those who have accessed air needles from medpod during the same time frame. And finally, list the names of all those who would have had visual contact with the Fyal Sh'hun from the moment it fell from that catwalk until the moment it was placed in stasis.”

  Lara was in shock as the words to that final request passed her lips. She didn’t
know where they came from.

  “TO PROVIDE NAMES FOR FINAL REQUEST, FULL SURVEY OF VISUAL MEMORY WILL BE REQUIRED. THIS PROCESS WILL TAKE ADDITIONAL TIME. DO YOU WISH TO PROCEED?”

  “How long?”

  “ESTIMATED TIME FOR FULL DIAGNOSTIC: 9 MINUTES, 44 SECONDS.”

  “Proceed.”

  There was more banter on the RIF, but one announcement made her sit up:

  - “here it is, everyone! We've got it confirmed. Craft is approaching on our orbital vector. Judging by velocity, it's looking like 22 minutes until rendezvous.”

  - “we heard from them, Mifuro?”

  - “nothing as yet, Peter. We're keeping the channels open. Should we restrict to encrypted signature Dr. Smith gave us?”

  - “might not be bad idea.”

  - “negative, that, Mifuro. Look, Pete, we still got to be open to all the possibilities. I say we leave it wide open.”

  - “confirmed. Let's play it wide open.”

  - “Nat, you seeing any new trends on the heat array?”

  - “yes, a moment please. Yes. Similar trend. Computer now shows 53 percent of lifeforms are in IPG area.”

  - “we're about to enter the core. Root for us, folks.”

  So, the message from Dr. Smith had been valid after all. A ship was indeed coming for them. The desperate part of her was shouting that they should all drop everything they were doing and rush to the cargo bay, greet the incoming ship, board it, and get the hell off Andorran. But the pragmatic side insisted she face this unknown enemy.

  Enemy? It's an enemy! But who? What?

  In a flash, she saw a yellow light – not around her but within her mind's eye. A memory of something ... rubbery.

  “Remaining time for diagnostic?” She asked the computer.

  “SEVEN MINUTES, 10 SECONDS.”

  Lara remembered what other important matter needed attending.

  “Computer, please search Miguel Navarro's personal archive. You should find a PIP-coded file recorded in the past two hours designated for my access.”

  After two seconds: “CONFIRMED.”

  “Good. Please display message.”

  Navarro's smiling face appeared on the workstation monitor. This was not the expression Lara anticipated. He seems so relaxed!

  “Lara, without your constant faith in me, I'm sure I would probably have been kept in hibersleep and not awakened until I was transported to Earth. For that, I owe you my second opportunity at life. And that’s why I’m sending this message to you. I …”

  Lara spoke up. “Freeze message.”

  She heard more RIF banter, but this time from the next pod:

  - “for anyone who still cares, I've got the results I predicted,” the doctor said.

  - “nanotrax?”

  - “indeed. Small dosage, actually, but a single CC of this stuff could kill a man, especially one Miguel's age.”

  - “he just couldn't cut it under the pressure. Guess he was never back to what we thought. Something sent him over the edge.”

  - “whatever. We got business …”

  In between her sadness, Lara was enraged. How can they talk like this? How can they believe he would do this to them? She looked at the smiling, grandfatherly image before her, and something was becoming clear to her.

  “Continue message.”

  Miguel resumed. “I would never expect anyone to understand what it was like to become the shell of the man I was before ku-ccha. During those moments when I was at least somewhat lucid, I understood that my mind was not working properly. I was humiliated, frustrated and sad in a way that even the death of my wife never affected me. I owe you everything, Lara.

  “But what just happened on the command deck. What you saw and heard. Please don’t let it destroy your image of me. When I saw the Fyal, my mind fell apart. For the first time, I remembered everything that happened to me that last day with the Fyal. Everything they told me, everything I learned when they entered me. All their secrets, Lara. All of it. I’ve known about them for 15 years. I …”

  The smile gave way to a shaking old man pouring tears. “What they really needed from us. What they will get from us! I can’t be the man you thought I was becoming. I’m sorry about Daniel. But there will be another rainbow. I’ll find it for you. I promise.”

  The screen went black, and Lara saw her reflection against the glass. Tears plummeting down her cheeks. She grabbed hold of his final words. You didn't do this. You wouldn't have killed yourself.

  They did it. It did it.

  It!

  In that instant, a single word flew across her mind like a scream across a distant breeze.

  Nya-phur’um.

  “One of the crew.”

  Messages cluttered the RIF:

  - “I'll be goddamned. Look at this, Pete,” Fran was saying.

  - “you feeling anything?”

  - “not yet ... wait.”

  - “yeah?”

  - “yeah?”

  - “fuck!”

  - “you all right? Look like the blood's gone out of you,” Peter said from the IPG.

  - “hey, it's Liv! What's wrong? You need medical help?”

  After several silent seconds, Fran responded.

  - “fine, Liv. Fine. Let's move on.”

  Lara paced for a moment. RIF traffic went dark. Something was tempting her to reactivate the vocal link and ask the entire crew a simple question: “Who killed our captain?”

  The computer preempted that act of emotional desperation.

  “PROGRAM COMPLETE. COMPOSITE OF COMMON NAMES NOW AVAILABLE.”

  Her back was turned to the workstation when the computer made this pronouncement; she was hesitant to pivot. This was about more than who killed Miguel Navarro, she was certain. There were words, images, all disjointed. And a nagging sensation she forgot to ask the computer everything. But the answers were critical.

  She pivoted.

  She saw four names on the monitor. She was stunned, but not just because they were her crewmates, or that one of them most certainly killed their captain.

  PETER STEWART. OLIVIA JORGENNSON. FRAN CONNER.

  It was the fourth name that swept terror through her soul because it made no sense whatsoever.

  “Ohmigod,” she whispered.

  LARA SINGER.

  71

  8:35 p.m. CCS time

  Second Sunrise base of operations

  A

  rilynn Smith is in a castle. She's walking through the long, narrow tunnel extending through the dungeon. The lights in this dungeon are bright, and it seems like a hopeful, even happy place. She is comfortable here, though it is both her home and her prison.

  She does not go up into the higher regions of the castle often, and she barely remembers the last time she looked out the window and saw the world beyond. Yet she knows what she will find at the top of the castle, and she knows about the sky, the trees, the deep, deep snow. Those images are vivid – the sounds still echo from another past, another life. She would like to experience them again.

  But the devil is here, and the devil wants to take all of this away. Her home, her prison ... her daddy.

  Youdevil. Youdevil. Youdevil.

  She has seen the beast, with its long, rounded limbs and its face of counting numbers. And now she must find it before it takes away her home, her prison, her daddy. She must go up higher, to those places in the castle where she has not been in so long.

  And so, she walks swiftly along this narrow tunnel, finally spying a door that does not look like any of the others. It is much larger, and it glistens of polished metal.

  Arilynn pushes against the door, but it does not move. She places her fingers in a crack along its side, and she strains to pull it back. Opentodevil. Opentodevil.

  This door will not allow her to pass. But then there is hope: A servant of the castle comes to her aid, and even though he seems troubled, his words are comforting. />
  “Where are you going, Arilynn? Are you trying to go up the lift? Does your father ... does Dr. Smith know where you are?”

  He seems very helpful indeed. “Upupup,” she says.

  “You can't go up the lift that way. Only by using the handprint. But I think you should go back to your room. Your father would want that.”

  “Lovedaddytoo.”

  She waves to the castle servant, and he seems pleased.

  “That's good, Arilynn. You head on home.”

  “Thankdaddy.”

  The servant walks away, and Arilynn turns to wave goodbye. The servant complies, and then is around a bend, out of sight. Arilynn looks at her hand, remembers the words of the servant, and places her open palm against the door. There is no movement, no lift to the upper regions of the castle. But something catches her eye – a red glow adjacent to the door.

  It's a tiny blotch against the smooth, white surface that lines this tunnel. And Arilynn is intrigued. It's her favorite color, and she knows that she must feel it.

  When she places her hand against the red glow, the door slips instantly away and she peers into a cabinet. It doesn't seem like much, and she can't imagine how it will take her higher in the castle. But it is beyond the door, and that is all she needs to know.

  As she crosses the threshold and studies the walls of the cabinet, the door snaps shut, and she gasps, jerks back.

  Gonegetdevil. Gogetdevil.

  The walls will not move for her.

  “CHOICE OF DESTINATION REQUIRED.”

  The voice seems to come from out of the air, because she is certain there is no one else in this cabinet.

  “Gogetdevilbox. Bluedevilbox. Upupup.”

  But immediately she spies more blotches against the white, and this time there are three colors, one on top of the other – red, blue, green. She stretches out her hand and wants to grab hold of her favorite color, but then she retreats.

  Blue. Devilboxblue. Youbluedevil.

  “Gonegetdevilnow,” Arilynn says, and she presses hard against the blue blotch. The cabinet begins to move.

  “Findyoudevil getawaymydaddy.”

  When the cabinet comes to a halt, the door opens, and Arilynn sprints into a region of the castle where she knows she has been before. She knows these animals; the huge murals are also familiar.