She moaned, the ripples of pain multiplying through her abdomen as if directed by a brigade of butcher knives.
Fran Conner maintained the same polite smile, but her eyes stared into the darkness as the Fyal that draped around her took full form, its phase-shifting at an end.
The alien's long, thin black tentacles caressed the body of the traveler, wrapping gently around her somewhat androgynous features. Even in the pall of this core which was lit only in red, the drooping eyes of the Fyal stood out as bloody beacons of a being that, Lara knew and contrary to what Fran would have insisted, was indeed the enemy.
“Embrace the future, Lara,” came the voice of the traveler, who now stepped forward to the feet of the one who came to destroy her. “We've all got to face it sometime. Except the Fyal, of course. They're gonna change it!”
Those pointless, wandering eyes of the traveler turned upward, and that is where Lara also looked. She had seen this before: The hull vanished, the Fyal ships emerging rapidly from the darkness.
She breathed as hard and as quickly as she could, convinced herself that this pain could not and would not be an obstacle, and she pressed her hands against the floor.
The words off her lips were barely even a whisper, but rather gentle syllables carried on the breaths of a desperate woman who now had a very clear understanding about death, and more significantly, about the greater value of sacrifice.
“No more,” she said.
Her hands pushed hard, propelling her upward. But as she tried to do the same thing with her legs and give herself a final, necessary lunge at the traveler, Lara realized all around her, the vortex was strengthening, deepening at an incredible pace, and the oxygen supply was again deteriorating. Her lungs stiffened, their weight profound, and her body compressed against the back of her suit.
Her teeth jammed against each other and her jawbone trembled as she forced herself to move against the power of the air compression. Each muscle seemed to congeal, and every bone ached, but they strained with the rest of her body as she willed herself upright, then flung her arms forward until they found a common, high target.
In the seconds before she realized she was no longer capable of breathing, Lara used her remaining muscular fuel to press down and around upon the traveler's defenseless neck.
Fran Conner's smile vanished, and her lips parted. She gurgled.
Her eyes did not wander any longer. Their focus shifted from the future arriving above to the future standing before her.
Lara felt no air entering or leaving her body, only a deepening sensation of paralysis.
And in that moment, Lara saw something other than a Fyal.
She saw a human.
She saw a frightened, desperate human.
And there was nothing to be done.
The gurgle passing through the traveler's lips was replaced by a slow rising shrill that bounced off the walls of the core like the helpless cries of an entire civilization.
The traveler lifted both arms and flailed against Lara, whose arms remained in a vise around Fran's neck, immobilized like the rest of her body.
As Lara felt consciousness falling away, she tried one final time to focus upon the woman who was once her friend and colleague. She saw that somewhere far down inside those hazel eyes, Fran was trying to speak for herself, to plead for her life and beg for help in ridding herself of this nightmare.
Lara wanted to be able to hear those words, to make Fran understand this was what had to be done.
But in a flash, Fran was gone. So was the core, the red shadows and the Fyal dressed around its traveler. All that enveloped her seemed to be white.
The brilliant spectacle of light that consumed her vision retreated as quickly as it came. Lara knew where she was. She had been here before. She stood in the heart of the Nya-phur’um.
Details emerged, shapes formed, and colors intruded upon the blanket of white. Lara felt an overwhelming sense of calm. She detected no danger.
As far as the eye could see, a thick sheet of ice glistened off the light of day. Other spectacles of nature reflected against the ice, but Lara could not move even her eyes.
Where the ice met the horizon, the white faded into a starry field of vermilion and silver, and the gentle comforted her.
And then, she heard something.
It was not in the form of words, but more like echoes across a wind that had traveled the universe for many years. The echoes came from all around her, and they were bold moans that seemed forced, as if from the throat of one who has much to say but little ability to utter it.
Suddenly, her eyes could move. Although the rest of her body remained in paralysis, she looked down and realized this endless sheet of ice engulfed her to her knees.
When she looked up again, she wanted to gasp.
“Daniel…”
The man she loved more than anyone else in her life stood before her, equally trapped within the ice. He was not alone. Sh'hun was but a few feet to his side, the cone flopped open to reveal the mushroom head, and its single leg also encased in the ice.
“We are one,” Daniel told her, the words echoing through her mind. “But we are two. We are of separate fates. The time of one may end without the loss of the other.”
She was puzzled. Somehow, the words made a weird sort of sense, but this was not how Daniel would speak. The words were stilted, enigmatic, indirect.
“Why am I here?” She asked. “The two? You and the Fyal?”
“The traveler dies. We are two, but we will soon be one. Remember, Lara. Remember the words. Remember destiny. There is always destiny. For the one or for the two. The journey is yours to give.”
His large, oval ginger eyes wandered, but a desperation that reddened them and tried hard to well into tears was barely visible.
“The traveler dies, Lara. Remember. There is always destiny.”
Lara could feel emotions begin to profoundly swell within her, and her muscles were tinged with the prickly sensation of revival. The ice was cracking.
And then she knew the words Daniel spoke were not a warning, not simply something to remember him by. No, he was pleading for one more chance – a chance only she could give him. The only chance any Nya-phur’um could hope for. Except Daniel was not Nya-phur’um, not really. There is always destiny, for the one or the two.
“One or the two!” She said haltingly.
She remembered the traveler's words: Kill her, and Daniel would be scattered across the universe.
“Ohmigod, there's another way.”
In the distance, the background of vermilion and silver stars was fading, and shadows fell upon them. The cracks within the ice formed wide crevasses.
She heard whispers and clicks from Sh'hun, and they reached a frantic pace, but Daniel remained steady.
“Lara, there is always destiny.”
She now remembered these words – his final message to her when he first come back to warn her about the Fyal.
She knew there was only one decision she could reach, but not because of her love for this man. No, Lara realized she would never see this face before her again. Instead, what she had to do was give him a chance to experience what was stolen from him far too soon, to know the joys of life and love and home, but through other eyes and other adventures.
She was, for this moment, a part of the Nya-phur’um. She shared the power of the physical traveler.
“I love you, Daniel. I give you a destiny in the life of another man. The Fyal took your life, and I give it back. Find him.” She turned to Sh'hun and sneered:
“But I only give destiny to the one. Not the two.”
The deafening shrill that echoed through the IPG core now bellowed from Sh'hun, and the ice crumbled beneath the Fyal. The mushroom head quickly closed to within its protective cone, but the shrill did not lessen. The alien began to fall through.
Lara turned back to Daniel. She wanted to believe the last thing she sa
w on his face before he disappeared was a smile.
And, perhaps, a tear of joy.
The ice collapsed all around her feet, and a brilliant light emerged from the depths. Lara neither looked away from the light nor felt herself falling toward it.
But she did close her eyes for just a second.
When they reopened, she stared directly into the horrified, frozen face of Fran Conner. The woman's mouth was agape, a tiny trickle of blood falling from one corner. Her hazel eyes were like misty glass, locked in a death pose.
The Fyal was gone. Indeed, the IPG core was silent.
Lara's hands were tightly coiled around Fran's crushed throat, pressing hard into the bone and muscle.
She let out a cry as she yanked her hands back, and Fran Conner flopped meaninglessly to the floor.
Lara stepped back, looked at the lifeless woman, and then raised her arms, turned her hands palms-up.
“Fran?” Her cry was meager, little more than a plaintive whisper, and she knew how futile it was.
The tears came forth in gushes, and her stomach convulsed as she fell to her knees before the body.
And there was silence, save for the whimper of the woman who killed her friend.
86
S
tephen Kreveld was underwhelmed. “Doesn't seem like quite so much for three trillion dollars,” he quipped while studying Andorran architecture as he and George raced headlong down the outer corridor of the living quarters. “Then again, it is turn-of-the-century technology.”
“It's all moot at the moment, Kreveld,” George said, studying the stream displays reflected off his right cornea by the amp. The images were similar to what he had been afforded in New Terra's cockpit, with a few extra details only a Fountain could provide.
“As I expected, the Front Guarders are tracking us with Fountains as well,” George said. “They're breaking off into two groups. One heading toward the forward pods, the other toward engineering.”
“Well, hell, that will put us in a fine fix,” Stephen said as the duo rounded a corner at full jog and came upon a service bridge – in this case, a 120-meter-long tube connecting this pod to the medical and planetary research segments of the ship.
“We should be able to reach engineering and remove the three crewmen before the PAC complement arrives, but I'm concerned about this forward group of five,” George said. “It appears they have abandoned their course for the command deck and are shifting more toward the living quarters.”
As they started down the tunnel, which was bathed in a banana yellow glow, Stephen laughed.
“I'm sure we'll just be able to blast our way out of here.”
“Pick up your pace and shut up!”
“Fair enough.”
They made exceptional time – for anyone denied the use of a SlipTube, that is. George remained confident until they reached the end of the service tunnel and encountered what he did not expect and had not looked for on the Fountain: A closed hatch.
“The schematics showed all primary corridors remain open at all times ... except as a result of a decompression or life-support malfunction.” He rechecked his figures, and indeed SEC 7, as the hatch indicated, was one of the six segments of Andorran which they had already been told suffered atmospheric control damage.
“OK, we'll need to work fast. No sense in reprogramming the printlock output; we'll simply use the blast guns.”
He held out his weapon and fired. With speed – and accuracy – a condensed charge of electricity slammed into the printlock, ripping its circuits to shreds and blowing the unit itself out of the wall.
The hatch door opened.
George turned and said, “Let's go.”
They raced through the medical section. George saw more trouble ahead.
“Kreveld, check your Fountain. Are you showing the same stress fatigue against the outer bulkhead?”
“Holy hell, George. I see it. Damn, the explosion must have caused misalignment. That hull is going to collapse in about ...”
They looked at each other. “We'd better find another way around, and fast,” George concluded, then reviewed the Fountain again. “First, I'd suggest we get out of this SEC immediately.”
There saw signs of metal fatigue and structural misalignments along the entire route thus far, but those were anticipated. An explosion of such force would not have limited its damage to the immediate area of the blast, particularly not where straddle bombs were involved.
“Run like you're chasing a gold medal, Kreveld,” George said as they dashed in the direction from which they came. “If the bulkhead goes before we're out of here, there will be no breaking through hatches with a blast gun, I can tell you that.”
As the hatch that George forced open less than a minute ago came into view, klaxons sounded and a series of red flashers set off along the ceiling of the corridor.
“I'll be fit!” Stephen shouted as the warning was announced:
“ALERT! HULL BREACH OCCURRING ALONG PERIMETER OF SECTION 7, POD 3. AUTOMATED CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES ACTIVATED.”
In the instant the hatch began to slip shut, Stephen shouted, “I thought their computer wasn't supposed to be working right.”
He leaped through the opening, and George was directly behind.
Stephen came down on top of his blast gun, the first time he ever felt cold graphinium against his skin. The more frightening sensation, however, was the pressure against his back as George came down on top of him.
Seconds after the hatch slipped shut, they heard on its opposite side the howl of air sucked from the exposed corridors.
George rolled over and sat up, reviewed his Fountain again.
“The Front Guarders are advancing too quickly. I miscalculated. We're not going to make it back to engineering in time.”
Stephen sat up.
“At least we'll be able to save a couple of these folks.”
George winced.
“It is better than none at all, George.”
87
A
s she depressed the latches on either side of her helmet's collar brace, Lara heard a short hiss of decompression. The helmet rotated 45 degrees. Lara braced her hands against the sides of the headgear and removed it, tossed it to her side.
She sniffled, tried to wipe away some of the tears.
“I am sorry,” her voice choked. “I am so sorry.”
She bent over just enough so her right hand touched Fran, and she closed the woman's eyes.
“Forgive me,” she said before coughing through the tears. “I hope you understood why I did this.”
Lara rose, looked around the core through the red haze, and spied the exit hatch.
“You did too much that was good in your life, and you had no control over this. When I get home, I'll make sure your name is remembered in all the best ways.”
When she placed her hand upon the printlock and the interior hatch opened, she turned one more time to face Fran Conner.
She had no more words.
She turned and stepped through the hatch, pressed another printlock, and the outer hatch slipped away. Before she stepped onto the primary walk encircling the core, Lara heard a desperate voice over the RIF. She realized her ability to receive or transmit must have been lost while she was inside.
- “please, someone back there say something! Susan, Peter, Lara? Someone let us know what's happening. There's little time to …”
Lara recognized Anatoly's voice. “Yes, here. It's Lara. I'm here, Anatoly.”
- “yes! We didn't know what happened. Lara, where are you? What happened in the core? Are you with Susan and Peter?”
She hesitated. “It's over, Anatoly. I'm fine. It's over. There's no more danger.”
- “you're not quite correct on that,” Mifuro intervened. “Where are you now? Is Fran with you?”
“I'm just outside the core. Fran is dead.”
There were a few second
s of silence, then:
- “I see. You said it would be necessary, and we will have to trust that for now. And Susan and Peter?”
She walked swiftly back to the center of engineering, sensing dread in Mifuro's usually monotone voice. “What's wrong? Have you lost contact with them?”
- “yes, shortly after the explosion. Susan was trying to bring Peter to medpod, but we haven't heard from her since …”
Things fell swiftly into place for Lara. The explosion. She didn't know what caused it, but undoubtedly it must have been the same event that gave her the brief window of opportunity against the Fyal. As she rounded the bend toward the long engineering schematics board, she shouted into the RIF.
“Here. They're here!”
Indeed, Peter was lying motionless, arms extended, legs crossed awkwardly. Susan was trying to sit up against one of the corridor walls. Blood fell in a slow trickle from her head. Her RIF laid a few feet away.
“They're in bad shape, Mifuro.”
She ran over to Peter, placed a hand to his neck and felt for a pulse, then turned to Susan, who was shaking her head and blinking her eyes rapidly.
“What do I do? I need some help back here!”
- “help should be arriving any second. Listen closely, Lara. Things are happening quickly. A rescue ship has arrived, and its crew is heading your way. But we have another problem. The ship we first allowed into Andorran consists of soldiers who caused the explosion. We believe Boris may have been killed, and they are coming after the rest of us to do the same. When help arrives, you'll need to move swiftly. Anatoly and I are in the habitation sector now and will be waiting at the rescue ship. And one more thing: The Tubes are down. You'll have to get here the hard way.”
“I understand, Mifuro.” But she didn't. Not after what she just went through. Was it possible matters could get worse?
“I'll do everything I can.”
She turned to Susan, who seemed a bit more alert. Lara inspected the blow to the woman's head and realized perhaps the injury was not as catastrophic as she first thought. The cut near the top of the Carib woman's forehead did not seem large.
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