Walsh tapped the top of the instrument. “What was the atmospheric pressure? Once we got a few hundred yards in?”
Bergen shook his head. “That’s weird too. It was less at first. When the door first opened it went straight to 12. But the farther we went in, the closer it got to ideal—14.7 psi, which is what you’d expect at sea level, Earth. It’s stayed there since.”
Walsh narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like this. Someone’s in there. They know where we’re from. They’re turning on the lights, changing the gravity. What’s their angle? Why aren’t they coming forward?”
Gibbs offered, “Jane said they might be shy. They might be watching us.”
“Well, we just gave them one hell of a reality show,” Walsh muttered, glancing back at Jane and Varma.
Varma was zipping Jane into the sleeping bag attached to her seat. Jane’s eyes were closed.
Varma’s mouth was set in a line as she approached the group. “I’ve given her something for pain. She has a terrible headache—perhaps a migraine, though she has no history of them, not even of tension headaches. That’s all I can determine. I cannot find anything anomalous.”
“What’s she saying now?” Walsh prompted.
“Not much. I asked her what happened. She said she’s trying to figure that out. She seems reluctant to say more. She needs to sleep. In fact, we’re overdue for a sleep cycle, Commander.”
“I agree. Let’s get out of these suits, have a meal, get some rest. We’ll get back to it in nine hours.” Walsh rubbed a hand over his face. “Keep your nine mil close at hand.”
Bergen pushed himself into his seat and zipped up the sleeping tube. He turned his head to observe Jane sleeping. Now that everyone else was settling down for rest, he could have an unguarded moment, knowing the others couldn’t see him anymore.
Something had happened to her, but he didn’t have a clue what that might be. She’d been sort of entranced by the symbols on the wall, then she had just flipped out. That wasn’t like her at all. The entire journey, she’d been a rock—affable, even-tempered, kind. She had worked hard to keep the peace under incredibly difficult circumstances—and succeeded.
She’d only once shown any sign that the stress was getting to her. It had been shortly after getting a data stream from Houston about a month before, filled with personal emails, meant to be a morale booster. Within minutes of the download completing she had been silently crying and trying to hide it. It had kept happening. Frequently. For days. No one else had seemed to notice. He’d seen Varma talk to her once, but it hadn’t helped. He’d started to get angry that everyone was ignoring her suffering, or couldn’t see it, which seemed worse.
One day she had herself tucked into a little nook that she haunted, an electronic reader in hand. He’d been just a foot away, eating a meal, when something splashed on his face. He had been sure it wasn’t food because he hadn’t opened anything wet yet. He had looked up and realized that it had been a tear that had escaped her efforts of concealment.
He had three younger sisters. He’d observed his parents performing miracles with hugs when they were all small. He’d even stooped to it, himself, when desperate. So, it had gone against his better judgment, but he just couldn’t watch her struggle anymore.
He hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t wanted to draw unwanted attention. He had just pulled up close and wrapped his arms around her.
She had stiffened at first, then had melted into him, tucking her face into his chest, heaving soundless sobs. He had waited until she pulled away, murmuring apologies, but he hadn’t replied or even met her eyes. He hadn’t wanted to embarrass her. He had just moved away. It seemed to be what she had needed, because she hadn’t cried again after that.
5
Jane woke up groggy, strapped inside her sleeping bag. She jerked involuntarily when she remembered that this wasn’t just another artificially constructed day among the endless, monotonous hours of drifting through space. Something had finally happened. Everything had changed.
The others were going to want answers from her, but she didn’t know what to say. She felt their eyes on her from time to time. She feigned sleep and listened to them making plans.
They were hashing out how to proceed, based on the information gathered so far. Under most circumstances, the crew had been encouraged to openly discuss options for how to go about tasks or how to solve problems, though the final decision would always be in the hands of the team leader—in this case, Walsh.
Walsh was arguing in favor of going back into the Target wearing EMUs. That pretty much guaranteed Bergen would argue the opposing position. Bergen contended that would waste resources and limit their mobility. When Varma, Compton and Gibbs chimed in with Bergen, Walsh backed down and they agreed to go in unsuited.
The haze of pain had subsided while she slept, leaving her with a dull ache and a fairly clear memory of a surreal exchange. Could that actually have been telepathic communication? Or was it a hallucination? Had the confinement finally pushed her over the edge into madness? They’d coached them in Houston to be prepared for anything, but nothing could prepare someone for this.
She cataloged what she knew. The voice had sounded analytical, cold. Had she been sucked into a computer-simulated virtual environment? Something that tapped into the memory centers of the brain to pacify the user and get information?
She brooded over the memory that the voice had conjured. It had always been there, tugging at the corners of her mind, reminding her in quiet whispers how life should truly be. The three of them, as they had been before Australia, warm and loving, in a happy place. She’d never managed to fully recreate that feeling again.
She’d had something like it with Brian for a while, but career and work had come between them, driving the feeling away. There had been a time when Brian had argued that a baby would bring them closer, would give them a common goal. It hadn’t been a healthy solution for their relationship, but some part of her had longed for that kind of deeper bond. Brian had minimized her concerns about how it could impact her career, promised they would share the load, but as time had passed he had always been too stressed about his caseload or about vying to make partner to be able to realistically contemplate starting a family at any given time, until she had accepted that it would never happen. That was probably for the best, but it had left her adrift, cut off from the warmth she craved.
Why would the voice have reminded her of that, of her personal failure? Was that memory still seething so close to the surface that she had selected it herself? Had it been random, or had the voice chosen it, somehow knowing the effect it would have on her?
Layered over all of these questions was a sense of unease. There’d been a disquieting kind of pleasure in hearing the voice. It made her feel guilty, like she was a child who’d been tricked into taking candy from a stranger. It had inspired an ominous feeling—she’d sensed that the voice was leashed, and held terrible power.
She had so many questions and no answers. She peeked through her lashes at the others. Had any of them been touched by that disembodied voice in the same way? If they had, they weren’t fessing up. That actually seemed like a sound strategy for her, too. If it was real, it would try again. The voice had said as much.
With that thought, she set her teeth, released the harness and unzipped the sleeping bag. The movement drew their eyes, as she knew it would. They were gathering equipment. She’d have to hurry to catch up with their preparations.
“Good morning,” she said solemnly.
Varma pushed closer. “How are you feeling, now, Jane?”
“Better,” she hedged. “What’s the plan for today?” She met Walsh’s eye squarely.
“Exploration. We go further in.” He watched her warily.
She nodded. “I’ll be ready in moments. You should have woken me.” She pushed off for the food-storage locker.
Walsh’s next statement stopped her. “You and Varma are staying here.”
She gra
bbed the nearest handhold and twisted around. “What? You need me. I’m—”
“Varma has her orders. These are yours—tell her what happened in there yesterday.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “I’m fine!”
He held up a hand. “Save it. Gibbs will be taking pictures of any language or symbols we come across. They’ll download to your laptop automatically and you’ll be able to hear us over the two-way. Get your ducks in a row and you’ll join us tomorrow.” He turned away to check his gear. Everyone was wearing oxygen monitors and carried harnesses with emergency air supply, as well as packs holding a day’s worth of ready-to-eat rations, tools and instruments.
Walsh and the three other men slipped out shortly thereafter. She could hear their surprise as they dropped into the corridor below, their discussion of the fact that the gravity now approximated Earth’s gravity. Was that confirmation that the alien was still working to optimize conditions for them?
Jane bit her lip indecisively. Should she stop them? Varma closed the hatch, and the opportunity to speak up was gone.
Varma held out a two-way radio. Jane took it from her and began to prepare breakfast out of habit. She hadn’t expected to be left behind. She sipped lukewarm coffee from a pouch and waited for the scrambled eggs to rehydrate. If they didn’t need her to be there, why had they dragged her across half of the solar system? She opened her laptop and stifled the urge to slam it onto its velcro pad harder than necessary. She could have studied images on a laptop from the comfort of home.
Varma hovered nearby, clearly waiting for an opportunity to do an exam and ask a lot of questions. “Jane? We should talk about what happened yesterday,” Varma finally ventured.
At that moment, the first image from the day before came up on the screen. Jane inhaled sharply. Okay—she hadn’t imagined that. She could see the symbol for “open,” even in this format, as having depth and meaning, though her reaction wasn’t visceral this time, only simple comprehension. She swallowed thickly. Maybe she wasn’t nuts.
Varma eased closer and peered at the screen. “What is it about these symbols, Jane? They seem to affect you.”
“I—you don’t see it?”
“See what?”
“When I look at this symbol, it expands like a hologram. It relays information.”
“A hologram?” Varma indulged her by looking again, then shook her head. “So, at first you saw them as I do and then they changed?” Varma’s voice sounded a little too sympathetic for Jane’s comfort.
“I know my reaction must seem extreme.”
“You are under a lot of stress.”
Jane gritted her teeth. “I’m fine.”
Varma furrowed her brow. “Jane, you must know your guarded attitude is troubling. I would like to do a physical exam. Will you cooperate?”
Jane reluctantly closed the laptop. “Of course I will.”
She waited quietly while Varma took her pulse, tested her reflexes and other neurological signs, then asked a series of questions that were meant to determine mental status. She’d been through this exam before, several times. They all had.
When she was done, Varma turned to Jane, her fingers tapping the side of her laptop. “Your assessment is the same as it’s been for the last six months or more. You are mildly depressed, but show no other clinical signs of mental infirmity. Physically, you appear to be in good condition. I cannot explain what happened yesterday unless you divulge more.”
Jane blurted out, “Didn’t anyone else experience anything out of the ordinary? A buzzing sound inside their head?”
Varma was quizzical. “Buzzing? You spoke of bees yesterday. Why didn’t you say anything?”
Jane considered what to say. “At first I thought it was just nerves. But, it got stronger, building over time. When I deciphered the symbols, it suddenly became unbearable.”
Varma looked thoughtful. “And that is when you passed out. Have you experienced tinnitus before?”
“Tinnitus? No.”
Varma retrieved her otoscope, examined Jane’s ears at length, then pulled back. “It could be Meniere’s. That’s a disturbance in the inner ear. It can have sudden onset and lead to severe vertigo. Headaches are common with it, as well. It’s very treatable. Do you hear the buzzing now? Are you feeling dizzy or perceiving any hearing loss?”
“No. I feel fine.”
“It can be very intermittent. A year may pass between episodes or they can happen every day. Do you feel any pressure in either ear—now or yesterday?”
“None.”
“I wish I could perform an audiometric exam on you, but I don’t have the equipment. Stress is known to make tinnitus worse, though it doesn’t cause it.” She seemed vexed and stowed away the equipment as she continued, “Your passing out in that moment may have been simple orthostatic hypotension. More than eighty percent of long-flight astronauts experience it. I don’t know, Jane. It doesn’t fit well with one diagnosis and that makes me uneasy. Let’s cautiously watch this. You will tell me if you have any of these or any new symptoms, won’t you?”
Jane’s vision blurred. “Of course. Of course I will.” Perhaps Varma could understand if she told her the rest. She swallowed and blinked, then finally said, “I’m sorry. I’ll be more forthcoming in the future, I promise.”
Jane scooped cold scrambled eggs out of a pouch, but didn’t taste them. She was itching to get back into that ship. She didn’t want to stay cooped up in the capsule for another twenty-four hours, where she couldn’t see anything firsthand.
She resumed scrutinizing the symbols, concentrating on the images taken from the exterior of the storage crates with the granular contents. The cipher was elusive. She could almost see a hologram, but it was hovering just out of reach. It didn’t help that her mind kept wandering, going back to all the things the voice had said to her the day before.
“There is plentiful foodstuff, as you have already discovered.”
She blinked, stifling a startled gasp as the hologram sprang to life.
Nourishment, sustenance… palatable, appetizing… satiety… healthful, wholesome… aggregate, composite, blend.
She wrinkled her nose. The crates were filled with a nutritive food-base, a raw material used to manufacture food. The concept that formed in her mind was completely foreign. She was puzzling over that as she cleaned up the debris from breakfast, when the radio squawked. “Providence. Gibbs. Over.”
Varma picked up her two-way. “This is Providence. Over.”
“Just checking in. Did you get the pictures? Over.”
Jane picked up her own radio. “Yes, Ron. I’ve got eight new images. I need a little more context to be able to decipher them. I’d like to join you. Dr. Varma has determined there’s nothing seriously wrong with me. Over.”
Gibbs’s cheerful drawl came back, “Copy that, Jane. We’ll get back to you. Over.”
Moments later, the radio came back to life. “Providence, this is Walsh. We’re splitting into two teams. Gibbs and Compton are going back to get some extra shots for context and Bergen and I are going forward. Walsh out.”
“I could meet you—”
“Stay put, Holloway. Walsh out.”
Jane ground her teeth. Hiding in the capsule couldn’t protect her from what happened the day before, she was certain of that. Of course, they didn’t know that.
While she waited, she prepared a pack of things she’d need when she did go back in there, all the while ignoring Varma’s disapproving eyes on her. As she pulled an air canister out of its compartment, a delightfully dreamy drowsiness came over her. She blinked slowly, her limbs drifting around her, pleasantly thick and heavy.
Her heart started to pound.
She fought down panic and contemplated her options. She could try to resist. That hadn’t been an effective strategy the day before. It had only served to wear her down, exhausting her. She’d gotten next to nothing out of that interaction—certainly nothing that anyone would believe.
The hum had already begun. It was happening again.
She reminded herself that this was an opportunity to get answers. She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing deeply. The throbbing buzz grew stronger. Her thoughts slowed. She schooled herself to stop resisting, relax, stay in the moment…
She felt a surge of pleasure as awareness of a presence filled her mind.
She drowsily opened her eyes, back in Belize. “Hello?”
“Dr. Jane Holloway—you did not explain to the others about our arrangement.”
Jane snapped to alert. The voice sounded… pissed. Could a computer sound pissed? She slowly turned in a circle in the casita and forced her expression to be neutral, though it felt wooden and uneasy. “Hello? You haven’t told me your name—”
He interjected, sounding impatient, “I do not understand. This is vital information. You must make them aware.”
She shook her head. “They won’t believe me. They—I have no proof.”
She thought about what she was doing—producing virtual words from a virtual mouth—because her body was actually inside the Providence, unconscious, floating around, probably bumping into things. She sank onto the bed, suddenly unsure. “Maybe I am crazy.”
“Dr. Jane Holloway, there is an urgent matter to which you must attend. This is no time to indulge in delusional fantasies.”
She stood, wary. This bizarre interaction had a way of disarming her. She was forgetting how precarious their situation was, forgetting her normal caution, forgetting all the questions she needed to ask. “What?”
“I cannot protect them from peril. I have attempted containment and exclusion, but the controls are not responding as they should. The nature of the infestation disrupts the applicable neural-electric pathways. I am fixed, immutable. You are the only possible liaison. The others are not open to me. I cannot influence them. You and you alone must act.” The voice resonated with a note of hysteria.
[Confluence 01.0] Fluency Page 6
