by Amy Cross
I wait.
Nothing.
Keeping my back to the wall, I make my way slowly around the edge of the control room, while constantly looking all around in case I spot someone. I know there's a danger that I might be losing my mind, but at the same time I know what I heard. If I wasn't worried about embarrassing myself in front of Sutter, I'd call out and confront whoever's doing this, but I can't let myself seem crazy. I've only been here a week and I need to ensure that Sutter respects me.
"If you're worried about your mental state," our psych trainer told us back at the academy, "you're already halfway down the slippery slope. The only thing that can save you is hard work, so you need to busy yourself with a task. Idle minds become lazy minds, and lazy minds become trouble minds."
High above, there's a clanging sound, as if Sutter has dropped one of his tools again.
"Damn!" he exclaims, and I can hear him scrabbling around to find whatever he dropped.
Seconds later, there's a shuffling sound from the other side of the control room. I look over and realize that it seemed to come from my room. Once again, I know there's only one way in or out of that space, so I stare making my way over. My heart is racing, but I'm certain of one thing; if there's someone else on this station, I have to find out right now, because the alternative would be madness. I've always been a firm believer in facing problems head on, and this situation is no different. I scored highly on my psychiatric evaluations back at the academy, so I'm pretty sure I shouldn't have started to imagine things after only a week in deep space, which means...
I lean into my room and see that there's no-one there.
Pausing, I wait for another noise, but there's only the hum of the life-support system.
After a moment, I climb through the hatch. There's physically no way that someone could have been in here and then managed to get out without being seen. At the same time, it's such a cramped and tight space, it would be impossible for anyone to hide. Taking a couple of steps forward, I reach the porthole and stare out at the stars. After a moment, I spot my own reflection staring back at me with a pained, almost forlorn expression, and -
Suddenly I see her.
As well as my own reflection, the glass also shows another face, standing right behind me and staring straight into my eyes. I meet her gaze for a moment, and although I don't want to believe what I'm seeing, I finally realize that there can no longer be any doubt: it's Deborah Martinez. For a fraction of a second, I don't dare to turn around, but finally I force myself to look over my shoulder.
Nothing.
Still, I know what I saw.
I'm not -
Spotting something out of the corner of my eye, I turn to look at my bunk, and to my horror I see that the sheets are now covered in sheets of paper. Hurrying over, I kneel and see that dozens more diary pages have appeared. They weren't there a moment ago, and I have no idea where they came from, but as I start gathering them up in my trembling hands, I can't deny that they're here now.
Looking over my shoulder, I almost expect to see Deborah Martinez again. There's no sign of her, even though I know for certain that I spotted her reflection in the porthole. It's almost as if I saw a ghost.
Part Four
The Passenger
Chapter One
Sutter
"What the hell's going on down there?" I shout as I try to extricate myself from the narrow comm-link hatch. It sounds like there's a riot down in the control room, but before I can get down there I have to back out of the hatch slowly and then shift my weight over to the ladder.
Finally I'm able to lean out, and I realize that the noise is coming not from the control room but from Crizz's quarters.
"Hey!" I shout, climbing down the ladder as fast as possible. "Crizz! Talk to me! What's wrong?"
As I get to the floor, a piece of the bunk comes flying out from the next room before crashing down next to my feet. I pause for a moment, but seconds later Crizz lets out a scream and I realize that something's seriously wrong. Hurrying over, I'm about to lean through the hatch when another piece of the bunk comes straight toward me, narrowly missing my head as it glances against the wall and then thuds down to the floor.
"Crizz?" I continue, cautiously looking through and seeing that she's trying to rip another part of the bunk away. Figuring that it'll take her a few seconds before she's ready to launch another projectile through the air, I climb into the room and pull her back, and finally I see the crazed look in her eyes. It's immediately clear that something is seriously wrong; I've seen the same kind of look once before, many years ago when I was on Mars, and my heart sinks as I realize exactly what's wrong.
"She's in there!" she shouts, trying to get free so she can carry on destroying the bunk.
"What are you talking about?" I ask, struggling to keep hold of her.
"She's in there!" she shouts again. "She's in the wall!"
Shocked by the anger in her voice, I pull her back toward the hatch, but I don't quite know what I'm going to do with her. She's struggling in my arms and I'm not sure I can hold her for much longer, but finally I manage to pull her through into the control room; with no other options, I push her down onto the floor and then use my weight to hold her in place. She tries to break free, but this time I've got her firmly in place. Staring down at her flushed, tear-stained face, I realize that there can no longer be any doubt: she's in the grip of a full-on case of Hidden Eye Syndrome.
"She's hiding in the walls!" she shouts.
"Who?"
"Her!"
"Who?" I ask again, even though I'm pretty sure there can only be one answer.
"You know who!" she shouts. "You killed her!"
"What?"
"You killed her and now she's hiding in the walls!"
As she bucks and twists, trying to get free, I'm forced to hold her down with such force that I'm worried I might hurt her. Still, given her current state, I'm pretty sure she'd end up hurting herself if she got loose or, worse, she could put the entire station in danger.
"Calm down," I say firmly. "You're talking about Deborah Martinez, aren't you?"
She stares up at me with pure rage in her eyes.
"Crizz," I continue, "answer me. You're talking about Deborah. That's right, isn't it?"
"Why did you do it?" she asks, with tears flowing from her eyes.
"I didn't do anything," I tell her. "Her death was an accident."
"Then why's she still here?"
"Still here?" I pause for a moment as I try to work out what she means. "Crizz," I continue eventually, "you're not making sense. If she's dead, how can she still be here?"
"Because you murdered her!" she shouts. "She's haunting you!"
"No," I reply, shocked by the suggestion. "Crizz, I didn't do anything to her. It was an accident. I can show you the report logs from that day -"
"You've faked them," she continues, still trying to get free. "You're a liar! I saw her!"
"Saw her where?" I ask.
"She was right behind me," she explains, suddenly letting her body go limp. Staring up at me with red, teary eyes and a trembling bottom lip, she seems momentarily overcome by emotion. "I was looking out at the stars," she continues, "and I could see my own reflection, and then suddenly I saw another face behind me, and I felt her breath on my neck..." She pauses. "She was here. She was right here in the station. I swear to God, you have to have seen her..."
I stare down at Crizz's terrified face for a moment, and finally I realize that the Hidden Eye Syndrome must be completely separate from her other issues. It's natural for the human mind, when surrounded by the void of space, to fill that void with imagined creatures; this is an unusual manifestation of the condition, but there can be no doubt. Her mind is crumbling and, unless I administer treatment quickly, she's going to progress to the next stage of the illness. If that happens, there'll be no way to ever get her back.
"She's a ghost," she hisses, with tears streaming down her face. "You've seen
her. You have to have seen her. Please tell me you've seen her..."
"There's no ghost," I say firmly, even though I know that words alone won't be enough to help. "Crizz, Deborah Martinez is dead. She died in an accident, and she's gone. It's tragic, but there's no such thing as ghosts. You're..." I pause as I realize that simply telling her about her condition won't help. "I need you to calm down," I tell her, "and then I need you to let me help you. Do you think you can do that?"
"Why won't you believe me?" she whimpers.
"Because it's not possible," I reply, feeling her whole body trembling as I continue to hold her against the floor. "Come on, please... Don't tell me you believe in things like ghosts. Out here, in the outer reaches of known space, you can't seriously think the station is haunted. You have to accept the existence of the void, Crizz, and resist the temptation to fill it with childish fantasies about ghosts and aliens."
"Then how did I see her?" she continues. "And why did she give me her -"
I wait for her to continue, but she seems to have frozen up. She looks over at the far wall for a moment, then she quickly turns the other way. It's as if she can hear or see something, even though we're completely alone on the station.
"Why did she give you what?" I ask.
She turns and stares at me for a moment.
"Nothing," she says eventually.
"What did she give you?"
"Nothing," she whispers. "I think... I think I'm okay now. I don't know what happened, but I guess I just freaked out back there for a few minutes. Please, don't report me for this. If you tell them, they'll make me go back to the academy and they'll never let me come out to deep space again. Please, this was just a one-off. I'm not mad. I'm just adjusting to deep space, but I'll focus more on the mental exercises I was taught at the academy. You can trust me, I swear! I just... I just need to stay calm and focus on the... the... the"
I wait for her to finish, but once again her mind seems to have stalled.
"Crizz..." I start to say.
"I'm fine," she whispers. "I swear..."
I stare at her, and it's becoming increasingly clear that she has a bad case of Hidden Eye Syndrome. Fortunately, given the nature of her paranoid ramblings, I think there's a fair chance I can help her. I'll need to read up on the right procedure, but I'm hopeful that I can bring her around before she slips much further. Then again, given the unique nature of her mental state before she arrived here at the station, I have to at least consider the possibility that this is just a manifestation of her other problems. After all, she might not remember it yet, but Crizz knew Deborah Martinez once, long ago. They were even friends.
"If I let you up," I say calmly, "can you promise me that you won't cause any more damage? And that you'll let me help you?"
"I swear."
"If I have to," I continue, "I'll restrain you. I'm going to work out how to help with your problem, but I'll chain you to the goddamn wall if necessary. I'm not going to let you do anything that puts this vessel or our mission in danger. Do you understand?"
She nods.
Realizing that I need to at least give her a chance, I sit back and watch as she slowly gets to her feet. She seems nervous, and for a moment I'm worried that she might try to attack me, but finally she turns and picks up the section of her bunk that she ripped away a few minutes ago. Heading across to the other side of the control room, she picks up a few more pieces of debris. Like a child picking up toys after a tantrum, she seems to have run out of energy; unfortunately, I'm fully aware that she's no child. If her old fighting spirit is starting to show through, I could have real trouble controlling her.
"It's okay," I tell her. "You don't have to do that right now."
"I want to," she says, sounding completely deflated. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have reacted this way. I've caused so much damage. Please, don't report this to Supreme Command. They'll think I'm crazy and it'll end up on my permanent record. I'll be held back forever..."
I watch as she carries the broken pieces back to her room. She looks so dejected, and I want to tell her that her delusions might be fed by her blocked memories. Then again, she's in such an emotional state, I need to find a way to make sure nothing like this happens again. After all, if she'd planned ahead and attacked me before I became aware of what was happening, she could have taken complete control of the station.
As she climbs back through into her room, I glance over at the main console. I need to find a way to make sure Crizz doesn't suffer a complete mental breakdown.
Chapter Two
Crizz
It takes a while, and my trembling hands don't help, but I'm finally able to force the broken pieces of my bunk back into place. Although it's not a perfect job, it'll do for now, and after a few minutes I sit down and try to force myself to stop panicking.
I can hear Sutter in the control room. He's probably planning to send a message back to home-base, but maybe that would be a good thing. I'll tell them everything about Deborah Martinez, and I'll make them investigate her death properly.
Picking up the pile of diary pages, I realize that they're all in the wrong order. Leafing through them, I figure I might as well start reading them at random. The first few are pretty innocuous and seem to be from quite some time ago, but finally I come across one that piques my interest:
Sometimes I worry that Sutter has lost sight of the overall plan. He focuses on the details and forgets the sacrifices that need to be made. From time to time I'm forced to remind him, but I think he resents any suggestion that I don't have full faith in him. It's hard to know whether I can truly trust him.
Checking another page, I find an entry that seems to have been written a short while later:
Today I spoke to Sutter and asked him outright about his thoughts. He said all the right things, and I felt reassured after the conversation. Over the past few hours, he's seemed much more focused and communicative. Whatever thoughts were clouding his mind before, they seem to have been pushed aside. I reminded him that we only have a few more months to go before we put the next phase into action. He seemed sad, even though I told him to remember why we're doing this. It's the sadness, more than anything, that makes me doubt his resolve.
I have no idea what she means, but it's clear that she and Sutter had their own little drama going on while they were living and working together. I've always believed that it's wrong to mix personal relationships into this kind of mission, and these diary entries seem to be proving me right. Whatever was really going on out here, Martinez and Sutter definitely had problems, and I can't help but wonder if it was due to this relationship that Sutter eventually murdered her... and then she stayed here, haunting the station, hoping to make sure that someone would figure out that her death wasn't an accident.
It all makes sense. It's the only possibly explanation.
Chapter Three
Sutter
"This is one of the messages I hoped I'd never have to send," I say, keeping my voice low as I speak into the microphone. "After one week aboard the station, she appears to have developed a form of Hidden Eye Syndrome, possibly complicated by the nature of her mental block."
I pause for a moment as the gravity of the situation hits me. This is way out of my comfort zone, and potentially way out of my control. We planned this situation so carefully, but there was one thing we never even thought to consider: the possibility that she'd experience psychological problems. She always used to be so strong, it just didn't seem as if anything like this could happen.
"I've managed to calm her down," I continue, "and I'm hopeful that I can formulate a more effective response before too long. I want to emphasize that all is not lost here. The specific nature of her psychological state, particularly her suppressed memories, means that there's room for optimism. She claims to have seen the ghost of Deborah Martinez, which of course is impossible. Still, I'm worried that her genuine memories of Deborah might be coming to the surface in unusual ways. The situation needs to be managed pr
operly."
I pause again. I can hear Crizz moving about in her room, but so far she seems to be staying calm. Still, I'm on the alert in case she tries anything. It's clear that I can't trust her right now.
"I'm going to make sure she gets through this," I say finally. "Just be aware that this complication might make the project fall behind schedule. Think weeks rather than months, but still... We can't afford to take any risks. There are no short-cuts, but I'll be in touch with an update over the next few days. Please try not to panic, and trust me to make the right decisions."
After sending the message, I take a deep breath and try to work out what to do next. I just told the rest of the group to trust me, but now I need to follow through. Somehow, I have to take Crizz's crumbling mind and hold it together for long enough to ensure that she stays sane. And then I need to break it apart again, but this time in the right way.
Chapter Four
Crizz
I have to work carefully. If Sutter hears even the slightest noise, he'll come charging in to stop me and then I'll be in real trouble.
The main panel above my bunk comes away with surprising ease. All I have to do is force the edges of the unit out of its sockets, and I'm able to dismantle the housing that covers the local life-support unit. In some ways, it's kind of alarming to discover how easily I can gain access to such vital components, but I guess the stations weren't designed to withstand this kind of act. Right now, I could disconnect the life-support system that services this entire room; it wouldn't make much difference to the station as a whole, and Sutter would quickly find and fix the problem, but it would at least be a show of intent.
