“Left.”
Vichy’s next. He’s got his lips pulled tight. His eyes narrow. The intensity of his gaze is such that, in that moment, it’s as though those arrows are all that exist anywhere in the entire universe.
Dante can feel sweat breaking out on her forehead. Not Vichy, please don’t let it be Vichy. She struggles not to swallow the lump rising in her throat at the thought of him being the traitor, but she can’t resist that physical response. Cap notices.
Vichy screws up his face. His nostrils flare slightly. With resignation, he contradicts the others, saying, “Right.”
The rest of the crew look to her for some kind of reaction, but Dante remains silent, keeping her gaze fixed, refusing to show any emotion either way. As Vichy’s left handed, his answer makes sense, but she hides her relief.
Benson stalls, reaching out and touching at the screen, tracing the outline of the arrows, running his fingers in one direction and then another.
<-=-=-=-=-=-
-=-=-=-=-=->
He nods, apparently satisfied with the conclusion he’s reached, and says, “Left.”
Dante turns to her commander, saying, “You too, Cap.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Cap says, “Right.”
He’s flippant. Quick. Overconfident. His attitude is incongruous with the moment. Everyone else is nervous. Is he bluffing? Putting up a front of bravado? Wanting to appear confident to dispel any doubts? Why did he rush his choice? It’s almost as though he’s enjoying this rather than feeling intimidated like the others.
Cap says, “This is one of those crazy optical illusions, right?” He’s seeking confirmation from Dante, but she refuses to be drawn into any discussion, not until everyone has answered. After a few seconds silence, he adds, “It’s one of those things that appears different to different people, huh?”
He’s guessing. Dante’s sure of it, but she doesn’t give anything away in her facial expression. No sooner has Cap spoken than his eyes dart across the crew, looking at Vichy, wanting to see his reaction to this choice. Vichy, though, is intent on watching Dante as she moves on, staring down Naz. She holds the flex out in front of Naz without saying anything in response to Cap.
“This is dumb,” Naz says, feeling the pressure of going last.
“Choose,” Dante says, avoiding any debate over either the illusion she’s chosen or the approach she’s taken. She glances at Cap, watching his facial expressions. He’s smiling, intent on watching Naz.
“No. I won’t do it,” Naz says. “You can’t make me choose. They’re both the same. This is stupid and you know it.”
“Choose,” Dante says with a little more conviction.
“We don’t even know if what you saw was real, right? This whole thing could be a bluff. They could be playing us, wanting us to turn against each other.”
Even though she wants to defend herself, Dante remains calm, pushing him to finish the test first, saying, “Choose.”
Naz is frustrated.
“Two arrows. That means there’s a 50/50 chance here, right? That’s dumb, really, really dumb. What the hell kind of test is this anyway?” He points at Dante, appealing to the others. “Can’t you see what she’s doing? Haven’t any of you figured out what’s actually going on here? We’re being set up!”
“Choose,” Vichy says before Dante can respond.
Naz wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He’s not happy.
“I don’t get it. Dante doesn’t have to do this stupid test. Doesn’t that strike you as strange? Who’s to say she’s not one of them? Can’t you see? She’s using this to set us against each other.”
“Choose,” Mags says.
“Do you trust her?” Naz asks, appealing to Mags and then to Zoe. “Really? Do you think this will actually work? The color thing didn’t. Even she doesn’t know if this will work. She could be wrong—again—and then what?”
Mac looks at him with eyes that pierce the soul. “Choose.”
“This is a witch hunt! Why not tie us to a pole and dunk us under water to see who drowns—because that’ll prove who’s innocent, right? If you float, you’re possessed.”
“Choose,” Zoe says, setting her hands on her hips.
For Dante, this is an opportunity to observe everyone in the group, watching their reactions, gauging their responses.
“What if I’m wrong?” Naz asks. “What then?” He turns to Cap. “What are you going to do? People make mistakes, you know. You can’t read too much into a single answer.”
“Choose,” Angel says.
Naz is bordering on hysterical. “She could be wrong about all of this. The aliens might have already figured this shit out and we’re chasing our tails for nothing. We don’t know. Don’t you get that? She doesn’t know. She’s guessing. Do you really want to trust your future to guesswork?”
“Choose,” Benson says.
“Fuck, I hate all this science bullshit,” Naz says, slamming his hand against the center console. “All these fucking mind games. Just tell me. Tell me what I’m supposed to fucking say.”
Cap says, “Come on, Naz. Make your choice.”
“Left, goddamn it. Left! The damned thing is longer when it’s pointing to the left. There. Are you happy now?”
Dante nods.
“Well?” Naz asks. “What am I?”
Dante can’t help herself. She doesn’t mean to be cruel, but she laughs, asking him, “Don’t you know?” Vichy laughs as well, not that he knows quite why Dante’s laughing. He appears caught up in the moment, feeling the sense of release breaking like a storm on a hot summer’s day. The others start to chuckle.
“What are you laughing at?” Naz asks, turning and addressing the group. “This isn’t funny.”
“No, it’s not,” Dante admits. “But it is revealing. You see, you weren’t being judged on your answer but on your reactions.”
“Fuck,” he says. “I’m fucked, ain’t I? Fucking overthinking shit again.”
Dante reaches out, squeezing his arm. “Relax. You’re human, okay? You know it. I know it. Now, they all know it.”
Naz sighs. He looks like he’s about to collapse.
Lies
“So who is it?” Mags asks.
“Who’s lying?” Zoe asks.
“Don’t assume it’s just one person,” Dante replies, thinking through the weight of her decision. She double-checks medical records, wanting to be absolutely sure before she says anything. She doesn’t like this. She doesn’t like the conclusion she’s been drawn to, but she has to make a decision. Maybe she’s right. Chances are, she’s wrong. Damn it. She wants to be right. All she knows is saying nothing is definitely wrong. For better or for worse, she has to tell the crew what she’s figured out.
“Vichy, Mac and Benson.” Dante pauses, seeing the hurt in Vichy’s eyes, knowing it’s only going to get worse. “Step away from Cap.”
Zoe’s eyes go wide. Her eyebrows raise in alarm.
“Wait a minute,” Angel says, coming to Cap’s defense before he can say anything. “You can’t be serious. This is Cap we’re talking about.”
Dante speaks with cold deliberation.
“You can stand there with him.”
Vichy and Benson look at each other.
“No,” Mags says, but not out of defiance so much as shock and disbelief.
“Me?” Cap says, pointing at himself. “You’re calling me out as one of them? That’s ridiculous.”
Dante fights to hide her trembling hands, balling them up into fists. She stares deep into his eyes, looking for any glimmer of the man she once knew.
“Are you sure about this?” Mags asks, appealing for reason.
“How can she be sure?” Naz says. “It’s just one question.”
“This is wrong,” Angel mumbles, taking her place by Cap’s side. “This is all so very wrong.”
“Explain yourself,” Cap says, addressing Dante and commanding authority. It’s an interesting tact
ic as it assumes he’s still in command, but the power dynamic has shifted in a way Dante’s sure he never expected, with the crew looking to her for direction.
“It’s fake,” she says, holding up the flex with the arrows on it. “It’s not an illusion. Both arrows are exactly the same length. There’s no right or wrong answer.”
Mags is confused. “You lied to us?”
“Of course, I lied. I told you I was going to lie, didn’t I?”
“But?” Zoe says, pointing at Cap. “If all this was fake, how do you know it’s him?”
“It wasn’t the answers I was looking at, it was your reasoning, your response, your emotions. I was looking for the internal conflict you felt at the prospect of getting this wrong.”
“And Cap?”
“Either he’s an alien or a psychopath—take your pick.”
“Wait a minute,” Cap says, shaking his head in disbelief. “So you have nothing to go on? No proof?”
Dante points at the rest of the crew. “They thought this was real, but you didn’t, did you? You knew it was fake all along. How? I’m betting you have access to our psych records. You knew this was a game. You knew there was no such illusion—that there’s no way to distinguish between whether someone is right or left handed. You knew I was faking it, but you didn’t understand why.
“You saw Vichy sweating over his answer because he’s left handed. He’s the only one that might see something different, but not you.
“And you knew I trust him. You knew I was relieved by his answer. As much as I tried to hide it, you could see it in my eyes.
“You were confused. You knew this was a sham, but you didn’t know what I was actually looking for. You wanted me to be relieved by your answer as well, only you were too quick. Why? There weren’t any real consequences for you because you’re not actually human.”
Cap smiles, nodding slightly as he says, “Nice try, but I am.”
“Oh, and we should just take your word for it?”
“What else do you have?” he replies. “You expect them to take your word for it that I’m not. I’m telling all of you, I am.”
“So why lie?” Benson asks. “Why act like you’re left handed?”
“I’m equally competent with both hands.”
“Maybe he’s ambidextrous,” Angel says, appealing to the crew.
“But he’s not,” Dante says, holding up a medical report on her flex. The text is far too small for anyone to read at more than a few feet, but no one questions the contents. “Not according to his preflight medical. If anything, Cap favors his right hand too much, especially when working with tools in a spacesuit.”
“Who doesn’t?” Cap asks, opening his hands and inviting a response, but he doesn’t seem to realize he’s contradicting himself.
“I don’t,” Vichy says, only his words are cold. He’s not buying Cap’s lighthearted banter.
Cap says, “Naz was right, you know. There’s a danger we’re reading too much into trivial, insignificant points.”
“On the contrary,” Dante says. “It’s those points that are the most telling. It’s those points at which you feel safe—hidden from sight. Those points are the most revealing.”
“You’ve got no evidence. No proof,” Cap says. “By your own admission, the test was fake. There were no right answers. No wrong answers. You can’t draw any conclusions from that.”
Dante says, “I can because you messed up. You got cocky.”
“That’s bullshit.” Cap points at Naz, wanting to bring him to his way of thinking. “What was the term you used? Witch hunt?”
Naz is quiet, which is unusual for him. He’s wary, unsure who to believe.
Dante says, “Cap’s been playing us all along. Think about it. Why would he abandon Angel on the surface? He wouldn’t.”
“Now, hang on,” Cap replies, pointing at Dante. “That was her delusion, not mine. It was her fantasy. I wasn’t even there. Not really.”
Dante ignores him, addressing Mags. “When Cap knocked on your door, I was shocked to see him standing there in his underwear, weren’t you? He barely seemed to realize he was wearing a torn, worn pair of underwear. Didn’t that strike you as strange? It was as though he didn’t realize it was inappropriate.”
Cap shakes his head in disbelief, muttering, “This is crazy.”
Mags isn’t convinced, but she steps back slightly, starting to doubt the man standing before her. Dante addresses her.
“Cap was intensely interested in hearing about your trip to Great Britain. At the time, I figured he was just being polite, but he was totally absorbed in hearing about life on another planet—Earth.”
“But why would he…” Benson stops mid-sentence.
“No. Go on,” Cap says, rolling his hand over, gesturing for him to continue. “What were you going to say?”
“Why would Cap bring me to you for a psych eval?”
Eyes dart between the crew, revealing their surprise at hearing this.
“You could see them,” Dante says. “He needed to discredit you. He needed to undermine you in our eyes—in my eyes. To sow doubts. To make you look psychotic.”
“This is ridiculous,” Cap says, appealing to the rest of the crew. “I can’t believe you’re listening to her. Ask yourself, why? Why do you believe her? Because she was the first one to cast an accusation? If I was first, would you believe me?”
“He’s right,” Angel says. “Think about it. Who stands to gain the most from discrediting Cap? It’s the aliens. Maybe she’s one of them. She’s the only one we haven’t actually tested.”
Mac addresses the crew, saying, “I served two missions with Cap. On the Virgil and the Acheron.”
“This isn’t Cap,” Dante says.
“I know Cap,” Mac replies, pointing at him. He pauses, jabbing at the air, fighting for the right words before settling on. “I trust him. I’d die for him.”
“But what if she’s right?” Zoe says, taking hold of Mac’s arm.
“What if she’s wrong?”
“Someone died down there,” Benson says. “Whoever that was, they’re trying to cover it up. They’re using that to get close to us. They’re learning. Each time, we lose a little more of our sanity. Soon, there won’t be any way to tell what’s real and what’s not.”
“Benson’s right,” Zoe says. “If we don’t figure this out now, we’re screwed.”
“But why Angel? Why single her out?” Mags asks. Ordinarily, that would be put down to their relationship, but Mags knows Dante well enough to realize something is horribly wrong.
Dante holds up her flex. Using her neural link, she signals for it to change to a single solid color.
“What color is this?” she asks, holding it at arm’s length before Angel. Everyone can see the thin plastic sheet. No one has any doubts about the color.
“Green,” Angel replies, smiling as she adds, “Bright green.”
Dante nods in agreement. She doesn’t look surprised by the answer—no one is. The sheet is almost fluorescent.
With ice in her veins, Dante asks Angel, “What’s Anomalous Trichromat Protanomaly?”
Angel is silent.
“Do you want to tell them or should I?”
Angel grits her teeth.
“She’s color blind,” Dante says.
“This is such bullshit,” Angel counters, but Dante cuts her off, determined to have her say.
“Oh, not completely. Angel’s not monochromatic. She’d have never made the flight crew if that was the case. No, for Angel—our Angel—reds appear burgundy. Blues are deeper, but they’re still blue. Even green looks different to red and blue, but bright greens—spring greens like this one—yeah, they look black.”
“It’s not what you think,” Angel says, protesting, appealing to the rest of the crew, but Mags cuts her off, saying what they’re all really thinking.
“Fuck.”
“Oh, yeah,” Dante says. “I figured her out first. She gave away Cap. Whe
n she joined him, defending him, I knew I had them both.”
“No, no, no,” Cap says. “This is all wrong.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Angel says, pleading with the others.
“Jesus,” Mac says, ignoring them. He runs his hands up through his hair, grabbing at his scalp. “This is fucked up.”
Vichy paces, raising his hands up by his head and muttering something in Italian, probably swear words. His eyes cast down, looking at his feet as he strides back and forth.
Benson turns, slamming his hand against the console and shaking his head in disbelief.
Cap looks genuinely surprised by Angel. Dante’s not sure if the others notice, but he appears confused by her. Although his head is facing forward, his eyes dart down and to the side, looking at Angel with a sense of curiosity.
“Cap. Please,” she whispers, sensing his reluctance, stepping closer to him and taking his arm. He seems genuinely conflicted.
Mags is oblivious to the interplay between them. She blurts out, “What the fuck, Cap?”
“Look, I’m the first to admit it,” he says, trying to calm everyone down. “This looks bad, right? I get that. But let’s not jump to conclusions.”
“No, let’s,” Benson says, shrugging his shoulders. “Come on. How are you going to explain this away?”
“I’m not a—”
“A what?” Benson asks. “An alien?”
Cap holds his hands out. “Everyone needs to calm down.”
“What about you, Angel?” Benson cocks his head sideways, seething with anger. “Are you one of them too?”
“Hey,” Cap says, coming to her defense. “Look, you’ve got to see this from her perspective. Of course, she knows she’s colorblind. Oh, she might not have the exact medical term rolling off her tongue, but she knows. Angel’s lived with this her whole life. And she knows what will happen if she guesses wrong. Can you imagine the pressure she felt under to look normal?”
He appeals to the crew, holding his hands out in a gesture of openness.
“If she guesses wrong, she gets crucified. So, yeah, she said what she thought Dante wanted to hear. Is that a crime? She’s trying her best to fit in and look like the rest of us—not because she’s an alien—because she’s different. Is that so bad?”
But The Stars Page 16
