by Joe Hart
Ander gazed down, hesitating before shaking it. He gave her a fleeting look she couldn’t read before he said to Carson, “You’re sure about this?”
“No. But we need to try every option.”
“Very well,” Ander said.
Gillian’s indignation at being discussed while standing right before them drained as Ander motioned to one of the couches. “I’ll bring up the necessary information,” he said.
Carson followed Gillian to the nearest seat as the doors in the right side of the room opened.
A man near their age emerged. He wore a pair of black slacks and a dress shirt, the sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up, exposing muscular forearms. He was clean-cut with dark hair trimmed close, a razor-line jaw, and eyes that were blue, sharpened points. Ander turned from the touchscreen he was working on, noticing the man moving toward them.
“Orrin, meet Commander Carson LeCroix and Dr. Gillian Ryan. This is my son, Orrin.”
Orrin stopped before them, shaking Carson’s hand first before gripping hers. A white threaded scar ran in front of his ear, disappearing into his hairline. Gillian recalled reading he had served overseas and seen direct action, receiving some kind of medal after coming home. She caught herself staring as he let go of her hand. “Good to meet you both, I—” Orrin said, something changing in his eyes as he looked at her. “Oh. You’re . . .”
“She’s here to be briefed on the situation,” Carson said before clearing his throat.
Orrin glanced from him back to her before nodding. “Of course.”
The huge flat screen lit up, a colorful line graph gracing its surface as they settled into their seats. “I won’t bore you with pretense, Doctor. Instead, I’ll get to the meat of it,” Ander said, moving to stand before them. “Every human being alive at this point is aware of the effects of rising pollution rates. Major cities that never dealt with smog before now have air-quality issues. Declining water conditions are on the rise, catastrophic storms are becoming more and more common, and the recorded species extinction has nearly tripled in the last decade alone.” He motioned at the screen. “These are the latest greenhouse-gas readouts released to the public from the Environmental Defense Organization, who did a two-year study in conjunction with NASA scientists. And these are the actual results.”
Ander touched the screen in its center. The chart changed, the central column doubling from its prior position.
“In a word, their findings are devastating. The Earth’s temperature increased one degree Fahrenheit in the twentieth century, which has caused monumental environmental problems, but I’m afraid it is nothing compared to what’s coming. The study projects that within the next one hundred twenty years, the global temperature will rise another three degrees. To put it into context, the last ice age was only five degrees cooler than Earth’s current temperature.”
Gillian felt her brow crease. “What about the advancements in clean energy production? The last reports I heard—”
“Were purposefully inflated,” Orrin broke in. He smiled sadly. “Too little too late, I’m afraid.”
“But it has to have made a difference.”
“Not nearly enough,” Ander said, tapping the screen again. It changed to a time-plot line graph. “By the year 2135, the polar ice caps will not only be gone, but the sea will have begun to evaporate faster than the normal water cycle, causing increase in droughts, disease, disruptions in the food supply chains.” He paused. “It will be the beginning of the end of life on Earth as we know it.”
Gillian blinked, trying to absorb the information, but it was too large for her to fathom. “What are you saying? There’s no hope?” She looked to Carson, whose mouth was a bloodless line.
Ander frowned. “There’s always a chance that some other type of technology will be developed to battle the catastrophe but so far every advancement has been a failure. Partially this is due to the fact that the pollution accruement is still picking up speed from past years. Imagine a person trying to stop a semitruck that’s rolling downhill by grabbing the rear bumper and digging their heels in. That’s what the attempts have been like so far.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “What does all this have to do with your breakthrough? Why are we here?”
“Terraforming.”
“Terraforming? You mean Mars? What—”
But the pieces were already connecting, forming a picture she could barely conceive, let alone put words to. “We’re abandoning Earth,” she managed finally, looking at Carson, who blinked once before training his eyes at the floor. “The teleportation is for when the terraforming is finished, isn’t it? To mass transit the human population to Mars.”
“You’re headed in the right direction,” Ander said, touching the screen again, and red light flooded the room. A single orb of bright crimson shone on the screen, its molten surface undulating. “This is Proxima Centauri, a red dwarf star, part of the Alpha Centauri system 4.2 light-years away from Earth. In early 2016, astronomers in South America confirmed the existence of an Earth-like exoplanet orbiting Proxima Centauri. The distance of orbit and all recorded conditions surrounding the discovery pointed to the possibility that this planet, Proxima b, could harbor liquid water, and potentially life.” Ander ran a hand through his unruly hair. “Mars is an inhospitable planet. There are traces of liquid water, but it is briny. The temperature swings between day and night are extreme. In other words, Mars is not our destination. It is our testing grounds.”
“There are three biospheres operating right now on the surface of Mars,” Orrin said from beside her. His voice was quiet, almost airy. “The experiments in terraforming have gone well. That was the purpose for the station’s positioning: to see if we could establish atmosphere and life in the harshest conditions away from available resources.”
Anders nodded.
“So we’re not moving to Mars when we leave Earth,” she said slowly.
“No. We’re going there,” Carson said, gazing at the screen. “Proxima b. There’s a very good possibility that there’s water, breathable air, maybe even consumable flora and fauna. It’s our first option, and Mars is our second. Maybe we will live on both, but Mars is not ideal.”
Dead silence settled over the room while Gillian tried to absorb everything, but the knowledge was overwhelming. She swallowed, wondering if she was going to be sick.
“It’s a lot to take in,” Carson said. “The crew on the station as well as the ship was handpicked and is under strict confidential parameters agreed upon by the UN. This is a global initiative. Every major nation is on board.”
“Self-assembling equipment and some of the most cutting-edge biotech is on its way to Proxima b now, traveling on solar sails at seventy percent the speed of light,” Ander said. “Any ship that was already assembled would take three to four times as long to reach the destination.”
“And one of your machines will be created along with it,” Gillian said. “You’re going to teleport people from Earth to the ship.”
“Yes. All in due course. When the ship and machine have successfully assembled, a brave explorer will be sent via shifting. They will collect data and send a message home to be analyzed. This will take quite some time because even light, which is how we transmit and shift, takes over four years to travel the distance to Proxima b.”
“When was the equipment launched?”
Ander smiled. “Over two years ago.”
“And people know nothing about this?” Gillian said.
“No one outside the mission was told because of the emotions you’re feeling right now,” Ander said, coming closer. “Devastation, panic, depression. We needed an answer to the problem before we laid waste to people’s hope.” His gaze fell to the floor. “That is what we’re working for now. Hope.”
“But you’re concerned there’s something wrong with the shifting.”
Ander and Orrin both stiffened, and Carson gave her a sharp glance. “We’re not completely sure this affliction is
being caused by shifting,” Ander said. “But admittedly the correlation is troubling. Nearly thirty percent of the crew who’ve shifted have reported symptoms, though all CAT scans and MRIs have come back without anomalies.”
“Do you think it could be Losian’s, Doctor?” Orrin asked quietly.
“It’s possible, but group onset has never been recorded before. Only neural testing could determine what’s happening to them,” Gillian said.
“Yes, well,” Ander said, “regardless of what it is, you’re right, Dr. Ryan, we can’t proceed with trials any further until we’ve found the cause and addressed it.” He appraised her. “Are you still up to the task given the . . . situation?”
She met his gaze. Held it. “Yes. I’ll have to be.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
“I’ll get release forms signed by all the crew who are willing to undergo the tests,” Carson said as they left Ander’s quarters and passed the desk outside.
“Good. I’ll need a dedicated lab and Birk.” Gillian frowned. “If he’s willing.”
“Maybe Leo should stop by and give you another exam. Make sure—”
“He checked me after the withdrawals. I’m okay.”
He was quiet for a moment. “You’ll need to be under lockdown whenever you’re not in the lab.”
“Didn’t expect anything less.” She noticed him glancing at her as the elevator traveled quickly downward to the floor where her room was located.
As they stepped into the hall, Carson motioned to Vasquez. “Go ahead and get yourself a coffee.”
Vasquez’s eyebrows rose in a question, and Carson nodded.
“Yes, sir,” Vasquez said, giving Gillian a last look before striding away.
They walked in the opposite direction toward her room, her cell.
“You know I don’t have a choice,” he said after a long silence.
“Can’t jeopardize your new command.”
His jaw tightened, and he said nothing more as they stopped at her door. He scanned the room open, and she stepped inside.
“I’ll let you know when everything’s ready,” he said, beginning to turn away.
“Carson?”
He stopped, his hand on the doorframe, not looking at her.
“Thank you.”
The barest of nods and he was gone, the door sliding shut.
And she was alone again.
The need for a hydro came as she rose from sleep. Deeper than lust. The thought of swallowing a pill was like the slow lead-up to an orgasm, sensuous and hypnotizing.
As she sat up on the bed, the craving lessened. She was free of the drug. It was over, and the thought of descending into the vicious addictive circle again was chilling. Not because she feared the drug and what it would do to her, but because of how much she wanted it.
Gillian showered, washing the thoughts away along with the sweat and grime. She had no idea what hour it was, what day. Time was an alien thing in the red light of Mars. Something belonging to work and school schedules, bedtimes, and alarms.
Here there was only the pull of sleep, exhaustion the hands of a clock she couldn’t see.
When she was finished, she left the bathroom and dressed in a clean jumpsuit. As she was combing her hair with her fingers, a knock came from the door, and a second later it slid aside, revealing Orrin Ander.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Orrin said as she zipped the jumpsuit the rest of the way up to her throat. “Commander LeCroix was indisposed, so he asked me to escort you to the lab. I’ll . . . I’ll wait outside.”
The door hissed shut, and she stared at it for a moment before tying her hair in a tight knot atop her head. When she was ready, she knocked on the door, and it moved aside. Only Orrin waited in the hallway.
“I apologize. I should’ve waited longer before walking in,” he said. His voice had the same airy quality she’d noticed before. “They told me you’d be ready.”
“It’s okay. Surprised me, that’s all.”
They walked down the hall, passing several people heading in the opposite direction. They greeted Orrin, and Gillian could feel their eyes linger on her. As they neared the first checkpoint and Orrin scanned through, he tilted his head back the way they’d come. “They looked at me the same way for the first month. Not an astronaut, so I’m an outsider.”
“Guessing you weren’t accused of murder.”
Orrin grimaced and began walking again.
After they’d entered an elevator, her eyes stole to the scarring on the side of his head again. It was deeply ingrained in the skin, a lightning bolt of puckered flesh. He glanced at her, and she looked away.
“So if you’re not an astronaut, then what are you?” she asked, trying to break the awkwardness.
“I’m the great Eric Ander’s son,” he said, half a smile pulling at his lips.
“Just along for the ride?”
“Robotics, actually. Operation mostly, but I’ve done some design too.”
“You’ve worked down on the surface, I take it?”
“Not extensively. Ran some sample-collection studies when we first got here.”
“So I assume you’ve shifted?”
He nodded. “A few times.”
“What’s it like?”
“Honestly? Scary as hell. Not my favorite thing to do. Don’t tell Dad, though.” He gave her another smile. “I used the transport ships whenever I could instead. Of course, that was before everything . . .” His voice trailed off, and she was about to ask him another question when the elevator door slid open.
Orrin led her down a short corridor lined with windows gazing out onto the staggering drop below, the planet there in livid glory. The view told her they were on the level below Ander’s office.
Through another doorway, and then they stood in an alcove outside a glassed-in area with banks of touchscreens as well as two reclining chairs that reminded her of the last time she’d taken Carrie to the dentist. Birk stood in the middle of the room near a counter filled with their equipment from the ship. He looked up at the sound of them entering the room.
“Doctor.” There was nothing in Birk’s voice she could identify. No relief, no disdain.
“Hi.” She glanced at Orrin, who remained slightly to one side of the door. Birk resumed setting up their work space as she neared.
“Quite the leap. From rats to human beings inside two months.”
“Birk, I . . .” She struggled. “Thank you for helping.”
The big man paused and jerked his head once. “It is why I’m here.”
“You know what I mean.” She placed her hand over his as he reached for a length of rubber tubing.
He stared at their hands. “You could have been honest with me from the beginning. You should have. I am owed that much respect.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s so . . .” She sighed. “So hard to ask for help. And when you decide to, sometimes it feels like it’s already too late.”
“I can understand that,” he said after a pause. When he brought his eyes up to hers, his gaze had changed. “I believe you, Doctor,” he said in such a low voice she barely heard him. “I don’t know what is happening, but it is not what it appears.”
A feeling equal parts elation and unease passed through her. She was about to respond when the door to the lab opened.
Carson strode inside with Ander close behind him. Carson looked as if he hadn’t slept, and Ander appeared to be wearing the same clothes as the last time she’d seen him.
“Everything ready?” Carson asked.
Gillian cleared her throat. “Yeah. We’re good.”
“Okay. Let’s get started.”
The biologist’s name was Dennis Kenison. He was short and thin with a drastically receding hairline. A cord hung around his neck with a pair of glasses attached to the end he couldn’t stop fidgeting with. He lingered in the doorway of the lab, looking at them each in turn before smiling at Orrin, who shook his hand warmly. After they’d greeted each other, Kenison�
��s attention came back to the pedestal seat Gillian had arranged beside their equipment.
“Go ahead, Dennis,” Ander said, patting the man on the shoulder.
Kenison hesitated, throwing another look at her. She didn’t blame him for faltering; everyone on the station was aware of the accusations surrounding her.
She smiled as warmly as she could as he approached. “Hello, Doctor. Thank you for agreeing to see us.”
He nodded, sitting quickly in the chair as she took a seat beside him. This close, she could see his eyes were watery, and there was something swimming in their depths as he continued to glance around. Fear. He was terrified.
“So what exactly does this all entail?” Kenison said, his voice a reedy reflection of his appearance. “Some kind of brain scan, but what else?”
“First I’d like to ask you some questions. Then we’ll be inserting a small cranial port before proceeding with the neurological analysis,” Gillian said, pressing the “Audio Record” button on the nearest tablet. “What’s your job here, Doctor?”
“Anatomic botany mostly. I study the plants’ structure from the biospheres, make sure there’s no mutations. No growth inhibitors or nutrient deficiencies.”
“And you came here on the first flight?”
“Yes. Before the station was even fully assembled,” he said, gesturing at the room around them.
“When was the first time you shifted?”
Kenison squirmed in the chair. “Two months after the initial biosphere was sealed. I . . .” He looked at Ander before continuing. “I went from here down to the surface.”
Gillian watched him. “How did it feel?”
“Like . . . like being born.”
“Born? What do you mean?”
He cleared his throat. “You ever get a great night’s sleep, like beyond restful, and you feel almost like a different person than you did when you went to bed? It’s like that but tenfold. Pure elation.”
“And how many times did you shift overall?”
“Six.”
“When did you start noticing something was wrong?”
“The second or third time.” He was silent for a moment, the only sound the clicking of his glasses as his hands worked. “Had a nagging sensation in the back of my mind. Like when you leave the grocery store and just know you’ve forgotten something.”
