by Joe Hart
And something connected in her mind like two copper wires fusing together.
She wet her lips, tearing her gaze from the carnage of his hands, and said, “Henry, tell me about the tunnel.”
Diver froze.
His right hand, which had been attacking his left, loosened. The tension in his shoulders slackened. He looked at her, and his mouth opened slightly like his jaw muscles had forgotten their function. She waited for him to speak.
His mouth opened wider, and something gurgled in his throat.
Gillian blinked, leaning forward. Listening.
He screamed.
It was so loud and sudden, she took an involuntary step back as the sound rang through the room. It was inhuman and guttural, an animal mimicking human grief, or anger.
She found her hands halfway to her ears, trying to block the sound out. Carson grasped her by the shoulder.
“That’s enough,” he said, and she nodded.
And still Diver screamed. It was as if his lungs’ volume was eternal. As she watched, he threaded a bloodied finger through one of the holes drilled in the glass and turned his hand flat. A second before he did it, she realized what was coming and tried to look away but was too slow.
Diver yanked his hand to the right, snapping his finger sideways at the second joint.
Carson pulled her from the room as Vasquez and another guard who had appeared out of nowhere shouldered past her.
The hallway air was clean and the most beautiful thing she had ever tasted, but the sound of Diver’s finger bone cracking replayed on a sickening loop in her mind.
She doubled over and vomited her breakfast on the nearest wall.
Diver still screamed, the alien noise flowing out of the cell like rancid water.
But above it was another sound, the steady clacking of train wheels on pitted rails.
And she remembered.
After another convulsion, she straightened, wiping weakly at her mouth.
“We shouldn’t have come down here. You’re pushing yourself,” Carson said, holding her arm.
She took two cleansing breaths in and swallowed acid. “I think I know what’s wrong with them.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
“I’m not sure I’m following you. What do you mean, addicted?”
Gillian glanced at Carson as they walked down the hallway of the crew-quarters level. The dining area had emptied since they’d left, a solitary man in a jumpsuit hunched over a bowl the only occupant. They’d passed two women leaving the elevator, the pair’s conversation ending the moment they had spotted Gillian and Carson.
Gillian looked behind them for a second time, ensuring they were alone, and said, “Diver looks like he has brain damage, right? Uncontrolled impulses, aggression, loss of language, but all of those could be extreme withdrawal from an addiction.”
“Addiction. You’re talking about shifting.”
“Exactly. You heard what Kenison said, and your buddy Vern down on the surface echoed him. Shifting is like being reborn. Beyond euphoric. You don’t think that could become addicting? And did you see how Diver reacted when I mentioned the tunnel?”
“Yeah, Mary Cranston said the same thing.”
“I think the tunnel is actually the teleportation chamber. It would look like a tunnel when you’re inside it.”
“We have the teleportation logs, though. Diver only shifted nine times. Cranston less than that. How would they become addicted with only a handful of shifts?”
“I have a theory, but I won’t know for sure until we go through his room.”
“This is it,” Carson said, slowing before a doorway near the very end of the hall. “Like I said, it’s been swept already. Everything they found was in the report.” He scanned his key card, and the door opened.
Inside was a room mirroring her own, except it had been stripped bare. The bed frame was a hollow skeleton, the closet doors open, revealing empty shelves. Even the air was devoid of any smell. She’d actually been expecting a degree of Diver’s pungency to be here as well.
They moved into the space, Carson staying closer to the door with his arms crossed, a contemplative expression on his face while she went to the bed frame and knelt beside it. Gillian ran her fingers along the exposed edges, tracing the smooth design of its angles. She lay flat on the floor, eyeing the area beneath the bed. No humps or gaps in the floor or the wall near the frame.
She stood, moved to the closet, and brushed her hands across the top of the door and down its juncture at the jamb.
“Gill, what the hell are you doing?”
“Looking.” She turned in a slow circle before stepping into the bathroom.
“Listen, I’m sorry about everything, I truly am. I want to make things right. Maybe you should rest and we can talk afterward.”
“I’m not losing it,” she said, looking first at the compact toilet before kneeling beside the sink. The screw in the panel slipped twice in her fingers, and she had to dry them of sweat before spinning it free.
“I didn’t say that,” Carson continued, coming closer. “But I don’t know what you’re looking for.”
The panel’s corner sprung free, and she pried the gap wider, seeing a glint of something white within. Her fingertips brushed it, and she yanked harder on the panel, a sharp cracking as it broke, letting her hand slide in farther. Then she drew it out, holding the key card up in front of Carson’s face.
“This. I was looking for this.”
They stood in a half circle around Ander’s desk looking down at the key. Gillian watched them from the corner of her eye. Carson was stoic, arms crossed, studying the key like it was a cell phone found deep in the ground in an archeological dig. Ander leaned heavily on the desk, his palms white from the pressure.
“It’s impossible,” Ander said for a second time since they’d showed him the key card.
“I’d say it’s anything but since it’s sitting there in front of us,” Gillian said.
“One key card and one key card only is distributed and coded to each person. Diver was carrying his when he was found in Ivan’s room.”
“And if someone loses their key card?”
“It’s electronically disabled and they’re issued another. And no one’s lost their key card.”
“But you have spares. Where are they?”
Ander eyed her, any of the connection they’d shared the night before seemingly forgotten, the hard-edged scientist back in full view. “In a safe place.”
“Show us.”
“Why?”
“Dr. Ander,” Carson said, finally looking up. “Please.”
Ander squinted and sighed resignedly. “This way,” he said, leading them out to the atrium in the hallway. Behind the desk was a doorway Ander scanned through, revealing three of the massive quantum computers, their black hides humming with reckoning melodies. Ander moved past them to a shelf holding an opaque box. He scanned his key across its face, and it opened.
The old man stared into the box for a drawn moment before shaking his head and holding it out as if it were a piece of rancid meat.
“There are three duplicates for each person on board the station,” he said, his voice diminished.
Carson took the box from him and tilted it so Gillian could see as well.
It was empty.
THIRTY-NINE
Gillian sat in one of the chairs around the conference table and chewed on her fingernail.
She had to consciously think the word “stop” before her mouth would obey. Her nails were fairly ragged where she’d gnawed at them coming off the hydros weeks before, but they were starting to grow back. All except the one she’d just been working on. It was almost down to the quick, the soft underskin beneath the nail exposed to the biting air.
And in that second, she wondered if she could make it to her room, dig out a pill from behind the sink panel, and get back here before the others arrived. Carson had gone to gather them from their various locations after asking her how s
he’d known to find Diver’s extra key card where she had.
Intuition, she’d said, and he had given her a look that was so frankly disbelieving she’d almost told him the truth.
Instead, she’d sat in the silent conference room chewing on her fingernail while her mind whirred through the notion that had grown from an inkling’s shadow. The graffiti she’d seen on the train the day Carson had appeared at her home with his offer came back to her again. She had thought it said, Saul Gone, but she’d misread it. The “a” in “Saul” hadn’t been an “a” at all. No, not an “a” . . . the idea was so strange, it was hard to shape into any semblance of reality. But there was no other possibility that made sense. She knew she was right.
And that’s what scared her the most.
The door opened, and she jumped. Easton grinned as he strode inside.
“Just me, Doc.”
“Sorry. Running on caffeine and nerves.”
He took a seat across from her. “No need to apologize. Beneath this calm exterior, I’m getting a little jumpy myself. Place is starting to feel off.”
“Starting?”
“Okay, it’s been giving me the heebs since we left the ship.”
She had to laugh.
“In fact,” he continued, “it would feel real good right now to get back on the ship, spin it around, and get the hell out of here.”
She opened her mouth to reply, when the door opened again and Carson appeared with Lien and Birk in tow. They greeted one another and found seats around the table as Leo entered the room.
“Lock that, will you, Leo?” Carson asked, and the physician twisted the manual lock. When they were all settled, he said, “There have been some developments. Gillian and I went to see Diver.”
While he relayed the events in the holding cell, Gillian found the rosary in her pocket and drew it out. After a brief hesitation, she looped it over her head and tucked it into the neck of her jumpsuit.
“So he’s nuttier than squirrel shit,” Easton said. “Thought we knew that.”
“There’s more,” Carson said, glancing at her. “Gill, want to take it from here?”
She stood, unable to keep herself still in the chair for another second, and paced partway across the room before turning around. “We found a key card that wasn’t issued to anyone hidden in Diver’s room. When we brought it to Ander, he said there are three backup keys for everyone on board the station in case they lose theirs. When we asked to see the backups, they were gone.”
“Gone?” Leo asked, sitting forward. “As in stolen?”
“Yeah.”
“What does this mean?” Lien asked.
“The key card we found in Diver’s room wasn’t registered to anyone, but it was activated. You could access nearly any door or checkpoint in the station with it.” She paused, wetting her lips. “And you could use it to teleport.”
There was a stunned silence as the others gazed at her.
“How many times had he shifted?” Easton asked.
“Two hundred and fifty-six.” She watched their reactions.
Shock.
Disbelief.
Horror.
“How could this have happened?” Lien asked.
“Someone took the keys and made them active. None of them were tied to crew profiles, and since that’s how any activity is tracked, they didn’t show up on the security or shifting logs,” Carson said.
“But why?” Birk said, speaking for the first time. “What purpose do these extra keys serve?”
“Shifting addiction. Multiple people have told us it’s like being reborn. And why wouldn’t it? In essence, you are. All of your atoms are freshly remade and reassembled from basic elements. You’re a brand-new person. It’s the ultimate high.” She continued to pace. “Whoever took the keys acted like a dealer, doling them out to crew members who wanted to shift recreationally. Who knows what they got in return. And everything was fine until Ivan Pendrake started sending concerning messages to control. He threatened the scheme and paid the price.”
“You’re saying Diver was sent by someone?” Leo asked.
“I don’t think Diver killed him at all.”
“What?” Even Carson was watching her now, head tilted to the side.
“I think Diver was the fall guy. Whoever the dealer is killed Pendrake and then locked Diver in the room with his body. Diver was so far beyond gone, he couldn’t explain what happened. And that’s why Pendrake’s body is missing—they figured Leo might eventually want to do his own autopsy and something would come to light. That’s also why Tinsel was killed.”
“They didn’t want to risk him catching wind of anything,” Easton said. “He would’ve shut this place down.”
“Exactly.”
“And they tried to frame you for his murder.”
She nodded. “Not to mention trying to kill me. Twice.”
“So who could it be?” Birk asked. “Who has the motivation to do this?”
“Kenison, right?” Leo asked. “He had Pendrake’s key. He took a quick exit when he realized you were still alive.”
“But if he had the anonymous key cards, why use his own, or Pendrake’s, for that matter?” Gillian said.
“I don’t think he killed himself anymore,” Carson said.
“Agreed. I think he was murdered. Kenison knew something was wrong here, and he might’ve been about to tell us. That’s why he’s dead.”
“So who else could it be?” Lien asked.
“Ander. It’s gotta be,” Easton said.
“I would’ve said that too a few days ago,” Gillian replied. “But I’m not so sure now. He has everything resting on this mission, and what he told me the other night . . . I have a hard time believing he’d do this.”
“Who had access to the keys?”
“Almost everyone. The security concerns weren’t aimed at personnel since the station crew went through a tough selection process and had rigorous training. Most of the checkpoints are for atmospheric precautions in case of an emergency breach. No one thought one of their own would turn on them.”
Everyone around the table seemed to recede inside themselves for a moment.
Lien glanced from face to face. “If this is true, what are the symptoms the crew are experiencing?”
And now to lay out her true theory. The moment of truth where everyone would absorb and accept it or reject it as insanity. She could hardly believe it herself, but there was nothing else that made sense. She stopped pacing and placed her hands on her chair back.
“The last decade of my life has been devoted to seeing what makes a person who they truly are,” she said, feeling the weight of her words, the flow of them siphoning from her innermost depths. “I’ve asked that question of myself a thousand times. What defines us? Our experiences. How we perceive and interact with the world.” She paused. “Our memories. Without those, the experiences mean nothing.” In her mind, she saw Kent smiling as they carried in boxes to their new home. Felt the excruciating sensation of birth, then the warmth of a new life in her arms. The rise and last fall of Kent’s chest beneath her palm. “We remember what makes us who we are.”
“What are you saying, Gill?” Carson asked gently.
She gathered herself, letting the past sink away. “Ander’s system is based on reaching absolute zero, the stopping of atoms’ movement so there’s no energy loss. Right?” Nods all around the table. “And from all our tests, there’s no physical damage to any of the people who have shifted. It’s something you said, Birk, no physical damage to the neurons. But what about metaphysical?”
Leo huffed a nervous laugh. “What are you talking about?”
“Can you measure emotion? Graph a memory?”
“Brain waves show a—” Lien began, but Gillian cut her off.
“A correlation with memory and emotion, but there’s no measuring the things that make us who we are. In my field, we know memory is located in the hippocampus or certain neurons fire when we feel love f
or someone, but we’ve never been able to gauge or count their essence, their energy. It was only on the way here I discovered a person needs to be engaged in the act of remembering to map the neurons associated with memory.” She looked at them all. “What I’m saying is, what if the energy loss isn’t physical from shifting? What if it’s being taken from who the people are? What if the loss of energy is their memories?”
The hum of the station was the only sound, its electronic blood flowing all around them.
“You’re talking about a soul,” Easton said.
Gillian frowned. “I don’t know, call it what you want. It explains the crew’s symptoms.”
“That’s . . . really far-fetched,” Carson said.
She shrugged. “You have another explanation?”
“That would mean a greater portion of the crew is lying to us about what they’re experiencing. And for what? Addiction? A high?” Carson acknowledged her with a tip of his head as she raised her eyebrows. “Okay, okay, point taken. But why didn’t this show up in the early trials on Earth?”
She shrugged. “Maybe the symptoms didn’t appear until much later. Maybe it’s the accumulation of shifting or the distance between the units that has something to do with it. I’m not sure.”
“So what if you’re right?” Lien asked. “How do we fix it?”
“We don’t.”
“We don’t?”
“How would you suggest fixing it? If I’m right, we’re dealing with something beyond our current scope of science, beyond what we understand. I can’t fix something I don’t understand. And besides, the people who are affected aren’t going to cooperate now. They’re not afraid like Kenison was. They’re addicted. Who knows what they’re capable of.”
“What are you suggesting we do, then?” Leo asked quietly.
Gillian looked at the floor before bringing her gaze back up to them all. “I think we should leave as soon as possible.”
“You want to leave?” Carson asked. “We’re closer to the truth now more than ever.”
“Which is why we need to go,” Gillian said. “You said it yourself, this would mean a majority of the crew is affected and lying about it. I’m guessing those missing key cards are stashed all over the station. And if they’re covering up two murders, what makes you think they’d have a problem covering up a few more?”
