The new sections contain a few other things—remotes attached to entertainment equipment, equipment that doesn't seem to work “although it might if we can find a good way to power the entire station,” my father says. “Maybe the entertainment programming is supposed to come from the damaged central area.”
I don't like having my father in the lounge at night. He's not methodical and he's given to supposition. I think supposition is deadly. Karl finds it fascinating, but he can separate out the supposition from fact.
I'm not sure some of the younger divers can. Although they occasionally find my father long-winded, they seem to like him. They may even admire him.
I don't ask anyone what they think of him, not that they'd give me an honest opinion. Everyone is aware that he is my father and that we aren't on the best of terms.
Indeed, everyone else talks to him more than I do.
Including Riya, who daily complains that we are wasting her time and money. From the moment we arrived, she wanted us to go into the Room and do nothing else.
Fortunately, Karl is in charge of this part of the mission, and Karl must talk to her, reminding her that caution is our byword, and even if we don't recover her father on this trip, the information we gather might make it possible to recover him on the next.
One night, she came to me to complain. I waved her off. “You gave me as much time as I needed,” I reminded her.
“Yes,” she said. “I gave you that, not him.”
“And I placed him in charge while we're at the station. I trust him.”
She glared at me. “I hope that trust isn't misplaced.”
So far, it doesn't seem misplaced. I approve of the way he's handling the team—dividing assignments based on experience and on interest. It soon becomes clear who likes going through debris-crowded destroyed habitats, and who prefers a minute exploration of the pristine edges of the station.
He has also kept track of the pilots—who handles the skip best in tight quarters and who is the most observant. And he hasn't lost track of the Room.
Once a week, he and I have gone around its exterior. The first time, we mapped it. The second time, we mapped again to see if it had expanded. The third, we just observed.
The station hasn't grown while we've been here. And we've seen nothing untoward about the Room, although on that first dive I was surprised to learn that the Room is encased on all sides.
For some reason, I thought part of it was open to space. I'm assuming that's because I saw the lights and they seemed to lead somewhere. And also, I'm sure I thought the Room had unlimited space because it has taken so many bodies.
When you peer through the main window, you can see none of those bodies. In fact, you can't even see the lights. It looks dark and empty, like the still-intact habitats.
Only when you shine a light inside, it disappears into the darkness. It does not reflect back at you.
My father claims to recognize all of this, which is making Karl grow more and more exasperated with him. At one point, in one of our nightly meetings, Karl snapped at him, “I asked you to tell us everything you knew about the Room.”
My father shrugged. “I have.”
“Yet each night, you have some new observation, some new memory.”
My father didn't seem perturbed at Karl's tone. “You think small details are important, things I noticed, but never really thought much about. So when I remember them, I tell you.”
Karl asked if there were other things like that which my father noted, things he wanted to tell us.
My father shrugged again. “I'm sure I'll remember when the time comes.”
Karl looked at me and caught me rolling my eyes. But I said nothing to him or my father. Karl asked to command this part of the mission because he believed my observations and judgments would be compromised.
He's only beginning to realize that my father's are as well.
* * * *
The readings have come back from the new habitats. They're composed of the same material as the rest of the station, only it isn't worn down by centuries. It does seem newer, just like the interior furniture does. A lot points to my father's theory—that the structure is being built new—but I am not sure how.
If the station is adding to itself over time, I'm not sure what materials it's using. My father seems ignorant of the law of matter conservation, so he thinks it is possible to create something from nothing. I've never seen that happen.
* * * *
Then, one night, I wake bolt upright on my bed, worried that the matter being used to make the new station comes from the bodies of the dead.
I have to do the calculations just to calm myself down. They show me that even with every part of a body being used, there isn't enough material.
Either the station has some kind of supply, something we don't recognize, or it is bringing matter in from elsewhere.
Or it isn't growing itself. It is revealing itself, as I feared.
And I find a lot of evidence to support that theory. At least, evidence that part of me wants to believe.
When we left the Dignity Vessel, we left one of our divers—Junior—inside. Because we were worried that he might still be alive but in some kind of time dilation, Karl and I went back to see if we could rescue him. Failing that, we hoped to find a way to help him die.
We learned that, indeed, Junior had gone through a time dilation, but not the kind we thought. He had aged so rapidly that the upper half of his body, still in its dive suit had mummified.
His waist and legs had only been dead for a day but his upper half, his torso and his face had been dead for centuries.
I find myself wondering if the station isn't going through the same sort of time split. Maybe the station is stuck in two different time frames. And like some stuck objects, it is slowly sliding out of whatever held it.
Which would explain how it “grew” each time my father had visited, and why the newer areas didn't seem to age. Maybe the time split here is the opposite of the one we'd found on the Dignity Vessel.
Instead of time progressing rapidly in the part we couldn't reach, it is progressing slowly there—or maybe not at all. Perhaps the parts of the station being revealed are in a section between time, between dimensions.
I'm no scientist, and I have no way to test my theories. I don't even want to mention them to Karl. He has enough to worry about.
I do mention one worry, however. I tell him it concerns me that the station expanded outward, and I make him promise no skip and no diver will travel to the outer edges.
I don't want another Junior. I don't want someone to get stuck between two times or two dimensions or two universes.
I want to be cautious and in this, as in everything else, Karl agrees.
* * * *
Everything seems to be going fine, and despite my discomfort, my mood has improved. The divers are enjoying their dives and no one has had a close call or been injured.
We're not lulled into complacency, however. We know that the worst part of the dive is ahead, and that it belongs to me.
I've been preparing, and not just in my visits to the Room. I've spent most of my free time examining Riya's device. I've run it through my computers, trying to find its origin, and cannot.
It is made of familiar materials, but they're grafted onto a center that I do not recognize or understand. The materials in that center aren't anything like what I found on the Dignity Vessel or here at the station, and for that I'm relieved.
It doesn't seem to do much when it turns on—I get a small energy spike, and lights run along the edges of the device. But I don't sense the bubble or see momentary shimmer or something that would imply an actual shield going around me.
But a lot of things work without being obvious. And I'm not testing the device in zero-G. I'm testing it in Earth Normal, in full environment. I don't want to test it outside the ship, lest I cause problems.
I wish I knew more about the device, but Riya can't tell me mu
ch. She says she got the shield through her father's connections.
She can tell me nothing else.
So I memorize the exterior dimensions of the Room, so that I can find the edges even if I can't see them. And I try to ignore the music in my head, which seems to grow each and every day.
Grow isn't exactly the right word. The music plays a little longer each time I “hear” it. It isn't louder or any more insistent. It's just harder to shut off.
I'm actually becoming used to it. In the past it would distract me and I would have to concentrate on anything outside myself while the voices sang. Now they're a background accompaniment, and I wonder if I would actually notice them if I weren't planning to go back inside the Room so soon.
The night before I go in, Karl calls me to his quarters. I haven't been up to them since I assigned them. I'm startled to see that he's blocked the view of the station, but has left the portals that open to the space views clear.
He's sitting near the clear portals, his back reflected in them. His eyes are wide, and for the first time since I've given him control, I worry that he's not up to it.
Something has unsettled him.
“You okay?” I ask as I sit across from him. My back is to the station. Although the portals are opaqued against it, I can feel it looming, almost as if it's a living entity, one that grows and changes and becomes something else.
“I'm a little uncomfortable,” he says and shifts in his seat as if to prove the remark. “I've put this conversation off too long.”
I stiffen. One of the risks of giving him control is that he would keep it, that he would make the mission—and in some ways, the ship—his. I trusted him not to do that, but that trust suddenly feels fragile.
“What's going on?” I ask, careful to keep my voice calm.
“I've been thinking a lot about tomorrow's dive,” he says. “I don't think you should do it.”
The words hang between us. I make myself breathe before responding.
“Have you seen something that makes the dive untenable?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “The dive is fine. I think we should go ahead with it. I just don't think you should be the one to go in.”
My face heats. “That's the whole point of this mission.”
“Going into the Room to recover Commander Trekov is the point of this mission—the central point, the one you and I agreed on. But this whole mission is larger than that, and we're learning some great things. We wouldn't have done that without you.”
He clearly planned that little speech. It sounds forced.
“Who'll go in?” I ask.
“Me,” he says.
“Alone?” The word squeaks out. I'm surprised and can no longer hide it.
“I have the most dive experience next to you,” he says.
“Actually, that's not true. Odette does.”
“All right, then,” he says. “You and I have the most diving experience on dangerous wrecks. She's spent the last fifteen years on tourist runs.”
“Like me,” I say softly.
“You haven't spent fifteen years at it, and if that were the only problem, I'd ignore it.”
I want to cross my arms and glare at him. But I don't. I put him in charge for a reason. I'm going to hear him out.
“So what are the other problems?” I ask.
He takes a deep breath. “Your father, for one.”
“I don't like him,” I say. “We have history. So what?”
“You have a shared history. And it has to do with the loss of your mother.” Karl folds his hands across his knee, then unfolds them. He's clearly nervous.
“We discussed this,” I say. “That's why you're in charge.”
“I know,” he says. “But that loss is significant. It caused the rift between you two and it changed both of your lives. I've heard your story about the Room and you were entranced by that place.”
“I was happy to get out,” I say, repeating what my father told me.
“But you went in willingly. What if the Room causes some kind of hypnosis? What if you're still susceptible to it? It's irresponsible to send you in on the first dive.”
I'm about to protest when I register the word “first.”
“You think there will be more than one dive?” I ask.
“There has to be,” he says. “We do it by the book. We map and observe and then we discuss. If we're going to remove something from the Room, we do so on the final dive.”
“So you want to do at least four dives,” I say.
He nods. “The problem is that we only have one device, so only one of us can go in at a time. You'll be looking for your mother. You know you will—”
I'm shaking my head, but deep down, I know he's right. Of course, I'll be looking for her. And for Commander Trekov, and the others trapped in that place.
“—and you won't be focused on the small but necessary details. I will. I've made a point of not looking at your mother's image or Commander Trekov's. Even if I see them, I won't recognize them. They'll be part of the entire package. I won't be tempted to move too quickly.”
I swallow hard. “Why not send someone else in? It's a risky mission. You're in charge. You should stay out here.”
“It is risky,” he says. “But you'll be out here. And if I can't survive with that device, no one else will be able to, either. So you'll abort and get everyone out of here.”
“We can make that decision together,” I say. “Send in another diver.”
“Who? Odette? Mikk? Who are you going to send in, knowing that most people who have gone inside that Room have died? Are you willing to risk their lives?”
I don't say anything. We both know that I wasn't willing when I hired them. I knew there was only one device and I would be the one to use it. Everyone else was brought in, initially, to help extract me from the Room, not to go in and explore.
“I'm not willing to risk yours either,” I say.
“You don't get a choice.” He's calmer now. His gaze meets mine. Those gray eyes reflect the darkness of the portals behind me. “You put me in charge.”
“But I still have the device,” I say. “And I'm not giving it to you.”
“No, you don't have it,” he says. “That's why I wanted to meet you here. I had it removed from your quarters.”
I feel so violated I have to prevent myself from lunging at him. No one goes in my cabin. No one even has access.
Except I gave him command. He has the codes.
He must have looked them up.
“I'm sorry,” he says.
My face is so hot that it feels inflamed. I'm gripping my chair, and it takes all of my energy to stay in one place. Fighting him will do neither of us any good.
In handing over command, I also gave him implicit rights to imprison me in my own ship. I'm not going to give him the satisfaction.
“You know this is the right decision,” he says.
I'm not going to acknowledge that.
“You're the one who taught me that emotion can be deadly to a dive,” he says.
I get up. I trust myself to walk to his door and to get out. But that's all I trust.
Still, I stop. “You will never violate the sanctity of my cabin again.”
He nods. “I'm sorry,” he says again. “I had Odette wear her recorders and keep them on. She knows if she touched anything other than the device I'll have her hide.”
It isn't the touching that bothers me. It's the entering.
That is my private space. No one else belongs in there.
My quarters are so private they almost feel like an extension of myself.
I don't say any more. I step into the hallway, wait until the door closes, and lean against the wall.
A part of my brain already acknowledges that his decision is sensible. I know that when I calm down, I'll agree. Four dives into the Room is actually the minimum for a dangerous area.
Not one, like I'd been planning.
I'd been thinking lik
e a survivor of a disaster, not like a wreck diver.
And Karl understands that.
He's protecting me from myself, yes, but more than that, he's doing his job.
He's making sure the mission is a success.
And I hate him for it.
* * * *
I insist on being in the skip the next morning. Karl lets me on board, but he won't let me pilot. I am strictly an observer.
Today's pilot is Roderick. Karl's diving partner—a misnomer, really, since Karl has to go in alone—is Mikk. I've brought my suit just in case, but Karl gave it a filthy look as I entered the skip.
He doesn't want me entertaining any thoughts of diving the Room. I'm along for two reasons: as a courtesy to me, and so that we don't have to explain our plan to my father or Riya.
They've proven more rigid than I could ever be. As time has progressed, they've complained more and more about the habitat dives. They want someone in the Room and they want it soon.
They don't even know we're going in today. In the last several meetings, Karl has left out the diving rosters and locations until my father was gone.
Karl thought I would object to keeping them in the dark about the Room dive. But I don't. I haven't liked the access he's given them from the beginning. That's more than I would have offered.
Roderick is good at flying the skip in enclosed spaces. We want the skip as close to the entry point as possible. That way, the divers don't have to cover a lot of known ground before going into the important part of the dive. It saves time and could save lives if someone got into trouble.
In this case, the skip would have go to into the destroyed habitats. It's not as dangerous as it sounds. Most of the debris has been cleared by time or by scavengers. Roderick flies with the portals closed, which makes me feel blind.
But he focuses on instruments, and he's so good with them that I don't complain. Not that I have any right to, anyway.
Because the distance between the Room and the Business is so short, Karl has already put on his suit. It's an upgrade from the days when we dove together, but it resembles the one he had before.
Karl likes redundant systems. His suit is expensive and a little bulky. It has an internal environmental system, like all suits, but it also has an external one.
Asimov's SF, April-May 2008 Page 32
