by Dom Testa
“Incredible,” Gap said. “Now the question is: Where did they go?”
“And that’s something we can’t answer,” Roc said. “The word ‘infinite’ might get thrown around a lot, but in this case the possibilities are truly infinite. Scientists have always believed that wormholes could exist, but until now it’s been pure speculation. For instance, it’s always been assumed that the heart of a massive black hole contained a wormhole.”
Mira nodded. “My aunt did a lot of research in that area, which is why I’m so fascinated by them. She believed that there might be two kinds of wormholes: those that connected one point of the universe to another, and those that connected to another universe altogether.” She winked at Gap. “Those were always my favorites: doorways into completely different universes. But my aunt thought that the most likely answer was that they simply bent time and space within our own universe, and acted like shortcuts to get from one side to the other.”
“And,” Roc said, “if the vultures’ creators have learned how to manipulate that power through the use of dark energy, then they would be free to move about wherever—and whenever—they liked.”
Gap rubbed his forehead. “I agree that this is all fascinating, but we’re going to have to figure out how it affects us right now.”
Roc said, “I agree. But there’s more to it than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“We have to not only figure out how it affects us now,” the computer said, “but remember that if the vultures left us this easily, they could just as easily return. With help.”
* * *
Was it possible to cry yourself out? Could you break down and weep to the point where your body couldn’t supply a single additional tear? Channy lay on her bed and wondered if this sudden dry spell simply meant that she had expelled every possible tear in the last hour. Her eyes were killing her, and she felt more drained from the crying than from any of the most strenuous workouts she had subjected herself to.
A few minutes earlier she had been thrown to the floor, the lights briefly flickered out, and she had felt a wave of nausea. She decided that it must have something to do with the vultures, but she was in no position to call Triana—or anyone else on the Council, for that matter—to get more details.
She was alone, thankful that Kylie was out with friends. Her pillow was damp, so she turned it over and plopped back down, then stared at the ceiling. Her mind had raced out of control since Taresh had left the Rec Room, investigating every possible course of action: talk to him again, avoid him, reason with him, act depressed and hope that he felt sorry for her, act happy and make him long to be with her, surround herself with friends, keep to herself for a while, laugh, cry …
Now, during what she assumed must be a recovery break for her nervous system, she began to relive all of their encounters over the past few weeks. She tried to imagine how things would have turned out differently if she had only …
But that was nonsense, and she knew it. Things hadn’t turned out differently, and it was insane to keep drifting into a fantasy world where everything was rosy.
And then, seemingly out of nowhere, her mind summoned a vision of her older sister, D’Audra. Vivacious and active, D’Audra had always been an inspiration and role model for Channy during their childhood in England. A bizarre accident had paralyzed D’Audra, and her little sis had watched in admiration as she toiled every day to rehab her injured spine, to the point that she could finally take steps again. She had been determined to work even harder and make a full recovery, even after the doctors had sadly shaken their heads and murmured things such as “no hope,” and “never walk again.” D’Audra had surprised them all.
Except Channy. She believed that her sister could overcome anything, especially following a heart-to-heart talk they had shared late one night, just one week after the accident.
They were alone in D’Audra’s room at the hospital. Their mother had stepped out to talk with the nurses, and Channy had started to sob at her sister’s bedside. “It’s my fault,” she said. “I made you go to the swimming hole; you never would have slipped and fallen if it hadn’t been for me. The doctors say you might never walk again, and it’s all my fault.”
“Hush,” D’Audra said. “That’s nonsense. We both wanted to go, and I was having as much fun as you were. This was just an accident, Channy. And besides, of course I’ll walk again.”
Channy stared at her with red-rimmed eyes. “I don’t know if I could be as brave as you are. How do you do it?”
D’Audra smiled. “You accept.”
A puzzled look crossed Channy’s face. “What do you mean? If you accept what the doctors say—”
“No,” D’Audra said. “I accept what has happened, not what others think is going to happen.” She stroked her younger sister’s arm. “See, many people rage against what has happened to them, and refuse to accept it or believe it. They relive things over and over again, hoping they can somehow change what has happened. But you can’t do that, and to spend so much of your life hoping that the past can somehow magically change only robs you of spirit.
“So I accept what has happened to me. I’m at peace with what fate has thrown at me. But I have some say in what happens from now on; I decide whether I live with the current consequences, or work to shape them my own way.”
Channy placed a hand over her sister’s. “You accept the past, and shape the future.”
“That’s right,” D’Audra said. “Crying over the past doesn’t make it go away, and it doesn’t fix what has broken. Instead, focus on where you are now, and what you can do to make things better.”
Now, years later, Channy stared at the ceiling in her room on Galahad and remembered that conversation as if it had just taken place. She thought about her sister’s attitude, about how it might pertain to her own situation.
She couldn’t affect Taresh’s decision; she couldn’t magically transport back to their meetings and somehow alter what had taken place.
But she could accept his decision and be at peace with it. Who knew what the future might bring for them? They might never be together … or they might be.
In an instant she felt a calm sensation sweep over her. Her feelings for Taresh would not change, and she was glad; they felt good, and made her feel good about herself. She would dry her tears, accept what had happened, and look forward to what might come tomorrow. Perhaps their final chapter had yet to be written, but in the meantime she would go back to enjoying life.
She pushed herself up and sat on the edge of her bed. Wiping away the last remaining tear on her chin, she stared into space and thought about D’Audra again. Somewhere, billions of miles away, her sister was more than likely smiling … and walking.
Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of Triana’s voice on the intercom. “All Council members report to Sick House immediately. Repeat, all Council members to Sick House.”
* * *
They had barely lifted Alexa onto the bed in the hospital ward of Sick House when the space-time warp had rocked the ship. Triana, Lita, and all four of the crew members assisting them had fallen onto the floor, dazed.
Now, with their recovery complete, and the call put out to the other Council members, Triana and Lita embraced and wept. As much as she felt that she needed to be with Lita at this moment, Triana also knew that her position as Council Leader demanded that she investigate the cause of the powerful jolt.
She moved into the next room and sat at Lita’s desk. For the next two minutes she heard Roc’s explanation of the vultures and the wormhole they had created. She asked questions, but there were few answers so far. What they did know was that the vulture in Sick House was destroyed, and the other six had vanished.
Triana’s gaze unconsciously roamed about the room as she listened, until it settled upon Alexa’s desk. She felt her lip tremble, and another sob choked from her.
The door from the corridor opened and Channy took a few steps in. She stopped whe
n she saw Triana, and looked to the floor. Triana sat still, her hands in her lap, and waited. Channy took a few more steps into the room, and appeared about to speak when the door opened again and Gap rushed inside.
He stood next to Channy, out of breath from his sprint from the Spider bay, and said to Triana: “What happened? Is everyone okay?”
The question caused another tear to slip down Triana’s face. She wiped it away and tried to collect herself. “We’ll wait for Bon. He should be here any minute, I hope.” She made eye contact with Gap, who studied her face. Channy, whose own eyes seemed raw from crying, seemed to visibly weaken, as if she anticipated the news.
Lita joined them, wiping at her eyes. At that moment the door opened again, and Bon crept inside. He took one look at Lita and Triana and fell back against the wall.
“No,” he said. “No.”
Triana stood, and, with Lita, walked over to join the other Council members. She looked each of them in the eye, and said softly: “Alexa is dead.”
23
Channy let out a wail, her face contorted in pain. Gap, still visibly stunned, automatically wrapped one arm around her and pulled her in close. He looked at Triana and Lita and extended his other arm. They stepped up to him, and the four Council members embraced, sobbing.
“She suffocated,” Lita said. “By the time we cut that thing away, Alexa was gone. I couldn’t bring her back.”
Bon remained against the wall, his face buried in his hands. Somehow he managed to remain upright, but a spasm of pain took his breath away.
He heard his name, but at first couldn’t react. When he heard it a second time, he slowly pulled his hands down and saw Lita, embracing the others, but extending her hand to him.
He couldn’t look into her face. His eyes stayed focused on her hand, reaching out to him, beckoning, inviting. Asking him to grieve with them.
He couldn’t do it. Pushing off from the wall, he bolted past the other Council members, toward the hospital ward. Once again he heard Lita call out to him, a desperate cry. In seconds he was in the doorway, scanning the ward. It was empty.
No, he realized, coming to a stop. It wasn’t empty. One bed was occupied, supporting a quiet, still form, beneath a white sheet. His breathing became loud and deliberate. Somehow he willed his feet to move, and he stepped across the room to stand beside the bed.
Beside the body of Alexa.
It seemed surreal, something that he had seen only on television and in movies. His mind tried to make sense of the shape before him, tried to interpret the outline as something other than her. It couldn’t be her.
He lifted his hand and grasped the sheet above her head, but paused. He flexed his fingers on the cool fabric. Did he want to do this? Did he need to do this? And would he ever be able to get the image out of his head?
Suddenly he was back in Dome 1, in the clearing. Their clearing. Their spot. He could hear the sound of the irrigation system, the drip of water from the leaves. He could smell the damp soil, hear the light drone of a random bee performing its rounds, feel the air thick with life. Alexa sat before him, nervously pawing at the clumps of dirt. She spoke with him.
No, it was more than that. Alexa opened up to him. She shared her private thoughts and her deepest fears. She told him how she felt, and, at the end, she had shown him how she felt as well.
And what had he shown her in return?
He had spoken more with Alexa than anyone on the ship, probably more than anyone since he had left home in Sweden years ago. He had told her many of the things that he had experienced … but not all of them. He had kept the most important part of himself guarded and locked away. Alexa had shared everything with him, willingly, almost enthusiastically, because she had the courage that he didn’t. She had the courage to express feelings for him, while he glumly held onto his confused thoughts about Triana, but only, he realized, because it had become routine. Alexa had given him a gift that few people ever truly received, and that most people took for granted: she had given him the gift of her uncensored, unashamed self. He had treated it carelessly.
And now she was gone. In one breathless instant, the truth came crashing in on him. He had always looked forward to hearing her voice, seeing her smile, feeling her touch when she reached out to him. He had found himself thinking about her at the oddest moments, wondering what she was doing. Perhaps their experiences had drawn them together in the beginning, but it wasn’t the experiences that bonded them, as everyone else had imagined. There were far too many connections between them to be casually explained away.
Another spasm of pain seared through him, propelled by the voice crying out in his head: I’ve lost my best friend.
Throughout his troubled childhood, Bon had refused to cry. During the most turbulent moments with his father, when the hurt and despair had welled up to what seemed the breaking point, he still hadn’t cried. When he knew that his mother had contracted the deadly disease carried by comet Bhaktul, he had grieved, but not cried.
Now his thoughts played over his final meeting with Alexa and her gentle kiss. Again, she had been brave enough to show him how she felt, and he had responded by putting up another wall.
And suddenly, before he even realized what was happening, he cried. His body shook as he silently wept, the tears burning.
He knew what he had to do, but he couldn’t bear to see her this way. He wanted his last memory to be her face as she leaned into him in that clearing, as she softly kissed his lips. That had to be the image of Alexa that he would carry forever.
Against the rush of tears, he clenched his eyes shut, and felt the sting. His hand trembled as it held the fabric. Slowly, he brought it down, and with his other hand, carefully felt the outline of her face. He felt the soft, smooth contour of her cheek, now cool to the touch. He smelled her hair, a smell with which he had become so familiar. He could feel a thick strand that had fallen across her face, and he gently pushed it aside. Then, leaning forward, he cupped her face and tenderly kissed her lips. He lingered there for a moment, his eyes still closed, his tears moistening his face and hers. A moment later he pulled away, and slowly covered her once again with the sheet.
Only then did he open his eyes.
He took a solitary step away from the bed and looked one last time upon the outline of her body. Then he turned away, toward the door.
Triana stood there, silently. Bon brushed past her, out of the hospital ward, out of Sick House, and back to the domes. Back to life.
* * *
One hour later, Triana sat on the floor of Lita’s room, her knees drawn up, encircled by her arms. Lita sat leaning against her bed, facing the Council Leader. They had barely spoken since leaving Sick House, but now gradually began to open up, their voices soft.
“I thought I lost her two months ago in surgery,” Lita said. “You’d think that I’d be somehow … I don’t know, prepared for this.”
Triana looked into her friend’s dark eyes. “We were all supposed to be prepared for it, since the day we launched. It was part of our training with Dr. Armistead, after all. But no matter how much you discuss it in a classroom, it will never affect you like it does when it really happens. I don’t think our minds can rehearse the feeling of grief.”
Lita nodded. “As cold as it may sound right now, I was just thinking last week about how lucky we’ve been so far. I mean, we’ve had so many close calls, where we could have all been killed, and yet we’ve managed to sneak by.” She held back a sob. “I guess it was just a matter of time before our luck ran out.” She wiped at a tear. “Or … Alexa’s luck ran out.”
A sudden look of shame crossed her face. “I’m sorry. That sounded terrible.”
“Lita, no, it’s fine,” Triana said. “None of us know what to say. It’s good that you’re talking about it, so don’t be too hard on yourself about what comes out right now, okay? We’re all in shock.”
There was silence for another minute before Lita shifted the discussion. “I heard you ta
lking to Gap in Sick House about the vultures, but I’m afraid I wasn’t really tuned in. I guess our decision to be aggressive with them really backfired.”
“We had no way of knowing that,” Triana said firmly. “We can’t second-guess everything we do on this mission when something goes wrong. How could we possibly have imagined that they could use their dark energy converters to disengage the magnetic lock on the containment box? With all of the studies we were doing on that specimen, it was learning just as much, or more, about us and our technology.”
When Lita didn’t say anything, Triana continued. “We made a decision to be proactive, and it cost us this time. But remember that being proactive at other times has saved us, too.”
“You’re right,” Lita said softly. “I know you’re right. It just hurts, that’s all.” In one movement she pulled the red ribbon from her hair and tossed it onto the bed behind her. She stretched her legs out before her and said, “So where did the other vultures go?”
Triana spent a couple of minutes catching Lita up on what had happened with the wormhole. “That’s what caused the blackout we experienced. It was a space-time ripple.”
Lita looked puzzled. “Wait a minute. If they’re able to use wormholes to navigate through the galaxy—or the universe—then why would they stay outside the Kuiper Belt? Why wouldn’t they just show up at our doorstep?”
“That’s a very good question,” Triana said. “I wondered the same thing. I guess it’s something we—”
She was interrupted by the soft tone from the door. Lita pushed herself up and crossed the room. She opened the door to find Channy standing there.
“Hi,” Channy said. “Would it be okay if I came in for a minute?”
“Of course,” Lita said, and stood aside.
When Channy walked in she acknowledged Triana with a nod, then stood with one hand clasping the other wrist. “Sorry to interrupt, but there’s something I wanted to say to both of you.”
She fidgeted for a moment. Triana got the impression that Channy had rehearsed a speech, but was about to jettison it in favor of something much simpler and more direct.
