The Dark Zone

by Dom Testa

  Her intercom flashed an incoming call from Triana.

  “How are you holding up?” the Council Leader said.

  “Oh, you know. Okay, I guess. It’s still hard to believe that it happened. It’s obviously tough around here. I don’t think I’ll touch anything on her desk for a while. I know that might sound odd…”

  “I don’t think it’s odd at all,” Triana said. “There’s no rush to do that.”

  “Yeah,” Lita said. “How are you?”

  “About the same. Listen, I take it you haven’t started the autopsy yet on the vulture.”

  “Just about to. Why?”

  “I’ve changed my mind,” Triana said. “I don’t want you to cut it open. Instead, now that this new wormhole has opened up, I think we should send it back as is.”

  “Uh … okay. You mean … propel it out of the ship and into the wormhole?”

  “Something like that.”

  Lita placed the stylus on her desk and sat back. “It’s your call, I guess, but … well, what happened to wanting to find out more about dark energy conversion? I thought that was a pretty big priority.”

  “I think this is a better way to go,” Triana said. “We still know nothing about the beings that sent the vultures in the first place. Now that this new tunnel has opened up, it’s clear they want to communicate with us. I just feel that cutting up one of their creatures is not a good way for us to start a relationship. I would rather send it back in good faith.”

  “We’re sending it back dead. They might not view that as good faith.”

  “Nothing we can do about that. But they might consider it ten times worse if we sent back a body that had been desecrated. Who knows what kind of social taboo that might be in their world?”

  “Well … okay. How would you like to do this?”

  Triana said, “Just have some of your workers take it down to the Spider bay in the containment box. I’ll be down there in a little while, and then Gap and I can figure out the best way to go from there.”

  “Will do.” Lita paused, then said: “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know, you just sound … different. I mean, I know it’s been a terrible day, but you sound like you have something else bothering you.”

  “No,” Triana said. “Really, everything’s okay. But thanks for asking.”

  “Okay. I’ll take care of things on this end and we’ll get the box moved right away.” She offered a nervous chuckle. “To be completely truthful, I didn’t want to touch that thing anyway.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Triana said. “Let me know if you need anything from me. Talk to you later.”

  Lita snapped off the intercom. She called Jada and gave her the new instructions; then she picked up the stylus and once again began tapping her cheek, deep in thought.

  27

  Gap had initially gone straight from the funeral to his post in Engineering, but then had taken the lift up to the Control Room. For almost half an hour he had plugged in every bit of data they could get from the new wormhole. It reflected no light whatsoever, and so was not visible on their vidscreen. Instead, a stream of mathematics poured in, with data that both enlightened and puzzled.

  He felt a light sweat break out on his forehead and his hands as he realized that sometime within the next seven hours he would likely be launching toward the enigmatic opening. What exactly could he expect when he crossed over?

  “Roc,” he said. “In some ways it seems very similar to a black hole, wouldn’t you say?”

  “That’s because it’s very likely that wormholes are created by black holes, too. The main difference is that a person won’t get squished by mind-numbing gravity with this one. At least, it doesn’t appear that way. Of course, we really can’t know what will happen when a human being shoots through that opening.”

  “And,” Gap said, “the trip would be over as soon as it started, right?”

  “Correct,” the computer said. “A wormhole, as far as we know, is an immediate connection between two points. Try to imagine drawing a dot on one edge of a piece of paper, and another dot on the other side. The normal route you would take between the points is a long line drawn across the page. But, with the wormhole, we bend space and time; in this case, we would actually fold the paper so that the two points are side by side; then a person would just step across.”

  “The ultimate shortcut,” Gap said.

  “In more ways than one,” Roc said. “If it is truly distorting time and space, a person could theoretically go through, and then come back before he left.”

  “Yeah, I’m trying to wrap my brain around that.”

  “And remember, we’re assuming that our traveler doesn’t have his or her atoms stretched out like toothpaste being squeezed out of a tube.”

  “Well, the vultures seem to have no problem bouncing back and forth,” Gap said, peering again at the vidscreen. “That’s a pretty good indication that I’ll be okay when I pop through.”

  Roc didn’t respond, so Gap turned back to his work. He absentmindedly wiped another bead of sweat from his forehead.

  * * *

  She was on his turf again. It seemed to work out that way most of the time, but Triana realized that in order to talk privately with Bon, it was best accomplished in his office at the Farms. For one thing they would likely be undisturbed, and given the amount of time he spent here it was one of the few places she could catch him. He took his meals quickly and usually at off-hours, rarely—if ever—visited the Rec Room, and consistently fled Council meetings at the first opportunity. He was a worker, plain and simple.

  Triana had resigned herself to the fact that she would always feel like an intruder in his space. She stood across from his desk now and felt the familiar tension in the room, heightened by the recent tragedy. The fact that she had witnessed his final moment with Alexa—the tender kiss good-bye—added an awkward element to their already complex relationship.

  And yet, pretending to not know that Bon and Alexa had shared a special connection seemed pointless. She had wondered how best to address it, and settled on a direct comment.

  “The bouquet that you sent for Alexa’s funeral was beautiful,” she said. “Thank you for doing that.”

  If the Swede was embarrassed, he concealed it well. “I thought it would be appropriate. This was one of her favorite spots.” He turned his attention to the workpad on his desk.

  Triana watched him, and wondered if perhaps—just perhaps—he was actually hoping to talk about it. When she was troubled, she often turned to her journal as an outlet; for all she knew, Bon had no such outlet. Or, even more likely, Alexa had been that outlet, which made all of this even more painful for him.

  “I know that you shared a unique connection with her,” she said. “We all feel the loss, of course, but it has to be even harder for you. I’m very sorry.”

  When he didn’t react and continued to sift through his workpad, Triana wondered if she had stepped over the line. But then he stopped and returned her gaze.

  “I wasn’t going to tell you this,” he said, “but in her visions, Alexa saw her own death and funeral.”

  Triana shuddered. She couldn’t begin to imagine the fear that Alexa must have carried with her. Her visions had truly turned out to be a curse.

  “I didn’t take it seriously enough,” Bon said. “I will always regret that. In trying to comfort her, I downplayed it, when I could have…” His voice trailed off.

  Triana felt a wave of compassion overtake her. “Bon, you had no way of knowing how this would turn out. You can’t torture yourself that way. We all can be haunted by regrets.” She let out a long breath. “I can play the same game of ‘what if.’ What if I had let you connect with the Cassini, as you requested? What if they had somehow been able to warn us? Could that have saved Alexa’s life? We don’t know.”

  She let that settle before continuing. “I do know that you probably brought her m
ore comfort than you realize.”

  Bon lowered his eyes. “You know me about as well as anyone on this ship could,” he said. “But we never addressed what happened in the Spider bay months ago, and I suppose that’s because you and I are actually a lot alike. Then you kissed me a few months ago.”

  His directness startled her. For all of the times that she had debated whether or not to bring it up, if only just to clear the air between them, it stunned her that Bon would be the one to say something. And today, now, of all times. The abrupt transition from the talk of Alexa …

  “When that happened,” he continued, “my first thought was that maybe there could be something between us. Well, we both remember what happened when I tried to kiss you back.”

  “Bon,” she said. “That was a difficult—”

  “Yes, I know,” he said. “It was the wrong time, the wrong place, the wrong everything. But it said to me that I had misread the situation; that I had misread you.”

  She lowered her head and her voice came out softly. “I’m sorry to have caused so much confusion. I’m not very good when it comes to vulnerable situations.”

  He grunted. “I told you, we’ve very much alike.” He paused, then said: “I’m not bringing this up to add to the awkward feelings between us. I’m only trying to explain what went on between me and Alexa, since that seems to be what you’re interested in at the moment.”

  It sounded harsh on the surface, but Triana was sure that was unintentional; it was simply Bon’s nature to be direct. She looked back up at him, an invitation for him to continue.

  “I understand the reputation that I have on this ship. I understand that many people think I’m a jerk, and I’m sorry they feel that way, but it won’t make me change who and what I am. The truth is, I simply have a hard time sharing my thoughts and feelings with a lot of people. Some people feel the need to blab every single emotion to anyone in earshot of them; that’s not me. But…”

  Here he paused again. His stare was intense, causing Triana to shift uncomfortably.

  “But, if I find the right person, I will open up. If I find the right person, I will share what’s inside of me. For a while I thought you might be that person. But with the clumsy way we started off, it never seemed … appropriate. And then, Alexa happened along.”

  Triana fought to keep her eyes on his, but hearing these words was much more painful than she would have guessed. She forced herself to nod in an understanding way.

  “Alexa and I had something in common, obviously,” he said. “She thought we were freaks, but to me, that wasn’t really the common denominator. It wasn’t the freakish experiences that we had. It was the fact that those experiences meant that we, more than anyone else, needed a real, human connection. We needed to connect with someone on a basic level, maybe more than anyone else on this ship. We needed to reassure ourselves that we were still human, that we weren’t freaks. No one else could understand that.”

  Triana felt her heart breaking. Through all of the challenges that Bon had shouldered with his Cassini connection, she had never considered that what he needed most of all was a lifeline to his own species. She’d had the opportunity to be that lifeline for him, but had let him down; instead, he had turned to Alexa.

  A look of resignation crossed his face. “So you see, I mourn Alexa’s death on a more personal level than you realize. Yes, she was my friend, and yes, she was probably one of the most caring, compassionate people on this ship. I mourn her death for those reasons, but I also grieve the loss of the one person who allowed me to remain connected to reality. I think each of us is lucky if we find that person in our life.”

  Triana let out a long breath. “I’m … I’m so very sorry, Bon.” There was so much more that she wanted to say, so much more that needed to be said, yet with what lay before her, it was all impossible to say now. She had to choke back not only a sob that welled up within her but the words that were crying to come out. “If only,” she thought. “If only…”

  She pulled herself together. “I’m glad that you did find that person, though. And I’m glad that you were that person for her. You gave her a remarkable gift, and I’m sure that she appreciated it.”

  Bon looked down at his desk. “In some respects that’s true. But it also was more complicated than that. I won’t deny that I had an affection for her, but it was based on the connection that I told you about. For Alexa, it went deeper, and I … well, I wasn’t able to return her feelings the way she would have wanted.”

  He walked around the desk and went over to the large window that looked out over the lush landscape within the dome. “I carry a lot of guilt about that, although I’m sure that I was upfront and honest with Alexa from the beginning. She deserved better. She really did. She went through a lot in her life.”

  Triana turned to watch him at the window, and leaned up against his desk. “I didn’t know that.”

  He nodded. “Mostly raised by a single mom, until she remarried when Alexa was nine.”

  “Her mother was divorced?”

  Bon said, “No. Alexa’s father died before she was born. She never knew him.”

  It hit Triana like a thunderbolt. She gripped the desk behind her to steady herself. Before she could stop it, she uttered, “Oh, my God.” Bon, who had been facing out the window, turned to look at her, a confused look on his face.

  “What is it?” he said.

  Triana hesitated. “Oh … I just … didn’t know that about her.”

  He stared at her, and she was convinced that he knew there was more to it than that. But he didn’t pursue it, and turned back to the window.

  “She talked a lot about that,” he said. “She also talked about her relationship with her stepfather, which I guess was difficult because she’d always had her mother all to herself.”

  Bon kept talking, but Triana barely heard any of it. Her mind was racing through the message she had received from Dr. Zimmer. Was it possible…?

  She couldn’t know for sure, but even the possibility was cruel. It all made no sense, and seemed so unfair. She suddenly felt the need to scream, to lash out, to walk away from all of the responsibilities of her position, from all of the responsibilities of even being on the mission. Why did these things happen? Why?

  She had to get out of here. Now, more than ever, she was sure that she needed to escape. With Bon’s back still to her, she fumbled something out of her pocket, placed it on his desk, and walked over to him. He had grown silent, and was again simply staring out the window.

  She summoned her courage, walked up to him from behind, and placed her hands on his shoulders. He turned and immediately embraced her. They hugged each other tightly, neither seeming to want to let go. Then, when a kiss would have been the easiest thing for her to do, the most natural … she let go and walked away from him. At the door she turned back for just a moment.

  “I should have been there for you, Bon. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t. I hope that someday you’ll forgive me for that.”

  She quickly left his office. He watched her through the window, bracing himself against the glass. He saw her rush toward the lift, breaking into a run as she moved down the path. Then she was gone.

  A minute later he turned back to his desk. He stood behind it and began to once again sort through the items on his workpad. It took him a few moments to notice something on the edge of his desk. He froze when he saw it.

  The translator.

  28

  There wasn’t much time. Gap was awaiting her decision, Lita was probably curious about her call to forgo the alien autopsy, and Bon would no doubt be utterly suspicious of her actions.

  She briefly considered going back to her room and packing a small bag, but in the end nixed the idea for two reasons. For one thing, the sight of Galahad’s Council Leader walking to the Spider bay carrying an overnight bag would draw a lot of attention. This way she was merely performing one of her countless tasks.

  But more than anything else she refused to
subject herself to the pain. If she insisted that this was just another mission within the mission, that it was temporary, that she would be back soon … well, then her mind would be focused on the job at hand. A special trip back to her room meant a sort of good-bye, and she knew that the thought of leaving her connection to home—and, most important, the picture of her father—would torment her, and possibly affect her performance. It was better to simply walk straight to the Spider bay and be gone.

  Entering the large hangar she found three workers from Sick House. They had arrived just minutes earlier, and were discussing where to leave the cart that carried the remains of the vulture inside the containment box. Triana kept her gaze away from the limp, dark mass inside the box while she talked with the crew members.

  “Thanks for bringing this down,” she said. “Do me a favor while you’re here, will you? I think we’re going to try to maneuver a bit closer to the wormhole, so would you please load the containment box onto the pod?”

  One of the workers, a tall, rangy boy from South America, gave her a puzzled look. “The pod? You mean one of the Spiders?”

  Triana shook her head. “No, I don’t want us to take any more chances with the few remaining Spiders we have left. We’ll use the pod from SAT33 this time around.” She pointed to the metallic craft that had been intercepted during their rendezvous with Titan, originally launched by the doomed research scientists aboard an orbiting space station.

  What she told the crew members was entirely true; she had no intention of robbing the Galahad crew of one of the precious remaining Spiders. When the time came for them to descend to one of the planets in the Eos system, they would need every remaining craft. As it was, they were already shorthanded and would need to improvise when the time came. In her mind, the SAT33 pod was a bonus, but it would do just fine for her purposes.

  She was prepared to answer questions about her request, but instead the workers simply shrugged. They gripped the cart holding the containment box and quickly wheeled it over to the pod. After a few minutes of grunting and exertion, with Triana’s help they successfully stowed the box within the tight confines of the craft.