As he drew closer he began to lift: a free-floating object being pulled directly toward the bristled point of the closest projector tip. He had less than two seconds.
Sparks, who had stood to the rear of the audience, recovering from what had just taken place, made a quick decision, stepping past the engineer to slam his fist down on the kill switch. In the same moment, he shouted at the top of his lungs, “JUMP!”
Garrison felt it—the pull was gone, but he still hurtled directly toward his death. In concert with his own self-preservation, Sparks’ encouragement, and his remaining proximity to the deck, all his muscles powered downward to strike the deck.
His speed did not change, but his vector did, causing him to sail upward as he flew toward Dominique’s dome at the center of the docking bay.
He wasn’t going to clear it. He tensed, hands out in front, as he grazed the top of a projecting antenna. It bent and snapped as it tore open the side of his flight suit, giving him a nice gash across his ribs. He yelled his pain, briefly catching the next tip, lacerating an artery between his thumb and fingers but slowing his speed. Garrison instinctually avoided turning the momentum into a somersault, but continued across the bay, about three meters up. His actions had been enough to brake his speed and allow him to get his feet out in front of him. When he hit the opposite wall it simply hurt really bad, bruising the bones of his feet and shoulder as he crumpled into it.
Two soldiers posted at that end of the bay helped the wounded Garrison down off the wall, as he painfully walked it in his gecko boots. A drifting trail of blood followed him as it pumped past the fingers of his other hand clamped over the spurting wound. The blood, the pain in his side, the loss of Taylor, and his concern for Dominique finally breached the dam of his will. He could not see through the tears as the two men guided him out of the bay, toward the infirmary.
The four men who remained in the experiment control area had watched Garrison’s fate unfold as he’d moved beyond their ability to help. What they could see of the final impact looked worse than it actually was. The soldiers reported his condition as satisfactory.
Just as they breathed a sigh of relief, Comani shouted, “IT IS FREE!”
All attention snapped back to the dome where they could see Dominique’s shape lying prone in the air, her body drifting loosely in an arc from her deck-attached boots—a classic pose of unconsciousness in zero-gravity.
The engineer frantically screamed, “GOING HEAVY,” and reactivated the gravity projection field.
Everything subsided to silence within a second, as everyone contemplated what danger they might be in.
The doctor said quietly, with great dread, “Essa approcci,” his translation falling short.
The being was invisible to them. While they had been distracted, it had quickly moved through the deactivated latticework of the dome and beyond the point where the gravity field could affect it. It was loose on the ship once again.
The doctor’s voice shifted to a higher pitch as he said, “La creatura è vicino…” He could not see it, but the ghosts could.
Everyone was frozen, either in fear or indecision, half-hoping that holding very still might forestall an attack. First, it had to possess someone. The only woman here was Dominique, safely behind the wall of gravity. It would take a man.
Comani knew the horror of being its host, which made it all the more incredible that he moved out to a certain point, clued by the ghosts, and screamed, “Diavolo. Take-a me.”
The two guards, posted between the doctor and the nearest exit, drew sidearms. Whispering some nervous expletives, they involuntarily moved back several steps from the doctor, now seeing where the creature might be.
In a low voice, Sparks said to the engineer and his back-up, “Move to the QB1, quick. Prep for launch, local space, on my order.” The little craft sat fifty meters away, beyond the open, hanger airlock gates. They followed their captain’s orders without question, assuming he would be close behind.
Sparks intended to save them, if things got bad, just because he had that option. For himself, he stayed put, keeping his eyes on Comani, not sure what was about to happen. He feared the worst. His mind raced; how could he get Comani back to the trap? He deactivated the dome once again; it served to protect Astra, but he needed access to the trap that was otherwise inaccessible.
Comani was motionless where he had stopped. He had gotten his wish. Sparks did not dare approach him. Instead, he slipped around the opposite end of the control tables, keeping about five meters from the doctor. He hoped it was enough. He saw his two men watching from near the Light Skipper; he held his hand out to halt their return. Slowly he came to a spot where he was in direct line of sight of the obviously possessed doctor’s gaze. The terrologist remained motionless. This was different behavior from what Sparks had witnessed in the transfer tube.
He had to risk more; maybe it couldn’t sense him until he was closer. One step; nothing. Another. Still the man stood like a dormant zombie.
He remembered that Dominique had moved her arm when Garrison had asked her to. “Doctor, can you hear me?” The tense atmosphere swallowed his words, but something in the man’s eyes gave an answer. “Doc, if you can hear me, move your hand.”
With suddenness and speed, Comani’s arm shot out toward him.
Sparks instinctively crouched and back-stepped away from the abrupt threat, instinctively keeping his boots in touch with the deck, preventing lift-off. He was ten meters away before he stopped. Comani remained with his hand outstretched in the threatening pose. “Doc,” he called, “that didn’t seem friendly.” Sparks maintained his composure, but his heart pounded in his ears.
A noise sounded from somewhere. Sparks risked a look over his shoulder to see Dominique standing erect on the enclosed dais. Glancing back and forth between her and the doctor, he asked her, “Hey, you alright?”
Dominique’s odyssey had left a deep impression on her, but she simply said, “I’ll tell you about it sometime.”
“Well, don’t look now but we’ve got a new problem.” He had returned his gaze to the doctor. He heard her fussing with the latch that would allow the door component of the dome to open, and said, “Dominique, I don’t want you coming out here. In fact, why don’t you stay near that trap and the remote control? Be ready in case I can get our friend into it.”
From a spot much nearer, he heard her say, “I don’t think we have anything to worry about now,” and she strode right past him.
“Hey, what’s gotten into you?” He took two steps and grabbed her by the bicep. “Did you lose your mind in there?” His question was heated. He kept one eye on the frozen form of the doctor, while he demanded an answer from his fellow captain.
She turned her back on the possessed man as if she had nothing at all to fear. “We’ve done it, Jon, I’m sure of it.”
“How would you know that? Did you talk to that thing while you were in there?”
“No, Jon, there is no talk. Nothing said to me that everything was all right. It does not have words, Jon.”
“I still haven’t heard anything that has convinced me to let you walk right up to it.” Sparks gestured toward Comani.
She placed her hand over his, where he still had a gentle hold on her arm and tenderly removed it, holding his hand in hers for a moment. “Jon, I don’t know if I could ever put into words what just happened, but you need to trust me when I say, right now I am something else.
“I don’t know how long this will be the case. I would love to think that I will always feel the way I am feeling now—but I don’t think that I could, and still remain in this body.” She released his hand and briefly placed both of hers on her ribcage under her breasts, drawing his attention to her amazing shape, accentuated by the white, form-hugging flight suit. The mere suggestion that she would leave the world affected him with an oppressive sadness.
She held her steady gaze on him; Comani remained where he was. Sparks began to believe what she said. Something had changed. It worked? He wanted to believe it.
“Dominique, I know you, I know that you are honor-bound to your duty. What is your duty here?” He asked this, feeling that if she were doing anything that might result in her death, the answer that she would give to this question would make that plain.
She saw through him. “You don’t need to worry, Jon.” She smiled at him with the stunning smile of an angel; she was too bright for a fraction of a second.
He caught his breath and responded, “Okay, I believe in you completely, Dominique.” It was inexplicably wonderful to speak her name. “Do what must be done.”
She reached out lovingly and touched his cheek. After a glance about she calmly asked, “Where is Garrison?”
“He’s okay, but he had to go to the infirmary.”
It was clear that she had more questions but this moment was more pressing. She turned and walked the remaining steps to Comani.
The captain’s face was warm where she had touched him. He brought his fingers to his cheek unconsciously, while simultaneously, his heart began to beat hard once more. His faith faltered as he restrained himself from interfering.
She stepped to within the doctor’s touch and brought her left shoulder up under his outstretched right hand, and with her left hand she took his wrist, bringing his hand firmly down onto her shoulder. It all seemed to be going without horrible incident; she appeared unaffected, still moving of her own accord.
Next she raised her own right arm, bringing her hand out to a point above his left shoulder. For a half-second she held it there, and then lowered it.
As if she had connected an overloading electrical circuit, there was an immense and blinding flash of light, though devoid of the slightest sound.
Sparks yelled out, “NIKKI!” as he covered his eyes with his forearm.
A moment later he was blinking to get his vision back. His men were moving back from the QB1. He stared at an empty spot where Dominique and the doctor had stood a second before.
After another half-second he saw the doctor laid back against the slope of the main bulkhead. He appeared dazed, as if he had been thrown there. Still no Dominique Astra.
“NIKKI!” he called again, glancing around. She did not answer. He went to the doctor and gripped his fist into the chest of the man’s ship suit, jerking his weightless mass from his crumpled resting position. “Where is she?” he demanded.
Comani was coherent enough to know what the captain wanted. “I… I no know.”
“That’s not good enough, doctor. What happened just then? Where did she go?” Sparks was feeling frantic, not knowing how to direct a deep, panicky stab of loss.
“JON.” It was Dominique’s voice. “I’m here, Captain; I’m fine.”
He twisted around, still holding Comani, pulling his mass close as he turned. She was several meters behind him. For an extended moment, he stared at Dominique, his emotions roiling. Sparks set the doctor on his own feet.
Speechless, he looked at her, overwhelmed by relief. She stood a few meters away. He shook off the sense that something subtle had changed. He turned to the doctor, “Comani… the alien?”
“Sì, it is no here no more.”
Dominique also answered, “They will not be a worry anymore.” As she spoke, Sparks turned back and candidly scrutinized her across the distance; the change was her hair. It was the length that it had been when he’d last seen her, months ago. She went on. “So, Jon, Fred,” she addressed them informally, and included the engineers, “Len, Kevin, will you all come with me to the infirmary? I’m sure that Garrison must be pretty upset by now.” She turned and started away.
Everybody nodded. Sparks was cautious as he caught up to her side as they reached the docking bay exit. “What happened to you?” He watched his feet as he matched pace with hers. His question was two-pronged: where had she gone? But moreover, for him: what else had changed besides her hair?
She remained silent for a few moments as they walked. He took advantage of her introspection to turn and study her profile. Her silky gold hair flowed in the null gravity forming a curtain to her face. He mentioned it, “Are you aware that your hair is long again?”
It took her by surprise, and she brought her hands up, her fingers filing into the longer locks. She gently gripped and then released her soft tresses, thoughtful.
She used her fingers to hook the drifting hair behind her ears—and it was a dramatic unveiling. The curtain to her face was swept aside; at this closeness it was obvious. It was not possible: her face had some very clear wrinkles that were simply not there before—fairly deep crow’s feet at her eyes; lines around her lips; an overall weathered quality to her skin, causing her to appear years older.
When she had walked off the little ship, though sad-faced, she’d been smooth-skinned and youthful. He had remarked to himself on that fact. Even moments ago, before that disappearing trick. His gaze lingered; she glanced sideways at him. He looked back at his feet, finding that he could not tell her of the change that he saw.
Her beauty was undiminished, all the same; that was not the issue. And still, there was some other intangible change.
They made their way to the rotating portion of the ship where the infirmary took advantage of the simulated gravity. When they were finally down on the gravity deck, the first thing that met their senses was Garrison’s voice. “I’m fine. Look, I’m not going to bleed to death, I have to get back to the docking bay.” He lay on a gurney, directly ahead, upset and giving the nurses and security men a hard time. And then he spoke to someone else. “You stay here. There’s no way I can go through that again…”
A second voice came to their ears as they walked toward the commotion along a two-person wide path between alternating med equipment racks and infirmary bunks. “Garrison, don’t make such a fuss.”
Sparks stopped dead in his tracks, holding up those behind.
Dominique stopped and turned back, meeting his look of astonishment with a quizzical expression, “What is it, Jon?”
At the sound of Dominique’s voice, Taylor’s face popped out from behind a piece of equipment. Catching sight of their small procession with the captains at the head, she shouted, “DOMINIQUE!” The nurses shushed her, for they were overwhelmed with surprises of their own, including Taylor.
It was Dominique’s turn at confusion; the two had not met before this moment, but each of them knew the other without question. Her gut told her this person was Taylor Jest—but that was impossible.
The dark-haired young woman ran toward the newcomers, her gown flapping and flashing her naked backside as she went. When she got to Dominique, she threw her arms open, crashing into her and hugging her tightly.
Dominique hugged back, feeling a powerful, motherly sensation rise up toward the young woman—that was new.
Taylor pulled back from the tighter embrace, all grins. Within a heartbeat, a puzzled expression turned down one side of her smile and wrinkled her forehead. Dominique’s extended state of grace allowed her to remain centered in the midst of this inexplicable moment, looking back at Taylor and reading her face. “What is it, dear?” said Dominique, sounding ever so maternal.
Taylor covered quickly. “Uh, oh, I just thought for a minute… nothing, it’s nothing. I think I am still slightly messed up after my experience.” She tilted her head to the left, looking past Dominique’s shoulder at Sparks and said, “Hi Captain,” once again full of joy.
She retained one of Dominique’s hands in her own and turned her back on the four men, pretending not to notice that she was giving them a show. She delighted at the sound of their indrawn breath as she restarted the stunned and titillated group toward a waiting Garrison. He had held his tongue as the others took in the miracle that was Taylor.
One se
curity guard was at the opposite shoulder of the wounded captain, restraining him in a reclined position. Garrison was numbed to any pain as the nurses continued to dress the gash across his ribs, his flight suit cut away to his waist. As he stared sideways at the approaching contingent, he shook his head in disbelief at how his “reanimated” girlfriend had just greeted Dominique.
The look on Taylor’s face as they approached projected a serious question at him, her eyebrows drawing down, nose wrinkling. He smiled at her, confused by her expression and behavior, but delighted at her greeting of his co-captain. And he was so relieved to see Dominique in a state of awareness, seeming unaffected by her experience. He beamed a smile at her now, as she drew to within two meters. She returned it with an imploring smile, wanting an answer to just how Taylor happened to be standing here.
Instead, his expression changed to a look of confused concern. “Nikki… What happened?”
His unexpected shift of attitude took her off guard. “Garrison, I’m fine, what are you talking about? Oh, you mean my hair?”
Staring, instead of answering her, he looked past her to Sparks. The man’s face did not hold its typical expression of confidence, and gave no invitation to start asking questions. He looked back to Dominique, not sure how to ask or say it.
She spoke again, looking between the two captains now. “Okay, what’s going on? I feel fine, but Jon here has been scrutinizing me, and now you and Taylor give me this look.” She turned to one of the nurses. “I need a mirror.” The young woman pointed to a supplies station, and Dominique walked to it and saw a full-length mirror mounted to its side.
As she came into its angle of reflection, she drew a sharp breath and her hands came up to her face, touching the fine and the deep lines that were not there before today. She slowly scrutinized herself with wide eyes, tilting her chin up to look at her neck; she zipped her flight suit down a bit, pulling it wider to look at her chest, fascinated and bewildered to confirm that the changes went beyond her face. She came back to the awareness that she had an audience: all who she’d brought with her, the nurses, and every conscious patient nearby; they were all silently watching with varied expressions. Unembarrassed, she zipped up her suit and touched her face once more, finally tearing herself away from the disturbing reflection.
Parallel Extinction (Extinction Encounters Book 1) Page 45
