by Dom Testa
Lita turned to Gap. “A little Council friction?”
“Well, those two seem to go through cycles, so I wouldn’t worry about it.”
Together they began the march up towards the exit. “You’re probably right,” Lita said. “So what’s on your agenda for the rest of the day?”
“I’ve got some catch-up work to do in Engineering,” Gap said, “but I think I might actually grab a quick nap first. I’m exhausted from the last few days. What about you?”
Lita sighed. “I need to settle on a choice for Alexa’s replacement, so I’ll be going over some crew records.”
Gap put an arm around her. “I’m sorry. Need some help?”
She shook her head. “No, but thanks. Go get some rest. Maybe I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”
They parted ways in the hall, and Gap turneds towards the lift. He hoped that sleep would come easier now that the meeting was behind him. But his mind replayed what Kaya had said, and a new thought forced its way in: Am I ready for that job? Do I even want it?
4
The interview had gone swiftly and smoothly, and now Lita, who was rarely in the Conference Room outside of Council meetings, sat alone. Alexa’s roommate, Katarina, had sent a note asking for a chance to meet—Lita knew it must be something about Alexa—so they had agreed to connect in the Conference Room. The interview had wrapped up early, so with time to kill Lita allowed herself to sit back and fall deep into thought, absently tapping her cheek with a stylus pen. Her gaze settled upon the room’s lone window, and the brilliant star display brought on an emotional reaction, one that had a strong connection to her past.
As a child, she found herself intrigued with the stories of history’s great explorers, most notably the famous Spanish explorers who struck out across the Americas. Enchanted by their gallant successes, and sobered by the lessons of their failures—including their often-disgraceful treatment of the natives they encountered—Lita grew to respect the heavy burden of responsibility that accompanied true exploration.
Now she was a Council member on the greatest mission of exploration the human race had ever conceived. In her mind, Galahad’s legacy would be judged not only by what they accomplished scientifically, but by how they represented their species morally and ethically. So far, in the first year of their mission, they had already crossed paths with two extraterrestrial entities. Whether they were technically life forms might be debatable, but for Lita that didn’t matter. She was dedicated to making sure that Galahad did not repeat any of the blunders that her Spanish heroes had made.
She studied the star field and wondered how many other intelligent life forms populated the galaxy. And, of those, how many held moral beliefs that matched hers? It dawned on her that Triana’s fate rested with the moral standards of the beings who waited at the other end of the wormhole; how did they treat encounters with an outsider?
So many questions, so many concerns, one of which had brought about the just-concluded meeting: who would move up to take Alexa’s spot as her top assistant in the Clinic? Mathias was one of the final candidates, as was Manu, who had helped out during Alexa’s surgery. Lita had earlier met with Mathias, and now had just finished an hour-long meeting with Manu.
Even through the mild-mannered veil he projected, Lita had sensed his intense desire for the position. More a conversation than an interview, he had impressed her by steering their discussion into hypothetical medical scenarios. His thoughtful suggestions, the questions he raised, and his obvious abilities displayed during his time in Sick House placed him squarely at the top of the list.
One of his questions stuck in her mind. “Suppose that Triana does pop back out of another wormhole,” he’d said. “Without knowing where she’s been, and what she’s been exposed to, do we automatically let her back into the ship, or do we quarantine her?”
Her knowledge of—and fascination with—those early Spanish explorers made this question resonate strongly with her. Many historians believed that European diseases had decimated millions of native people in the Americas. Now Manu was suggesting that Triana might unknowingly carry an alien bug that could rage through the crew of Galahad before anyone knew what was happening. Lita found herself nodding in agreement when Manu spoke of the possibilities.
As much as her natural instinct would be to immediately embrace her friend upon arrival, Lita knew that Triana would have to remain isolated until thoroughly examined. Although, given its alien nature, would they even know what to look for?
And, just as sobering, how realistic were the chances that Triana would ever return?
Lita appreciated the respectful manner in which Manu had approached the subject; he knew, like every other crew member, how close Lita was to Triana. He’d also expressed sincere heartbreak over Alexa’s death. Loss upon loss, as he’d put it.
Loss upon loss. Lita stared out at the fiery star display and, not for the first time, willed herself to not cry.
The door opened and Katarina stuck her head inside the Conference Room. “Still a good time?” she said.
“It is,” Lita said, waving her in and gesturing towards the chair directly across the table. “Just taking a mental break.” She laughed. “Although these days mental breaks seem to do more harm than good.”
Katarina gave an empathetic look. “I feel the same way. As long as I’m at work, or in school, or just busy with something, I’m focused and in control. It’s when I’m alone with my thoughts that I get really sad.”
“We’ll probably all feel the same way for a while,” Lita said. “Listen, I know I’ve told you this already, but if you ever just need to talk, or need a distraction, I hope you’ll call me or stop by. You know that, right?”
“Yes, thank you. Really. And the same goes for you, too.”
“I appreciate that,” Lita said.
They sat in silence for a brief moment until Katarina placed a small box on the table between them. “This is why I wanted to meet with you,” she said. “As weird as it might sound, Alexa and I once talked about what we should do if the other one … well, if something happened to the other. I don’t think either of us really believed that anything would happen, but it … I don’t know, it was just one of those late-night sessions, sitting around the room, talking. You know how it is.”
Lita offered a sad smile, but didn’t say anything.
“Anyway,” Katarina continued, “it was almost like something out of a movie. We checked off a list of things we would leave for each other, and then we each wrote down what we would leave to other people on the ship. Kinda like our last will and testament, you could say.”
Because space was at a premium in the housing section, crew members had been allowed to bring very few personal items aboard. Lita had given little thought to distributing her own possessions should anything happen to her. But now she smiled, because it was no surprise that Alexa—orderly and thoroughly efficient Alexa—would have planned for such a possibility and mapped it out.
“Alexa wanted you to have this,” Katarina said. She pushed the box across the table. “You meant the world to her.”
Lita hesitated. There was such a finality to this gesture, driving home the point that Alexa was gone for good. Finally, she reached out and lifted the small box from the table. Removing the top, she peered inside.
It was beautiful. Nestled within white tissue paper, it didn’t shine; in fact, if anything, its charcoal color seemed to absorb light. Lita pulled the oddly shaped nugget from the box and twisted it in her fingers.
Katarina saw the look of curiosity and said, “It’s part of a meteorite. Dug up in Antarctica about a hundred years ago.”
“Where did Alexa get it?”
“Her mother gave it to her just before the launch. Told her that it was a gift from her real father.”
Lita set the dark-gray rock on the table. “She never knew her real father.”
“That’s right, and her mother never spoke about him. I think that’s why this was so specia
l to her.” Katarina looked from the meteorite to Lita. “Alexa told me that her mother thought it might make a great necklace, but you know Alexa. She never wore jewelry of any kind. So, she was holding on to it, trying to decide how to display it. And that night, when we were talking about things, she told me that you should have this because you definitely could make something cool from it.
“And,” Katarina added in a soft voice, “you were one of her very best friends. She really looked up to you.”
Another sad smile crossed Lita’s face. She picked up the rock again and studied it. About an inch in diameter and heavy for its size, it was oddly smooth on one side, while cratered and worn on the other. She visualized its path through the solar system, one small piece of a much larger boulder that had likely spent billions of years tumbling through space, until either gravity or a chance impact had sent it on a collision course with Earth. It reminded Lita of the deadly ring of debris that Galahad had recently navigated; indeed, this particular chunk might have been part of the Kuiper Belt at some point. Or, possibly a fragment of a planetary crust, perhaps Mars, blasted into space as the result of a cosmic collision with a comet or asteroid. It arrived as a fireball, blazing through Earth’s atmosphere, until it slammed into Antarctica. Now, ironically, it was once again tearing through space; this time, however, it was headed in the opposite direction, out of the solar system, a passenger on a starship.
“I think Alexa’s mom was right,” Lita said. “I think it would make a gorgeous necklace.” She thought quietly for a moment, then said, “A couple of people on the ship have made their own jewelry. Yes, I think I’ll get right on that.”
Katarina smiled at her. “I can’t wait to see it.” She pushed back her chair and stood up, and Lita did the same.
“Thank you so much,” Lita said, walking around the table to give Katarina a hug. “I will treasure this always.”
When she again was alone in the room, Lita picked up the rock fragment and looked out the window.
“Born in the stars, and now returning to the stars,” she mumbled to herself. “Just like us.”
* * *
It would be agony. Yet agony mixed with … euphoria? Bon couldn’t describe it, but that was nothing new. From the first moment he’d connected with the ancient life form labeled the Cassini, he’d been at a loss to explain the feelings that coursed through his body and his mind whenever he tapped into their consciousness.
For that was essentially what he was doing: establishing a direct link with an alien intelligence that had flourished—and apparently had migrated throughout the galaxy—for a billion years. First discovered by a scientific outpost, the Cassini enveloped Saturn’s orange moon, Titan, in a weblike network. Bon’s brainwaves were aligned in a pattern that provided two-way communication with them, allowing the Cassini to plunder his mind, while at the same time providing an access point where the Galahad Council member could make requests and extract information. A portion of that information had secured safe passage through the deadly minefield of the Kuiper Belt.
The connection was established through the use of a device that scientists on the doomed outpost had created. Known simply as the translator, the small metallic ball opened the pathways between Bon and the Cassini.
The price of that connection was measured in pain. Bon’s initial links with the Cassini had literally forced him to his knees, crippling him with agonizing spasms that brought him to the brink of unconsciousness. And yet, as time went by, and as more connections became necessary, he developed a tolerance for the excruciating pain, along with an understanding of how to maintain a touch of self-control.
And, he was forced to admit, he had also acquired an intense curiosity about it all.
Triana had become alarmed by Bon’s sudden infatuation with the connection. She compared it to an addiction, a compulsion to link with something that might be causing serious damage. Because of that, Triana had chosen to keep the translator in her possession. However, in a final meeting with Bon before slipping through the wormhole, she had left the translator with him. Had she done it intentionally? Bon couldn’t be sure. But, in the days that followed, he’d wrestled with the responsibility; he wanted to connect, and yet Triana’s words held a measure of power over him. The truth was, he couldn’t be sure if his agonizing connection with the Cassini was an addiction or not.
One thing, however, was certain. There were questions he desperately wanted answers to, and the Cassini seemed to be the only reliable source of information.
He stood alone in Dome 1, a satchel strung over his shoulder. With this section of Galahad’s farming area deserted, Bon could hear a faint whisper of artificial breeze slipping through the nearby leaves, and an occasional tick from the automatic irrigation system. They were calming sounds for the boy who had been raised in a farming family.
He reached into the satchel and removed the translator, careful to not grip the device too firmly. He stared at it for a moment, absently dropping the satchel onto the dirt. Even in its inert state, Bon believed that he could feel the translator’s power simmering within.
He had reached his decision earlier in the day. Triana’s warning of an addiction echoed across time, but he rejected it. To concede her point would be to admit that he lacked self-control; this connection tonight, he told himself, was rather an exercise in taking control.
Beyond that, he’d spent much of the day getting clear on what the exercise was really about in the first place. Did he believe that it would work? Did he believe in the science behind it?
Did he even want it to work, or had the guilt imposed a feeling of obligation?
His strict, rational mind battled all of these questions until he found a relative place of calm acceptance. The connection itself with the Cassini would work; the results remained to be seen. A murky cloud concealed the validity of the science involved, which left him only his brief history with the alien force to go on; what they could—or could not—accomplish was impossible to know.
And the very fact that he was obsessed with the question in the first place convinced him that he did indeed want it to work.
He dropped to his knees, a position that he could assume either voluntarily or be forced into from the pain. Dropping the metallic ball to the dirt, he sat back on his heels for a moment, his eyes closed, and breathed in the moist air of the dome. He could feel his heart rate automatically begin its inevitable climb, and concentrated on the deep breaths that prepared him for the link.
At the same time, his mind sifted through the questions that raged within. He wondered if his ability to control the pain had advanced to the point where he could successfully frame the questions properly; when it came to dialogue with the Cassini, Bon was most certainly the infant talking with the parent. It was best to prepare as well as possible before attempting the conversation.
A shout from across the dome caused Bon to open his eyes and cock his head to one side. He didn’t want company during this episode. But the voices that drifted through the fields moved off in another direction.
With one final long exhale, he reached out and loosely picked up the translator. Then, shifting it to his palm, he closed his grip.
Immediately his head shot backward, his entire body racked with pain. An instinctual cry slipped from his mouth and his teeth clenched. The breathing which had been slow and smooth just moments earlier was now labored and fitful. His shoulders twitched with spasms that seemed to be tearing around inside his body, racing from point to point. His eyes rolled back before closing, and brilliant orange light splashed across the insides of his lids.
Sounds began to seep from his mouth and soon coalesced into a small symphony of voices. It signaled an extension to a small group of other crew members who came close to sharing the same neural patterns as Bon. They would not be aware of the connection, yet would find themselves suddenly battling headaches.
Nothing, however, compared to what Bon was feeling.
After a few seconds his co
nscious mind began to fight the overpowering presence of the Cassini, pushing back their grasp. He had learned to rein in their ravenous appetite for control, to somehow maintain a sliver of his own identity while they buzzed through his head. It stemmed the tide of pain somewhat and allowed him to focus his thoughts.
His eyes fluttered open briefly, long enough to assure him that he was still alone in this patch of the dome. Then, with a force of effort, he pushed a thought into the forefront of his mind and fought to keep it there, as if demanding to be heard. He would compel the Cassini to hear him.
Rather than a steady torrent, the pain began to pulse through him in waves. There were moments where it dissolved to nothing, but then rushed through again, sending him back on his heels. During one of the breaks, he caught his breath and transfered the thought into words.
“Where … is … she?”
When the opportunity presented itself, he asked again.
And again.
5
Who doesn’t love a good magic trick? Even when it’s something as simple as pulling a coin out of someone’s ear, people don’t want to think about how the magician palmed the coin, or how they fooled everyone into looking this way while they focused over there.
No, deep down, what you humans really love about magic is the surprise. It’s almost a challenge, in a way; you know that you’re being manipulated, but you always believe you’re sharp enough to spot the misdirection. Then, when the trickster pulls it off, you almost have to laugh.
In fact, that love of the unexpected shows up in many forms, and always seems to bring a smile. Surprise parties, finding money in a coat pocket, or when an old friend shows up out of the blue …
Wait. That last one can often be the biggest surprise of all.
* * *
Gap picked at his dinner, his usual hearty appetite taking a break this particular night. The Dining Hall was still fairly busy, especially given the late hour, but Gap sat by himself, a vidscreen open before him.
