by Dom Testa
Hannah remembered that this explanation had bothered her; did this somehow make her less human? Was she an emotionless robot?
Of course not, Dr. Armistead had assured her. She undoubtedly had strong emotions, no different than any other teenage girl (Hannah thought of her breakup with Gap as Exhibit A), but her brain chose to prioritize when it came to filing.
“Your incredible artistic skills are proof that you have plenty of emotion bubbling up in there,” Dr. Armistead had said. “It takes a lot of love to create the work you do on canvas, not to mention a few other emotions as well. Your brain simply chooses to compartmentalize a bit more than the average person; orderly and logical in most cases, but with an emotional outlet through your paintbrush.
“Think of it this way,” the doctor continued. “Memories often condition us. They’re not too different from the rings inside a tree trunk. Layer upon layer build up over time, all radiating outward from a beginning deep in the past. They help us to grow, in some respects, but they also form a history that we can examine and trace. Major events might leave a more indelible ring, while lesser events blend into the background.” She’d finished with a soft, easy laugh. “You’re just fine, Hannah, believe me. Besides, who needs to remember their third birthday party anyway? Lots of scary relatives, loud noises, and maybe a bladder accident.”
While the doctor’s analysis seemed reasonable to her, there were times when Hannah envied others and their astounding memories. There were other times, however, when she wished she could forget completely. Dr. Armistead had certainly been right about one thing: there were emotions—some of them strong and vivid—woven throughout her subconscious.
She had the Rec Room to herself and had dialed up scenes from her home state of Alaska. They flashed in a slide show against one of the walls, staggering images of beauty and majesty. Snowcapped peaks, followed by rich green forests, bears on guard for salmon, massive chunks of glaciers slicing into the sea. The link with home had undoubtedly brought on her melancholy thoughts, driving her to the edge of tears before she choked them back. She would not let her emotions push her that far.
The door opened, and she saw a figure enter through her peripheral vision. She kept her gaze steady on the screen for another full minute before flicking the desk switch and watching her childhood playground fade to black. By that point Merit was perched atop the table, patiently waiting.
“It’s gorgeous,” he said, nodding towards the screen. “I’m jealous that I never got to see it firsthand. Is it like most things in life, you take it for granted when you see it all the time?”
“I don’t know how anyone could take that for granted,” she said. “I suppose if I’d had a few more years it might have lost some of that special feel, but probably not.” She pulled out a chair and sat facing him. “You wanted to talk?”
“Nothing major, but I told you we’d have strategy sessions from time to time. And this is one of those times.”
She didn’t speak, so he hopped off the table and began to pace. “First, let me acknowledge that one of the reasons I felt you’d be a great candidate for Council Leader was your grasp of the science on this trip. That’s a given. So please don’t misunderstand what I’m about to say. I have it on pretty good authority that you’ve been doing some work on the radiation issue that the ship is facing.”
“And how would you know that?” Hannah said.
“Because you were doing the work right out in the open, in the Dining Hall, and people saw you. People talk, Hannah. Word travels.”
“Especially in your circles, I see,” she said.
He never broke stride, continuing to pace around the table, but a smile spread across his face. “Yes, I know, you’ve made it clear you don’t like me, but we’re past that, right? Let’s just stay on subject, shall we? The point is, you’re doing what you do best, which is solve problems. Again, that’s why you’re a natural to replace Triana. But I’d like to suggest something if I may.”
“Yes?”
“When you solve this radiation problem—and I have no doubt that you’ll be the one to figure it out—it would not be a good idea to take it to the Council.”
Hannah blinked a few times, watching him take his slow, measured steps. “What are you talking about? If I don’t report it to the Council, just who would I tell? What good does it do to figure it out and not use the information?”
“Of course we would use the information. But the last thing you want to do is tell the Council. If you do that, then Gap gathers the crew together, or makes a ship-wide announcement through e-mail, and although he might mention you somewhere in the fine print, just who do you think would get the credit?”
He had circled the table a few times. As he came around again, Hannah held out her arm and stopped him. “Would you quit with the pacing? It makes me nervous.” She got up and leaned against the table. “What are you suggesting I do?”
Merit grinned at her again and pushed a long stray hair behind his ear. “I’m suggesting that you wait until one of the forum sessions of the campaign and break the news to the entire crew. Use the platform, Hannah; that’s what it’s all about.”
It took a few moments, but finally an incredulous smile broke across her face. “You are unbelievable. The ship could be in real danger, and you want me to sit on information that might save us, all for the sake of a few votes?”
Merit sat beside her on the table. “You’re not going to have to sit on it, at least not for long. I have every confidence that you’ll crack this problem pretty quickly, and there are two forums within the next few days. Chances are you’ll have the information just hours before you speak. Besides…” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll need a little time to confirm your findings, right? Don’t want to rush into an emergency Council meeting without being completely prepared.”
Hannah felt her stomach tighten. She suddenly knew that she had crawled into something that was against her nature; it not only didn’t feel right, it felt … slimy. And yet, as much as it pained her to admit it, there was a measure of truth to what Merit was saying. Whoever delivered the information to the crew was bound to get the credit by default, whether they had done the work or not. Had it been Triana in charge and divulging the solution to the crew, Hannah would have no problem. But Gap?
“So,” Merit said, “do we understand each other? Keep doing the work, and find that solution. But stop doing the work in public, and by all means don’t report anything to anyone until we’re ready.”
Hannah turned her head to look at him with dead eyes. “We’re?”
The smile on his face vanished, and he stood up. “I hope I wasn’t wrong about you, Hannah. I hope you have the guts to do this, and to do it right. If you’re going to constantly take your eye off the prize and worry about our collaboration, then you’re going to fail. Stay focused.”
He turned and walked towards the door, stopping short and turning back to face her. “Think you can handle that?”
A moment later he was gone. Hannah leaned back on the table and closed her eyes.
Merit’s intentions were obvious to her; he held a festering grudge against Gap and was delighted to use Hannah as a pawn in his scheme for revenge. If he couldn’t defeat Gap himself, the next best thing would be to mastermind a campaign to defeat his foe. What better choice, he must have concluded, than Hannah, Gap’s one-time girlfriend?
Her own intentions were much more complicated. She couldn’t deny that the break from Gap still carried its bitter sting, one that had refused to fade. Give it time, she’d told herself over and over again; give it time. And yet time seemed only to magnify the sense of loss, and the feeling of rejection, to the point where her routines had been shaken, a sure sign that she was still far from recovered.
She had allowed herself to be talked into running against Gap for the position of Council Leader, but it had nothing to do with vengeance. Although the shock of Gap’s sudden rebuff had opened old wounds and hurt her deeply, s
he found that she was unable to summon a desire to strike back at him.
No. What Hannah wanted—what she needed—was to prove to Gap that she had been—and still was—worth more than he had ever appreciated. She was more than her quiet demeanor suggested. She was … valuable. What better acknowledgment of that fact than a successful run to the top spot on Galahad’s Council?
It was, she decided, the most direct evidence of the change that she’d experienced after the painful split from Gap. In the past she’d always focused every bit of energy on her art, her scientific curiosity, her love of space and its bizarre puzzles. Now she was able to divert at least a portion of that energy into her self-esteem. Where in the past she’d accepted a role in the shadows, this new awareness pushed and prodded her, demanding she be recognized for her contributions. If not by the whole crew, she admitted, then at least by the one person who had taken her for granted.
It meant forming a distasteful alliance with a person like Merit Simms, but that was a trade-off that she judged acceptable. Merit had his reasons, she had her own; it wasn’t important that they intersect. In the meantime, he could help her maneuver her way through an election, where otherwise she might be lost.
She only hoped that she didn’t lose herself along the way.
11
“She reminds me of Halloween,” Gap said to Channy. They were the first to arrive for the Council meeting and, in what had almost become an unspoken tradition, sat outside the Conference Room against the gently curved walls. Recently they never entered the room until all of the members were present in the corridor; it was as if they had a pre-meeting before the actual meeting.
Channy rubbed the belly of Iris, who lay sprawled against the wall. The cat closed her eyes and seemed to soak in the attention.
“But she’s black and orange, not solid black,” Channy said. “I thought it was black cats that people were afraid of.”
“I think of Halloween when I see black and orange,” Gap said. “Something about those colors. The decorations, the candy. She’s more of a Halloween cat than a black cat would be, if you ask me.”
Channy put on her best baby-voice while rubbing Iris again. “But she’s not scary at all. Are you? No, you’re not.”
Gap smiled at the sound. It was good to see Channy acting like herself again after the rough stretch she had been through in the past few weeks. He thought about addressing that, then quickly decided against it; best to simply let her be and not draw attention to it.
Lita strolled into view and immediately slid to the floor beside Channy and began to scratch Iris under her chin. “Greetings, fellow galactic travelers.”
Channy giggled. “I like that: galactic travelers. You know, as funny as it sounds, sometimes I get so caught up in the day-to-day routine—you know, eat breakfast, work out, file reports, eat lunch, lead afternoon dance class, so on and so on—that I almost forget that I’m inside a spacecraft. I mean, at first it was on my mind all the time. But now, after a year, if I don’t look out through the domes or one of the windows, I just go about my day.”
“No, I get it,” Lita said. “I’m the same way. Or, if there’s some sort of emergency, then it suddenly reminds me, ‘Hey, I’m billions of miles from home.’” She looked across the hallway at Gap. “Like this latest fight. That makes two in the last couple of days. Definitely reminders that we’re on our own. And, I might add, we’re not doing too well keeping it together.”
Gap let out a long breath. “I know, I know. We’re going to talk about that. Plus a few other things, including the radiation issue, and the Council itself.”
“The election?”
“That, and some other issues that I think we need to discuss.”
Lita raised an eyebrow. “Sounds interesting. Has one of us been bad, too?”
Gap laughed. “Lita, the day you are bad I will jump out an airlock without a helmet.”
They made small talk for another minute or two before Bon walked up. He gave a sullen nod to their greetings, the damage in the dome likely pushing him even farther into a funk. Then as a group they collected their things and walked into the Conference Room. Channy placed Iris onto one of the empty seats, and the cat wasted no time in getting comfortable and beginning to groom. The Council members sat down around the table.
For the first ten minutes they covered the basics, mostly department reports and crew requests. By now they were comfortable with the regimen, and wasted little time ticking items off the list. Gap noted that this time, however, there weren’t the usual snarky comments and jokes. Even Roc, normally quick to inject sarcasm at any moment, was reserved.
“If there’s nothing else we need to cover,” Gap said, “let’s talk about our latest bit of drama.” He looked at Lita. “How’s Karl?”
“Bandaged up and recovering. But he’s lucky; the torn shell missed his femoral artery by about an inch.”
“So what started all of that?” Channy said.
Lita looked back at Gap for an answer. He shook his head. “Something minor. It should never have escalated like it did. Apparently Karl was sent up from the kitchen area to inquire about a missing delivery from that afternoon. He ended up asking Liam, who mouthed off to him. From what I hear they’ve argued before. This time words were exchanged, a few insults, and then … well, then you know what happened.”
“It’s ridiculous and immature,” Lita said. She turned to Bon. “How bad is the damage?”
The Swede growled his answer. “The irrigation pump is wrecked. It will take a few days to get it back in working order. And, since it was one of the master units, we need to divert activity from other stations. Some of those automatically shut down when the master unit failed. Two of them are not booting back up.”
“Will we lose crops?” Gap said.
“I don’t lose crops,” Bon said.
Gap let out a long breath. “Yes, under normal circumstances. Realistically, will we lose crops?”
Bon tapped one finger on the table and seemed to chew on his answer. “If we do, it won’t be for long.”
For the first time since the launch, Galahad’s Council considered their precarious reliance on the Farm’s production. It had seemed a given that the artificial light would always shine upon a flourishing bounty of food. The threat of loss—any loss, no matter how minor—to that production sent a noticeable chill through the room.
Gap thought, “We take too many things for granted.”
He gave a nod to Bon. “Okay. Let Engineering know if you need any special help with the repairs. We’ve had our share of experience with those particular units. And, for the record, I’ll be talking with both Liam and Karl. I’ve had enough of these fights, and I won’t tolerate any more reckless, irresponsible behavior. When we get to the point that it’s affecting our very survival…” He let the thought die.
“If I have to call a special crew meeting, I will,” he said, looking around the table. “For now, let’s move on to our other issues. We’ve officially had four ‘events’ with the radiation shield. The first lasted less than a second; the next time it was about a second and a half. Then it happened twice overnight, again for barely a second. All of the diagnostics that we’ve run so far tell us that the failures aren’t coming from the unit itself. At least not that we can see.”
Gap was surprised when Bon immediately spoke up. “Have you considered replacing the unit with the backup? If the replacement doesn’t fail, you would have time to find the problem in the original.”
“We not only considered it, but that’s exactly what Ruben is doing this morning. I won’t lie, I think it’s a waste of time. But it’s the only way to confirm that the problem is not coming from inside the ship, but outside.”
Lita scowled. “Outside. So that means our shields aren’t equipped to handle the radiation beyond our solar system?”
“No, that’s not necessarily true,” Gap said. “Roc and I had a talk about that early this morning. Roc, would you care to fill them in?”<
br />
“It’s possible that it’s not radiation at all,” the computer said. “Yes, the unit being affected is designed to shove those nasty radiation particles out of our way, so that I don’t fry my circuits and you don’t grow a second nose. But that doesn’t mean it has to be radiation causing the problem.
“Instead, it could be a variety of problems individually, or a series of them, that somehow don’t play well with our shield. We’ve had more than a few encounters recently with what we have labeled dark energy. That’s one possibility.”
Channy sighed. “Those wormholes. That’s it, isn’t it? The wormholes have somehow attacked us.”
“We’re not jumping to any conclusions,” Gap said. “We’re considering all of the options.”
“But the way those things rattled the ship,” Channy said. “It only makes sense—”
“Like I said, we’re not jumping to conclusions.”
“Actually,” Roc said, “the wormholes are a consideration. It has been suggested that energy, in the form of radiation, might have leaked out before they pinged out of existence. However, the arguments against that scenario are also strong. Namely, if they did indeed burp out some nasty particles, we would have felt them before this. And, additionally, it wouldn’t explain the random nature of the failures.
“That leaves us with interstellar space itself,” the computer continued. “Possibly another force altogether, or perhaps something in the nature of deep space that we could never detect from Earth.”
“The nature of space?” Channy said.
“The fabric of space is another way to put it,” Roc said. “The manner in which the particles and molecules react and interact. Science does its best to explain how they work together, but we don’t even know what we don’t know, to put it in a quaint but confusing form. And remember: every mile that we scoot along out here is another mile farther into the unknown.”
