Fluency (5 page)
Her parents had gotten quiet, then, and she dozed off.
The memory faded away.
But she was still there.
What had that accomplished? There was no tranquility in this silence. Only pain and heartbreaking loneliness.
Into the roaring stillness of the tiny one-room shack, Jane cried, “Is this what you want? Are you trying to hurt me?”
“No,” a low-pitched voice buzzed softly.
It didn’t come from the room around her. It came from inside her head.
She jumped with dismay. Her mother and father were gone. She could never have them back again like that. The thought made her chest ache.
She stood in the middle of the room, in the orange EMU, the umbilicus trailing out the solitary door into the rain forest. She could hear the raucous chatter of howler monkeys reaching a cl
imax outside. Something they didn’t like was encroaching on their territory.
Jane felt the same way.
She cast around. It was the same faded turquoise walls made of thick planks, the same rough wooden table, the same mismatched, rickety chairs, sagging, straw bed and trundle. Even Rainbow Bright smiled back at her from the small plastic cup.
Tears stung her eyes. She refused to shed them, blinking them back. “Show yourself.”
“I regret that I cannot, Dr. Jane Holloway.”
She quailed.
It knows my name?
The voice was rich and resonant—it conveyed the impression of male gender, though she knew it could be a mistake to make
such assumptions. It created a vibrating sensation in her head when it spoke and that seemed odd.
Because she liked it, too.
“Why?” There was anguish in her voice.
Damn it.
She steeled herself and drew an angry breath.
Stay dispassionate, Jane.
“It is a simple matter. My form would be incongruous in your perceived environment.”
What? What’s that supposed to mean?
She stood straight as an arrow and demanded, “What do you want from me?”
“We both want something. You want something from me.”
“I—We—”
The sonorous voice interrupted, filling her head, all other thought drowned. “It will be an even exchange, Dr. Jane Holloway. You have nothing to fear. You may explore as you desire. The gaseous composition and gravitational forces have been adjusted, are now adequate for your species. These things do not affect me. There is plentiful foodstuff, as you have already discovered. There are horizontal platforms, like these, where you may take rest. Your journey has been long, arduous, primitive. It is over now. You are home.”
“But, where’s the crew? A ship of this size must have a crew!”
“They have…departed, long ago. There is only myself. And now, you.”
She sensed it was slipping away. The hum was receding. She concentrated, willing it to stay. “What’s happening? Why are you being so cryptic?”
“I will let you rest now. You are fatigued.”
Desperation propelled her a step forward. “Wait a minute!”
“Yes? You require something more, Dr. Jane Holloway?”
She blinked and softened her tone, “What are you? Where are you? Who are you?”
“This conversation will be more optimally resumed when the required mental link has been more properly established. With time, and repetition, it will become easier and no longer cause you discomfort or distress. This is prudent, Dr. Jane Holloway. I only desired to relieve your anxiety, to inform you that you are safe. That is sufficient. I leave you now.”
“No. Please! Don’t go. I—I still have questions
….”
She fell silent.
It…he?…was gone. The humming was gone. She was alone again.
She walked over to the cabinet and opened it. It was as she r
emembered, though she could reach it without the chair now. There was a bag of ground coffee, masa, rice, beans, lard, a small paper sack filled with root vegetables and several yellow-brown plantains. She backed up slowly and laid down on the bed, fingers spreading over the soft, worn quilt her mother had brought from Minnesota.
Was she small again? The suit was gone. She was drifting, dreaming.
She sat up abruptly, aghast at her manners.
She hadn’t even asked his name.
4
“What are you fighting, Jane?” Bergen urged, shaking Jane’s shoulder, but she just flopped. She was out cold.
“Ronald, get her feet up,” Ajaya ordered.
Gibbs crouched, bent Jane’s knees, and propped her legs on one of his shoulders.
Bergen checked the display on the front of her EMU. It seemed to be working properly. “I need to run a diagnostic on her har
dware. She could be hypoxic. Give me the laptop.”
Gibbs handed it over and Bergen quickly interfaced it with the PLSS module on Jane’s EMU.
“She’s not cyanotic, Alan,” Ajaya said, turning Jane’s helmet slightly and shining a light into it. “Respiration rate is normal now. Let’s give her a minute. I think it’s just a panic attack.”
He strove to control his
movements, to be patient with the thick gloves on the keyboard while a bright flash of red-hot anger flamed inside. “A panic attack? Why now? Why not at lift off? Why not on the approach or, or, when we opened the damn hatch? Why would she close that door and suddenly, out of the blue, have the first panic attack of her life?”
Ajaya frowned and glanced at Walsh. “We can’t know that.”
“What—you think she lied at Johnson or somehow fooled them? She didn’t even want to be there. I—we—convinced her to do this. She wouldn’t even begin to know how to lie, Ajaya. You should know that by now.”
He looked up. Walsh and Ajaya were exchanging knowing glances.
“What? You agree with that bullshit?”
Walsh frowned. “Right now, all we know is she’s passed out. Let Ajaya look at her.”
“I need to run a diagnostic on her EMU controls,” he muttered.
Walsh sent Gibbs to scout ahead to make sure they were still alone, and knelt down in Gibbs' place, his face impassive, watc
hing Bergen and Ajaya work on her.
“Bergen.”
Bergen ignored him and checked another subroutine, mentally cursing the useless gloves as they impeded his typing. He’d be done by now if he weren’t wearing them or if they were better designed—if he’d been the one to design them. But he couldn’t do everything.
“Berg.”
“What?” he said, exasperated, finally looking up to meet Walsh’s gaze.
The soldier’s mask was gone, replaced with a look of grave u
nderstanding, though only briefly. “Check yourself,” he said curtly and looked pointedly at Jane, Ajaya, and then down the hall where Gibbs had disappeared.
Bergen bit back a scathing retort and focused on the screen, struggling to school his features. So, Walsh knew. He’d been more transparent than he’d meant to be. In the panic, he’d forgotten his game face. Walsh knew he wouldn’t have reacted this way if it’d been Compton or Gibbs or Ajaya on the floor.
Fuck.
Well, what did it matter now? He’d managed it—he’d passed all their tests, proved he’d be an asset instead of a liability. He’d made it there and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.
But, if Walsh knew…the others might too. Gibbs had loose lips. And Ajaya might get all girly when the guys weren’t around. They’d screw it all up. They’d tell her.
Dammit!
He didn’t want anything to change. Not yet. He wasn’t ready. They had to finish this first and go home. That was years away and they had to actually survive. By then…she…he…maybe it could work.
“If this were a simple episode of syncope, she’d be awake by now,” Ajaya said flatly. “She may be hypoglycemic, or severely dehydrated, or perhaps her electrolyte balance is off due to the fluid shift with gravity. I can’t determine anything, I cannot do anything for her, unless we get her out of the suit.”
“You’ve got enough air samples to analyze?” Walsh asked him.
“Yes.”
Walsh slipped a hand under Jane’s back and picked her up with a grunt. “Fall back.”
* * *
He heard through the grapevine that the big guys were wining and dining her and that she was a hard sell. She was really making them work for it.
He couldn’t get her out of his head. He didn’t know why. She wasn’t particularly beautiful or anything, although she had a great smile. She was something of a Plain Jane, he tried to convince himself, frowning. She wasn’t his type at all. She was all prissy and round—savvy, smart.
He liked bouncy, athletic girls, who could keep up with his six a.m. running schedule, who’d be up for an impromptu hike or day of surfing, if a free day suddenly came up. Sure, none of them were rocket scientists, but he’d given up hope of finding a girl with a mind he could really admire, not that he’d really been looking too hard. Maybe he was getting too old to be hanging out in college bars, hooking up with girls who weren’t looking for more than a good time.
He’d been in the middle of a think-tank planning session when he was pulled out. He thought it might be bad news. There were rumors they were about to announce the final five and he was nervous. He’d done everything he could to meet every qualification, pass every test, but he was afraid it wasn’t enough. He’d attempted to minimize their perception of his more negative personality traits. He knew they were a problem, but he already had a reputation within the organization and nothing he could do now would change that.
The psychological tests were obnoxious and verging on ridic
ulous, at times. They wanted to be sure they wouldn’t select someone who would crack under the pressure of boredom and confinement. He understood that and resolved to stay patient with the process.
He wasn’t even surprised when they shoved him into an MRI and barraged him with graphic and disturbing images, probably as a method of determining level of libido and sexual appetites. They couldn’t risk sending a lascivious, raping pervert on a two-year mission with five other people in a small, confined space.
That had been three days before. Now, they’d sent him to sit alone in a small conference room, suddenly, without warning or explanation. He came to the conclusion they were probably softening the blow by telling the losers in advance of the big announcement. He braced himself for that possibility, determined not to let anyone see his disappointment.
But it was Jane Holloway who came through the door with a shy smile. “Hi, there, Dr. Bergen,” she said with a flutter of her fingers. She was more casually dressed this time, but still crisp and neat. Her hair was down, swinging in a trendy, flattering cut. “I heard they interrupted a meeting. I hope it wasn’t too important. I’m about to see the capsule for the first time and I asked if you could come along to show it to me.”
He smiled with relief. “So are the rumors true? You signed the paperwork?”
“I just did. Yes.” She sounded resolute, but also looked uneasy about that, unsure.
“What was the clincher? What made you finally sign?”
A laugh bubbled up out of her. “They told me who their second choice was and I thought, ‘Oh, no—that would be a disaster!’ So, I signed.”
He chuckled along with her. “So, the secret button was competition. I wish I’d known that in Stanford.”
She shook her head ruefully. “No. Not competition. Concern. He might pass among the good old boy’s club here, but he’s not suitable for a first contact mission. He’s lucky to be alive, actually, after some of the shenanigans he’s pulled. I couldn’t convince them they were wrong about him so I decided I’d better stick around.”
He realized he was standing there, nodding at her like an idiot, and headed for the door. “So, why haven’t you seen the capsule yet?”
She raised her eyebrows and took a deep breath. “I didn’t want it to be a factor in my decision-making process. They’ve given me all the tests over the last few weeks, like you, I suppose. I must have passed. They seem to think I’ll be able to handle it, so now I’m ready to see it, I guess.”
He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Well, then. This should be good.”
All the big wigs were waiting in the hall. He greeted them co
rdially and they walked together to the construction bays. The others stood aside, congratulating themselves, while he gestured at the capsule and explained a few technical things to her.
He didn’t notice anything amiss, at first. She just followed along as he walked the perimeter, showing her the four rocket-booster shells that were about to be mounted. Then he opened it up
and she climbed the short service ladder to peek inside. She sat down suddenly on the ladder.
His eyebrows drew together. “Don’t you want to go inside?”
“I—” she plucked at imaginary fuzz on her khaki pants. “Dr. Bergen….” She trailed off.
He shifted his weight from foot to foot uneasily as he watched her struggle,
then took a step to stand between her and the men chatting nearby, barely aware of her now.
She lost her composure completely. She glanced over his shoulder. Her eyes were wide with disbelief.
She spoke just above a choking whisper, “They told me this was the most advanced…they said no expense had been spared…the best and the brightest—oh my God, this isn’t a scale model, is it? This is it? It’s…this small? It’s not going to be any bigger than this for six people, for ten months, one-way? We’ll all be…inside there?”
It hit him, then—how weird it must seem to someone outside the space program. Every candidate for this mission would gladly give up a leg to be one of the five going up in this capsule—but they all understood the logistics, the mechanics behind why it had to be this way. For her, it would be a shock. Of course it would. He couldn’t take offense at that, could he?
Her eyes didn’t leave his face while he considered what to say.
“Yes, Doc. This is it,” he said gently.
She bobbed her head once and a tear fled down her cheek. She dashed it away, murmuring to herself so soft he barely heard it, and stood up. She laughed. It was forced, but she was actively re-taking command of herself. “I have a bathroom that’s bigger than this thing,” she said in a thick, pinched voice.
He grinned at her. “Sure. But can your bathroom manage twe
nty-five-thousand miles per hour?”
She smiled and it lit up her face with such warmth. She stepped down and stuck out her hand. He returned the gesture.
She squeezed his hand and covered it with her other one. It was a simple action, but such a full moment. “I think I can always count on you to give it to me straight, Dr. Bergen.”
She
saw
him. She
got
him.
That was it. That was when it really started. If he hadn’t a
lready been falling for her, that would have done it.
There were flashes going off, but he was barely aware of them as he stood there, absorbing that amazing smile. He wouldn’t rea
lize why the photos were taken until the next day when he got the news.
The average taxpayer would never see any of these photos. As far as the public was concerned, this would be the first five-man mission to Mars. Dr. Jane Holloway would be on an extended sa
bbatical in remote Tibet.
Nevertheless, it was an historic moment and would be doc
umented for the classified NASA archives. One of the engineers that had designed the capsule bound for the Target, who was also selected for the team to man it, was showing it off to the newly recruited linguist-cum-astronaut for the mission.
A copy of one of those photographs was one of the few perso
nal items he’d been permitted to bring. It was tucked inside a technical manual at the back of a storage locker. No one had seen it except the air-quality scientist who screened and approved all the personal items. The photo didn’t create any off-gassing, so it was allowed.
* * *
Bergen helped Ajaya pull Jane’s limp form to the medical compartment to go over the EKG data. The electrodes were trad
itionally worn for space walks when the stress on the body was so great that an astronaut’s vitals were monitored every minute. Ajaya didn’t betray anything as she perused the data.
Bergen stared down at Jane’s face, keeping his expression ne
utral. She just seemed to be asleep. “Ajaya—her eyes are moving. She isn’t having a seizure, is she?”
“No. It looks like REM sleep to me. Her heart rate spiked a few minutes ago, but has returned
to normal now. There’s nothing of concern here.”
“We have atmosphere,” Walsh announced and took off his helmet and gloves. Everyone else followed his example.
Bergen unlatched the seal on Jane’s helmet and began to remove her suit. Once Jane’s torso was uncovered, Ajaya started taking vitals.
It was unnerving, undressing her like a doll. He’d imagined stripping her
bare many times, but never like this. He kept his hands steady, his thoughts on the task at hand. It wouldn’t do to betray anything else now.
