Fluency (9 page)

They hadn’t gotten far when she felt the unmistakable buzzing sensation again. She stumbled and could feel the others’ eyes on her. She drug her feet a few steps, reluctant to fall unconscious under their direct scrutiny. She couldn’t tell if this was another brief message or if he would call her away again and she wasn’t sure she wanted either to happen. It continued, grew stronger, until she heaved a heavy sigh, stopped walking, and closed her eyes to concentrate—instinctively honing in on the feeling, to give him easier access to her thoughts. As soon as she did that, the rumbling ceased and she felt the lightest tendrils of thought easing into her mind.

The ship’s air quality sensors indicate the corridor’s atmosphere is safe for your occupancy, Dr. Jane Holloway. If the injuries your party has sustained are more severe than your resources can accommodate, Speroancora has a medical facility that is at your disposal. There are no air quality issues on any of the common routes or within those chambers.

The hum ceased and Jane straightened, pulling her mask over her head. It was time to face them, if not yet time to explain, pe
rhaps. “It’s safe to take off our masks now,” she said, unclipping the harness, slipping the apparatus from her shoulders, and turning off the air flow.  “How is Walsh, Ajaya?”

Ajaya kept a leery eye on Jane as she drew her stethoscope and a small flashlight from her
pack, then turned her attention to examining Walsh. Compton and Gibbs held Walsh with their arms linked in a chair hold. Walsh’s head and torso sagged against Gibbs’ shoulder.

Gibbs slipped his mask aside. “Jane, what’s going on? How do you know it’s safe now? How did you know all this stuff was ha
ppening?” He turned to Bergen. “Wasn’t the radio signal getting through, before, when we split up?”

Bergen looked like he wasn’t sure about any of it and slowly pulled down his own mask.

Ajaya redirected their attention. “Much as I would like to know the answers to these questions, my own questions are more pressing at the moment. How long has Walsh been out and what were you two breathing in there? Do you know?”

Bergen seemed to consider that. “He’s been out a good twenty minutes or more. He had a much tougher time clearing the gas, even with the oxygen. I believe
it’s xenon gas.”

Ajaya furrowed her brow. “I’m aware of the properties of xe
non. It’s occasionally used in pulmonology. That explains your symptoms.”

Bergen frowned and nodded once.

Ajaya turned back to Walsh. “But why isn’t he clearing the gas?”

Bergen rubbed his neck, thoughtfully. “He did say something about having bruised ribs from Gibbs falling on him yesterday. At the time, I thought he was joking.”

That seemed to alarm Ajaya. “Oh, dear. That’s a problem. He may have developed inflammation of the intercostal muscles and may not be capable of taking a deep breath, just now. The gas may have settled in his lungs and is simply sitting there. This has all sorts of implications. He may be at risk for pneumonia as well.”

Bergen grabbed Walsh’s dangling legs and shoved them over one shoulder. “Let’s turn him upside down. If we change his pos
ition, that should displace it.”

Ajaya was nodding. “Yes—good idea. That should work.”

Gibbs and Compton slowly eased Walsh’s head toward the floor. They suspended him like that until Walsh coughed and came around. They got him upright and Ajaya moved in to examine him again. “Commander, we have very strict guidelines for reporting injuries,” she said primly.

Walsh looked confused. “What the
…?”

“Welcome back, Commander. Take some deep breaths, please.” Ajaya resumed her patient, clinical air as she unceremon
iously unzipped the front of Walsh’s flight suit and pulled up his t-shirt to palpate his ribs.

Walsh shook off the arms of the men holding him and slipped to his feet. He complied with Ajaya’s instructions, but was unable to hide painful winces with each deep breath.

“What’s the last thing you remember, Commander?”

Clearly discomfited, he glared at Bergen. “Climbing a ladder. Why aren’t you all wearing masks?”

Gibbs said, “Jane says it’s safe out here.”

“Since when is Holloway an expert on air quality? What the hell is going on? Why isn’t someone stationed in the capsule?”

They all turned to look at Jane. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. She felt her face go hot. “I…we know we aren’t alone here. There is one…person…on board. This ship is called the Speroancora and has a single occupant, aside from us. His name is Ei’Brai.”

Compton touched her elbow lightly. “How can you know this, Jane?”

She lifted her chin. “I’ve been in contact with him. He told me what was happening, helped me find Walsh and Bergen. Without his help, we never would have found them before they both suffocated.”

A single word, edged with disbelief and contempt, came from Walsh, “How?”

Jane shook her head. “I don’t know, but he gets into my head somehow. He says he’s been in all of our heads, that he’s capable of seeing our thoughts and memories, but I’m the only one he can actually talk to….”

They openly stared at her—as though she were the alien.

Her hands balled up into fists. “I know it sounds insane. All this time I thought I’d be documenting the first alien language—but even if this mission becomes public knowledge, who’s going to believe me when I say I communicated with an alien telepathically? Goddamn it!” Tears sprang to her eyes. She spun away from her colleagues and tipped her face up to blink the tears back before they spilled over.

Compton came around to face her, looking earnestly co
ncerned. “When did this start?”

Her throat felt painfully thick. She choked out, “Yesterday. When I passed out. That’s when he first made contact with me. Right after I deciphered the symbols in the hallway.”

Compton squeezed her arm and moved away. She could hear Walsh speaking in undertones. Gibbs and Bergen stayed silent, but Compton murmured words in support of Jane, encouraging Walsh to hear her out more fully.

She glanced back at them when Ajaya spoke up in a level voice, an incredulous look on her face, “For what it’s worth, I’m inclined to believe her, Commander. Remember, I was with her the entire morning. She’s been operating with an impossible amount of knowledge of your situation, your exact whereabouts, and the ship’s layout. I could barely keep up with her. There were several instances where I honestly did wonder if she was communicating with someone silently, because I just couldn’t explain her actions any other way.”

“Is that your professional opinion, Varma?” Walsh said sarcastically.

“With all due respect, Commander, you weren’t there.” Ajaya replied.

“Then let’s hear the details, Holloway. Start at the beginning.”

Ajaya protested, “We need to prioritize. I need to treat your i
njury, Commander.”

He waved her off dismissively and gestured at Jane. “It can wait. The details. Now, Holloway.”

Jane solemnly came forward and carefully described the unusual sensations going on inside her head each time Ei’Brai had been trying to make contact the day before. She explained how the symbols in the hall had opened up to her, and how Ei’Brai had said that in that moment he knew that he’d be able to communicate with her. She recounted their conversation. Then she skipped to that morning, how it had happened again, and how events had unfolded. Ajaya added to Jane’s narrative with observations and the timing from her point of view. When she finished, Walsh regarded her with a grim expression, but didn’t say anything right away.

Ajaya glanced from Walsh to Jane and back again. “We need to begin treatment on your injury, Commander. Your condition could quickly become serious. The first rule of thoracic bruising is to control the pain so the patient can breathe properly, or secondary problems can develop. Believe me, you do not want to go there.”

Jane felt uncomfortable under Walsh’s intense scrutiny. She gestured toward Alan. “Dr. Bergen’s hand is injured. It’s a chemical burn.”

Jane snuck a look at her own hands. The paracord had cut her palms raw, but the others’ injuries were worse. She’d wait until they’d been tended to before pulling Ajaya aside.

Ajaya was already examining Bergen’s hand. “You’ve got a nasty second-degree burn, Alan. I dearly wish I could stick this hand under running water for twenty minutes to make sure you’re well-rid of the chemical that caused this.”

That got Jane’s attention. She probed clumsily at the newly i
mplanted data in her mind, searching for particulars about the medical facility Ei’Brai had mentioned. “Can you treat them, Ajaya? Do you have what you need to treat Bergen and Walsh in the capsule?”

“I’ll manage. I don’t have all the comforts of home, obviously. I’d like to get some ice on Walsh’s injury, but that’s not possible, of course.” Ajaya sent Jane an intrigued look. “Why?”

“This ship has a medical facility and it’s not far. There’s potable running water there. I might manage to find some ice too. There are medical scanning devices. We’ve been invited by our host to use all of it, as needed.”

Walsh eyed her skeptically. “You’re saying you could take us there? Where is it, from here?”

“It’s three decks up via the deck-to-deck transport and 300 or 400 feet down a corridor.” Jane slid a glance at Bergen. He was rubbing the back of his neck with his uninjured hand, watching Walsh with a serious expression on his face.

“No. We fall back to the capsule. It’s a defensible position,” Walsh said tersely.

Ajaya shook her head. “With all due respect, Commander, going back into microgravity right now would be a mistake—the fluid shift could be dangerous for you. In fact, I don’t think it’s wise for any of us to keep going back and forth for extended periods. The effects on electrolyte balance and blood pressure alone, well, there’s no predicting the long-term effects of repeated rapid cycling through extreme environments like these. We’re here to explore this ship. The ship has gravity. We need to make camp somewhere inside it. An infirmary is as good a place as any.”

Walsh glowered at her. “We can make camp in the corridor outside the capsule then. Stay close to our supplies.”

Gibbs ventured sheepishly, “With the kind of resources we’re documenting here, the supply of water this ship is carrying has to be massive, meant for hundreds of people, maybe thousands. Do you think they have showers, Jane? I could really use a shower.”

Jane smiled at him ruefully, “Yes, Ron. I believe there’s a shower in the infirmary. I was thinking about that, too.”

Walsh shot Gibbs a dirty look and then turned to Compton and Bergen. “Well?”

Bergen spoke up immediately, “I think it’s a good idea to see something besides cargo. If Jane can deliver, we should investigate it.”

Jane focused on Bergen sharply, but his expression was inscrutable.

“No surprise there. Compton?”

“I’m concerned about Jane. I want to know more about what happened to her.”

Walsh sighed heavily and then grimaced at the pain that must have caused. “Noted. Agreed. Your opinion?”

“I agree with Ajaya. If we have to make camp here for medical reasons, that sounds like a good solution. I have doubts about our ability to use their equipment right away, but it’s worth looking.”

Walsh surveyed the group like they’d all completely taken leave of their senses. “Fine. Take Varma and Gibbs and get the supplies we’ll need for twenty-four hours,
then lock it up. We’ll see what this is all about.”

8

Jane slid down the wall and rummaged in her pack for a dose of ibuprofen. Her head ached and she felt utterly drained. She closed her eyes. Information was still unspooling inside her head. She caught glimpses of it now and then, filtering into her conscious mind when she wasn’t distracted.

So much of it was technological in scope. It was the stuff NASA wanted—details of structure, anatomy of propulsion drives, ventilation regulation, star maps, and so much more. It should have gone to Bergen or Compton or Gibbs. They were engineers of va
rious types. It would make sense to them. They’d be able to use it. In their hands, it would be an advantage. In hers, it was nothing short of mind numbing. How could she ever hope to convey all of it properly? It was incomprehensible.

She didn’t want any of this. All she’d wanted was to learn the language. Now she had that and so much more. How had she en
ded up in this position?

As her mind wandered, she realized that the exterior of the ship, the way it was constructed, like a city skyline of jutting, g
eometric shapes, was for the purpose of hull integrity as much as for the optimal collection of solar radiation for the ship’s most basic power functions. The many angles ensured that a portion of the ship was always collecting some amount of energy. The way the ship was oriented in its orbit maximized that.

But, why give her all of this? Why not give just the pertinent portions needed to get to Bergen and Walsh in time? At the edges of her mind she sensed there was far more that she hadn’t quite grasped yet. It was an awareness of something intangible, but growing. Was that Ei’Brai?

Walsh kept in constant contact with Compton, micro-managing Compton’s every move in the capsule, clearly compensating for his discomfort over what had happened. Compton set up a remote link so that Walsh could send a transmission to Houston. He glossed over the details of the morning and neglected to mention that Jane had made contact with the alien entity.

Bergen was pacing the corridor. He’d stop and examine the dressing Ajaya had wrapped around his injured hand or eye Jane and Walsh furtively, then resume his pacing. He looked as e
xhausted as she felt.

She gestured at him limply. “Dr. Bergen, it’s been a rough morning. Why don’t you just sit down for a minute and rest?”

He settled down against the wall about three feet from her, turned to her like he wanted to say something, then stopped himself and shook his head.

“What?” she asked wearily.

“Well, you…why are we back to Dr. Bergen? You called me Alan thirty minutes ago.”

She peered into his face curiously. “I was trying to get through to you.”

His lips twitched and he glanced away.

“I don’t understand. I’m just trying to maintain a professional atmosphere.”

“You call Ajaya, Ron, and Tom by their first names. Why not me?”

He actually seemed hurt. She frowned. “Why do you call me ‘Doc?’
”

He smirked—that looked more natural. “Because it irritates you.”

She smiled back. “I’ll call you Alan, if you call me Jane.”

He bobbed his head and he leaned toward her, sticking out his good hand, his left. “You have a deal, Doc.”

She took his hand and squeezed. “Smart-ass.” She pulled up her legs and leaned her head on one knee. “Have you eaten anything today? I have some stuff in my pack.”

“I could eat.”

“Walsh? Hungry?”

Walsh had been maintaining some distance from them. He strode over now and slowly eased himself down, stifling a groan.

“Didn’t Ajaya give you anything for the pain?” Jane asked, as she searched her pack for food.

He ignored her question and said, gruffly, “How’d you get me down from that ladder?”

Bergen was peering into his own pack. “Made a harness from paracord. It probably didn’t help your situation much, but there weren’t any good alternatives. I made the sling. Jane lowered you.”

Jane shook her
head, “I lowered you with some help.” She couldn’t stand to take all the credit when Walsh might have suffered a brain injury if she’d had to do it completely alone.

Walsh nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing on Jane. He clearly wasn’t happy about being out of the loop on all the particulars. She passed him some jerky and mixed nuts. Walsh didn’t like the ene
rgy bars. She opened one of those for Bergen and one for herself, then set a large plastic pouch of water between them to share. They chewed in silence for a while.

“Why’d you wait to talk, Holloway?” Walsh asked, with a sid
elong glance.

“I thought I might be going nuts.”

He grimaced and raised his eyebrows. “You sure you’re not?”

She met his stare unflinchingly. “One-hundred percent? No. I did save both your butts, though. So, that’s something.”

Bergen smirked.

Walsh was unfazed. “Why’s he hiding? Why not meet us face to face?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think he can. I don’t know what he looks like. I’m not even sure he’s a he. I just picked that pronoun because it fits his voice.”

Bergen watched her with an intense expression. Walsh was grim.

She looked down at the sugary bar in her hand, connecting her disparate thoughts as she articulated them, “The structure of this new language is similar to languages with Proto-Indo-European roots—like Greek, Latin, and Sanskrit. We know that there are common words that are very similar among many of our languages—‘mama,’ ‘night,’ ‘star,’ and ‘no.’ I can’t help but wonder if this ancient language, stored genetically but never consciously examined, comes out of us in this beautiful, wonderful way. Most linguists over the last 50-60 years have rejected the idea of the monogenesis of a proto-human language. In fact, my own work would tend to discount such theories. Linguistic polygenesis is the current prevailing theory, but….” She trailed off, her enthusiasm deflating, as she became aware that this revelation probably meant very little to them.

Walsh leaned in slowly with a pained expression and took a sip of the water. “What’s he like?”

Jane sat back, chastened, as she suspected he’d meant her to feel, and wiped her sticky fingers on her clothing. That’s when she noticed small holes forming on the leg of her flight suit. She met Bergen’s eyes and he tugged on his own suit, revealing holes of his own.

The others had been instructed to bring changes of clothing for all of them. Unless or until she started feeling unbearable pain, she’d keep the flight suit on. She’d rather be burned than strip down to her undergarments in front of Bergen and Walsh right now. She felt vulnerable enough as it was.

She continued, more solemnly, “He’s pretty ambiguous most of the time. He doesn’t like to answer direct questions. I thought for a while that he might actually be the ship’s computer, but I don’t think so now. He didn’t want you two to die. A computer wouldn’t react like that, would it?”

Bergen raised his brows. “It depends on programming. Could be an AI.”

Jane frowned. “Oh. Artificial Intelligence? He sounded emotional. I…really?”

Bergen reached out and snagged the water pouch. “So it’s just him, huh? No others in a ship of this size?”

“That’s what he says. I got the feeling that they died a long time ago. I intend on asking a lot of questions next time.”

“You do that.” Walsh said a lot with those three words. He didn’t believe any of it. She was surprised at how painful that was, given that was actually the reaction she expected from him.

She let her expression go blank and dropped her hands into her lap. She resisted the urge to try to make herself smaller, less conspicuous, or to close her eyes to escape his watchful glare. Walsh was efficient, critical, skeptical, but he was also fair. She would eventually convince him, but she wondered what that would take.

She couldn’t be sure what Bergen was thinking. Given his pe
rsonality, the fact that he wasn’t openly disdainful was encouraging. But she suspected he might be humoring her because he was worried about her. She wasn’t sure if she liked that. She suspected his forbearance toward her went back to their time in Houston. Either someone at NASA had assigned him the dubious honor of watching over her, or this was his way of expressing friendship.

The silence was thick and painful.

Walsh got back on the radio with Compton. It sounded like the others were about to return. They were wrapping up some details.

Bergen cleared his throat. He was reaching for her hand. “Jane, you’re hurt too,” he said softly, turning her hand palm up.

“It doesn’t hurt much,” she replied.

He held onto her hand. His hand felt strong and warm on hers. She let it linger, glancing curiously into his face. She liked this side of him and wished he would show it more often.

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to work, you know,” he said, with a sly smile.

She resisted smiling back. “What?”

“You’re supposed to be the damsel in distress. We’re supposed to save you.”

She snorted and pulled her hand away. “Times have changed.”

“But what does that make us? Two dudes in distress? Pathetic.”

“Two
colleagues
in distress. Gender doesn’t matter,” she replied and let a hint of a sad smile cross her face.

“Mm.” He nodded and dug into his pack. “I have something for you. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion. Not-asphyxiating seems as good an occasion as any other.” He pulled out a closed fist and held it out to her.

She put out an open hand and he plopped a small plastic pouch into it. She gasped with surprise and quickly closed her hand to obscure what was there. “Chocolate? Alan Bergen, I am going to tell your mother about this!” she hissed at him.

He chuckled. “She won’t be surprised. Are you going to share?”

She glanced at Walsh again. “I shouldn’t. But, I’m going to.” She tore open the plastic wrapper. They were the kind of chocolates that usually came in heart-shaped boxes. The kind with flavored, creamy centers. She slipped Bergen one, popped one in her own mouth, and left the third in the plastic, secreting it in an intact pocket of her suit. She shook her head and threatened him with a menacing glare. She whispered, “You’re terrible—blaming Ron and me for eating all the chocolate when you hid it somewhere. I’m going to tear that capsule apart until I find your stash!”

“Good luck. I have my own secret hiding places built in.” He nodded smugly and popped the morsel in his mouth.

She beamed at him, shaking her head. She didn’t doubt it was true. “Now, I’m complicit. You’re going to have to pay me blood-chocolate for my silence.”

He laughed, a loud, barking laugh. She couldn’t help but giggle at him. He had a way of figuring out exactly what she needed sometimes. Just when she thought she had him figured out, he su
rprised her again.

Walsh shot them a censorious look.

Bergen slid closer and bumped her playfully in the shoulder. “I’m not passing any judgment here, but you two were going through that stuff awfully fast. Would it have killed you to choose peach cobbler now and then?”

She rolled her eyes, savoring the chocolate still melting in her mouth. The peach cobbler was a joke. She didn’t know how it had escaped the excessive
quality-control process NASA employed for every detail down to their underwear. Sometimes it rehydrated as a disgusting, soggy mass, sometimes it tasted like someone had used a heavy hand with some exotic spice, and sometimes it was perfect—well, as perfect as rehydrated food can be.

It was funny, but in a weird way, because they kept eating it anyway, because their choices were so limited. It became a joke. Which peach cobbler would it be this time? They’d complained to Houston about it, in a cheeky, teasing way. The brass in Houston
got the director of the Space Food Systems Laboratory to send a reply, during which he admitted there’d been an intern in the lab on the day the peach cobbler had been prepared. He swore there’d be nothing amiss with the food waiting in the capsule on Mars for the trip home. The thought of the return capsule sobered her and she sighed.

“Hey.” Bergen’s arm snuck behind her and rubbed her lower back. He leaned in and asked softly, “You ok?”

“I’m fine,” she answered automatically, stiffening under his sudden solicitousness.

“You sure?”

He was hovering so close, seemed so concerned, she could almost believe…but no, that was ridiculous. He was kind of a legend at NASA. Space geeks were surprisingly gossipy. He was the local boy who made good, on a regular basis, or so his wingmen bragged. She was definitely not his type. He was just being friendly and that felt awkward because he probably didn’t have a lot of practice being friends with women.

“Yes.” She stood up and pulled her ponytail loose, to cover her nervousness created by his sudden attention. With the band came a clump of damp, matted hair. She stared at it, uncomprehending, and then dropped it with a squeal. Her hand was glossy with slime.

Walsh and Bergen were on her in seconds. Before she could react, Bergen was sloshing her hand with water from the pouch until it was empty, but her hand was already becoming painfully red and sore. She fell to her knees and pulled a bag of wipes from her bag. She pulled out wipe after wipe, scrubbing at her hands, her face, in case she’d splashed herself, determined to not release the tears that were so close to the surface.