Prodigal (30 page)

“That depends,” the doctor said. “Are you referring to something specific?”

“Dreams. Hallucinations.”

Farina leaned in, unable to hide her concern. Nathan wondered if bad dreams accounted for her own lack of sleep.

“That’s unlikely,” Masir said in a reassuring tone. “I’d sooner ascribe that to stress, Commander Straka—combined with prolonged sleep deprivation. Under those conditions, the human mind can play some interesting tricks.”

Nathan looked down at his hands.

“What about anger?”

The doctor wasn’t as dismissive this time.

“We all have latent hostility,” he speculated. “In certain situations, those emotions can manifest themselves—sometimes violently.”

“You mean like our current situation,” Farina said, giving voice to Masir’s implication.

The doctor trod carefully. “The crew
is
under a tremendous amount of pressure, Captain.”

“And having those bodies on board doesn’t help,” she continued, sounding defensive. Farina stepped away from them for a moment, taking a deep breath while she cooled down.

“Greg,” she asked, her back still turned, “has anyone else reported similar symptoms?”

“Not precisely,” he answered. “A few more cases of insomnia, but not in abnormal numbers. I prescribed tranquilizers for those crewmen.”

She turned around.

“And what are the chances of Nathan’s having another episode?”

“Statistically insignificant,” Masir told her. “Even so, I administered a time-released dose of betaflex compound as a precautionary measure. That will reduce the implant’s output levels to a bare minimum, just in case. The commander will need regular injections until we return home, of course—and I would advise against any further use of stims.”

Farina was dubious. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just remove the implant?”

“The procedure requires delicate surgery,” Masir explained, “far beyond my skills. Even if I could do it, I simply don’t have the necessary equipment on board. I’m afraid Commander Straka will have to wait until we get back to Earth.”

Nathan could tell that the captain didn’t like the idea. Neither did he—not that there was anything either of them could do about it. Still, her next order took him by surprise—and from Masir’s reaction, he seemed equally startled.

“Doctor,” she said, “I want you to keep a list of everyone who comes to you with related complaints. I also want you to prepare betaflex injections for the rest of the crew. Don’t advertise the fact—but make it available for anyone who requests it.”

“This appears to be an isolated incident, Captain. I don’t think it’s really necessary—”

“I’m not asking what you
think,
” she snapped. “Just do it.”

Masir stepped away, chastened.

“Report to me when you’re done,” she finished, and left without another word.

Nathan and Masir watched her go, then looked at each other in puzzlement.

“Women,” the doctor grumbled, removing the sensor straps from Nathan’s arm. “They’re always a mystery.”

“To you and me both,” Nathan said, and sat up. He eased himself off the rack, putting his uniform jacket back on. Taking a deep breath, he hesitated a little before asking, “Greg, is there any way a biometric implant could be overloaded—
deliberately
?”

Masir chuckled. “Someone out to get you, Commander?”

“Just humor me.”

“Well,” Masir began, considering it, “I suppose it’s possible for a directed energy surge to generate feedback like you experienced. The Zion resistance experimented with an active denial system that worked on the same principle—but the frequency and parameters would have to be very specific.”

“Would a neural spike do it?”

“Assuming you could generate enough power,” Masir said, raising an eyebrow as he caught Nathan’s drift. “You’re talking about the patterns you detected at Olympus Mons.”

“They had neural characteristics,” Nathan suggested. “If those cryotubes we picked up caused that kind of spike—”

“Then
all
of us would be out of our minds with pain, Nathan,” the doctor interjected, “not just you. Face it, my friend—you were the victim of a freak accident. I wouldn’t read any more into it than that.”

“Yeah,” Nathan sighed, wanting to believe him. “I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” Masir said, as the two of them walked toward the medical lab. “But in spite of my best efforts, you’re still a mess. It won’t do my flimsy reputation any good to have you leaving sickbay like this.”

“I’ll stay out of sight. All I want to do is get back to my quarters.”

“Then might I suggest a little something to ease the burden?”

“No more pills, Greg—please.”

“You wound me. I meant breakfast.”

“Don’t know if I can keep anything down.”

“Try. Doctor’s orders, Commander.”

“When you put it
that
way,” he said, just as the two men arrived at the entrance to the lab. A coppery glow spilled through the open archway that led inside, urged on by a static hum that greeted them as if they were uninvited guests. The source remained hidden around a corner—though an electric tingle and a crackle of ozone implied a powerful force field, operating a scant few meters away. It reminded him of

the shaft of light, beckoning him

the dream that had awakened him in the core.

“So,” Masir began, shadows playing across his face. “What was it that scared you so much, anyway?”

Nathan blinked, unsure what the doctor meant.

“Down in the core,” Masir said, his eyes narrowing. “What did you see?”

Nathan mustered as much honesty as he dared.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Masir nodded, patting him on the back gently.

“Do let me know when you figure it out,” the doctor said, and left him.

Alone now, Nathan waited at the entrance for a while. He absorbed the rhythms and pulses, hoping to divine some intent from them. A subliminal push tempted him in the opposite direction, but he resisted. Exactly why, he couldn’t say.

Nathan only knew that he needed to be here.

Nathan had supervised the engineering staff as they cobbled the quarantine together, but this was the first time he had been down here since it went operational. During fabrication, the containment sphere had been just another collection of inanimate parts, welded together to cordon off the rear section of the lab like a makeshift barricade. Now, the ungainly contraption assumed a life of its own. The volume of energy that seethed between its double walls worked the seams like a pressure cooker, threatening to rupture at any moment, while a single pane of carbon glass leaked hot radiation from within—or so it seemed to Nathan, who approached the sphere with a caution bordering on paranoia.

An engineering console kept tabs on structural integrity and power levels, which Nathan stopped to monitor along the way. It was the same precision setup used to monitor
Almacantar
’s pulse-fusion propulsion system, converted to a wholly different purpose. The chief engineer gave him all kinds of hell about tapping the equipment from one of the unlit reactors, but Nathan had insisted. The force field required constant adjustments, and with such a narrow fault tolerance there was almost no margin for error—and no second chance if a broken seal allowed even a single molecule to escape.

One by one, he checked all the indicators. So far, the sphere held itself together. Then he looked at atmospheric pressure, which read near zero. A wall of charged photons and deadly vacuum stood between Nathan and the things within.

So why doesn’t it feel like enough?

Nathan slid over to the window. Inside, a lone figure in a bulky envirosuit moved in suspension, its shape distorted ever so slightly by the shimmering force field. By the size, he guessed it was a woman. He followed her progress closely as she glided among the six sarcophagi recovered from Olympus Mons. She visited with each one, never hurried, applying a reverent care that went far beyond simple observation. Hovering over one of her charges, she stroked the pitted metallic surface of the container with gloved hands. She didn’t know Nathan was watching.

What is she doing in there?

Nathan couldn’t tell. The way she leaned in, the woman could have been whispering to the body frozen in stasis. Fascinated, he couldn’t tear himself away—until the figure arched her head toward him and revealed herself.

Eve Kellean stared back at him.

Nathan drew back a little, disconcerted by her reaction. Her expression was a blank, save for a trace of accusation—as if he had intruded upon something private. An instant later, though, she greeted Nathan with a friendly wave. He motioned her toward the airlock.

She nodded, signaling for him to wait. Then she hopped away from the cryotubes, going over to a bank of vital monitors squeezed into the small space of the enclosure. From Nathan’s vantage point, they all appeared to be in flatline—the subcomatose life signs of all the tube occupants. Once, when Kellean brushed against the nearest tube, Nathan thought he saw a couple of the indicators fluctuate. It was the tiniest of spikes, gone so fast that he wasn’t even sure it was real. After his experience in the core, it was getting hard to tell the difference.

Even so, he zeroed in on that monitor.

Beyond the shimmer of the force field, it was near impossible to see any detail. Kellean also kept getting in the way, crossing his line of sight as she moved back and forth across the cramped quarters. Nathan willed her to bump the tube again, if only to prove himself wrong, but Kellean didn’t oblige. She simply locked down the equipment, working in that efficient way of hers, and headed toward the airlock.

The field disengaged momentarily, allowing her to exit, then cranked back up again after the airlock closed. A thick hiss followed when the oxygen pumps kicked in, followed by a sound like heavy rain as chemical disinfectants sprayed Kellean in a high-pressure molecular wash. When the heavy door finally unlocked itself and swung open, Kellean wasted no time peeling the airtight hood from her head.

Her hair was matted down with sweat, skin glistening under the lab’s halogen light. Nathan came over to assist while Kellean unzipped herself out of the rest of the suit. The secondskin she wore beneath retained moisture and dispelled body heat, but it still looked like she had dropped ten pounds.

“Jesus, Kellean,” Nathan remarked, pulling the suit off her. “How long have you been in there?”

“I don’t know,” she panted. “What day is it again?”

“Good question.”

Kellean worked up a weak smile. She walked Nathan over to one of the lab tables, where she pulled a bottle of water from a small overhead cabinet and gulped half of it down. She pulled up a stool and took a seat, but Nathan remained standing.

“So what brings you down here, Commander?”

She asked the question with a familiarity Nathan hadn’t noticed in her before. During their first landing on Mars, Kellean had been so green and eager—but now she seemed
different,
in some subtle way he couldn’t quite fathom. Nathan tried not to be obvious while he figured it out.

“Just curious,” he replied. “Everybody wants to know about our guests.”

“
Do
they?”

“So do I,” Nathan said evenly.

She took another swig off her bottle, then set it down. “They’re a magnificent breed—trained for combat their entire lives, conditioned to physical and psychological perfection. You ask me, it’s no wonder they’re still alive. Survival is an integral part of what they are.”

“So Masir believes they’re viable?”

“There’s no question,” she said. “Even with the prolonged stasis, all their vital systems are intact—like they went under just yesterday. You could wake them up right now if you wanted to.”

The offhand way she brought that up gave him pause.

“What about the Mons virus?”

Kellean looked at him sourly for even suggesting it. “Virtual screens came back negative. We haven’t been able to run actual blood cultures because the cryotubes are sealed—but if any viral bodies were present, the resonator would have picked them up.”

“No chance there could be a mistake?”

“They’re
clean,
Commander. I’d stake my life on it.”

“It’s more than just
your
life, Kellean,” Nathan reminded her sharply, and walked away. He returned to the containment sphere, placing his hand against the window while he looked back inside. The six tubes brimmed with potential energy. Kellean sidled up next to him, her presence even more heated than the glass at his fingertips.

“I know,” she said. “It’s hard to tear yourself away.”

Nathan lowered his head.

“Think of the stories they could tell,” she continued. “All the questions they could answer.”

He gave Kellean a sideways glance.

“I’m sure the Collective already has that in mind.”

Her eyebrows pinched together in a frown. “That’s a rather narrow view, Commander. A lot of things happened on Mars. We’ve only heard the official story—and you know as well as I do how the Collective spins the truth to its advantage.”