Vessel (24 page)

'They said they
'd take my family away,' he whispered. 'They said they'd take them away if I didn't do what they told me to do …'

He took
a quivering hand and covered his mouth with it as tears began to roll down his cheeks. Sean's anger washed away in an instant, a cold dread taking its place. 'What do you mean?' he said. 'What did they want you to do?'

James
looked at Sean, his red eyes wide. 'I'm sorry, Sean …'

The restaurant door
crashed open, letting a bright shaft of light into the room that was filled with black-suited bodies.

* * *

'Mikhail? Where are you, Mikhail?'

Sally had scoured the station, but Mikhail was nowhere
to be seen. She felt an unnerving panic the longer she looked, and as she scurried from module to module it occurred to her that she hadn't checked his quarters. He was in there sleeping, but with an agony on his face that frightened her so much she jerked away. He twitched and he contorted; Sally didn't know what to do.

'
Mikhail?' she said, but he didn't respond.

She grasped his shoulder and shook him.

'Wake up, Mikhail,' she said a little louder, and he stirred, his pained expression fading. As his eyes came to focus, he looked to her, and smiled.

'Hello, Sally. What’s the matter?'

'You looked like you were in pain so I woke you up.'

The smile
dulled a little as Mikhail thought. 'I was dreaming,' he said.

'What were you dreaming about?'

Mikhail frowned. 'I think — I think I was dreaming about —' he winced in pain, and held his face in his hands. When he resurfaced, his expression was normal again. 'No, I don't remember.'

Sally was worried for him. She knew he was having headaches, but she hadn't seen one before, and it looked far worse than he was letting on.
'Can I get you anything?' she said. 'For the pain?'

Mikhail smiled again, and shook his head.
'No, I'm fine. Really.'

Mikhail
did seem fine now, and continued to for the rest of the day. He was back to his cheery self in no time, and they laughed and joked their way through their daily routine, which was sprinkled with more of Mikhail's wondrous insights.

But a
lthough Sally was happy, the expression of suffering on Mikhail's face when she'd found him that morning stuck in her mind, and no matter how much he told her that he was fine, she couldn't dismiss it. Over dinner, she brought up the topic again.

'Do you think your headaches are get
ting worse?' she asked, trying to sound casual while popping a piece of bread in her mouth.

'Please
,' Mikhail said, patting her on the arm as if to reassure her. 'You don't need to worry.'

'But do you think they're getting worse?
I want to know.'

Mikhail
's face dropped a little. 'Yes.'

'Why do think that is?'

He shook his head. 'I don't really know. The only thing I do know is that when I get them, it feels like a tap has been opened in my mind. The knowledge that comes flooding in is too much for me to hold. It's like my head's going to burst.'

'What kind of knowledge?'

'I don't know — a bit of everything, really. Some parts I can actually understand, and that's what I tell you, but there are other things that hurt to think about.'

He pulled a pained expression, and
Sally chewed her bread, thinking.

'Why do
you think the vessel is doing this to you? Do you think it means to hurt you?'

'No
, I don't think it does. I don't know what it's doing, but I don't sense any malice in its actions. Perhaps I am too fragile. Too weak.'

'Do you think you'll survive?'

Just saying that made Sally's throat go dry, and it caught Mikhail off guard, too. She watched him as he struggled to form an answer.

'I
— I don't know. But if I don't survive, I'll die having experienced what very few ever have, so I think it's worth it.'

A passionate longing, like she'd experienced when she wante
d to get into CalTech; like when she'd submitted her research to the NuStar team; like when she'd first looked up to the heavens and decided she wanted to visit them, sparked a flame inside Sally. 'Can I experience it too?'

This made
Mikhail laugh for some reason, and without knowing why, Sally did too. She liked to laugh with him.

'Soon,' he said. 'S
oon.'

After dinner, they resumed Sally's research. W
ith Mikhail's help, Sally was making incredible progress, recording data she never thought she'd get to see, which she stored and backed up on the station's computers with religious zeal.

'You have no idea,' she said as she copied he
r data files across to the backup server, 'how useful this information is going to be back on Earth. This stuff could give us a ten-year technological advancement in less than a year. It's incredible.'

'I'm glad I could help,' Mikhail said as he switched off the equipment.

'This is seriously going to move the field of quantum physics forward faster than anyone's ever seen. God, I hope I can see the look on John Heisenberg's face when this information gets presented. It'll be a classic.'

'Who's John Heisenberg?'

Sally blushed — she felt a little silly for having brought John Heisenberg up at all. 'He's a guy I studied with at CalTech. He was a real jerk. I turned him down on a date, so he decided to make my life as difficult as he possibly could from then on. He even broke into a professor's car to steal a paper of mine once, can you believe that?'

'And it
would be satisfying to show him this research?'

Sally played with her hands in the way she did when she felt
awkward and uncomfortable. 'Yeah, I suppose. He's an accomplished physicist in his own right, and he did apologise to me a few years ago, but still — I'd like to show him what I can do.'

'Do you like him?'

Sally nearly choked she was so taken aback by the question. 'What? No! He's quite cute, but I can't get past all the horrible things he did to me. Not now, not ever.'

Mikhail smiled and nodded with a glint in his eye
. They continued packing up and shutting down the equipment in silence.

'What if you could go back?'
Mikhail said after a while.

Sally wasn't sure if she'
d heard him right. 'Pardon?'

'What if you could go back
— in time, I mean?'

It was
something Sally had considered on more than one occasion. With a retrospective look back to how things
could
have been, there were many possibilities — infinite, even. She did it often, about many aspects of her life, even though she knew it was just a futile waste of imagination. Of course, she had never given any thought to
actually being able to do it
.

'I
— I haven't really considered it.'

'It can be done.'

Sally wasn't sure if he was mocking her or being serious; his face, however, suggested the latter. 'How?'

'Not only can you enter this universe from
any of the others at any point you like, you can also enter it at any time.'

'But how do you get from one universe to another?'

'Through a doorway.'

'What doorway?'

'It is created. The vessel is a doorway.'

Somehow, that made sense to Sally. She thought abou
t the times she had stared at UV One, and how it had shown her things she didn't understand. Now she realised she had been staring through into another universe. 'You've been there, haven't you?'

Mikhail nodded.

'What's it like on the other side?'

Mikhail opened his mouth and
then shut it. 'I — I can't really describe it,' he said eventually. 'Not with these words.'

'Can you take me there and show me?'

The question made Mikhail look frightened. 'No! I can't take you, it's much too dangerous. I wouldn't know where I was going — we'd get lost for certain.'

Sally took Mikhail's wide-eyed express
ion as a signal to move on. She finished packing up and went to the Cupola to take pictures, a hobby that she'd discovered during her research a week ago and found to be quite therapeutic. She had never been interested in photography on Earth, but on Earth she didn't have a view like the one she had now. She tracked a cloud formation before snapping it as it passed over India.

'Do you think humans are supposed to be in space?' she asked as she framed another shot.

'What do you mean?' Mikhail said, looking out the window. 'Ooh, there's an interesting cloud just about to reach Oman — look.'

Sally aimed her camera at Oman and clicked.
'You're right. It looks a bit like a dog, doesn’t it? What I mean is, should humans be in space at all or are we taking things too far? For example, we can't breath out here and we'd die pretty quick in a vacuum, so should we be floating around up here at all?'

'I think the question is,
why not
?' Mikhail said. 'Exploration is the path to discovery — surely you agree with that?'

Sally lowered her camera
. She was exploring a thought that had been bugging her for a long time, from way before she had come to the station. It seemed insignificant, but she needed to air it and get it out of her system. 'Everything we humans touch, we break. Put it this way — we don't play well with others. Surely venturing into space is just going to give us more opportunity to ruin things on an inter-planetary scale.'

Mikhail
chuckled, which annoyed Sally.

'What's so funny?'

'I'm sorry,' Mikhail said, 'but you sound like you're talking about an adolescent.'

At first Sally was going to tell Mikhail what a ridiculous notion that was, but when she thought about it, it made surprising sense.
'I suppose I pretty much am. An adolescent species that doesn't care if what it does affects others, destroys eco-systems and pollutes on a global scale.'

'But
how does an adolescent learn? By being locked in at home, away from everything? Or out in the big, wide world?'

Sally knew the answer, but was too stubborn to say it.

'Mankind needs room to grow, to learn,' Mikhail continued, 'to become wiser. Sure, it might break a few things on the way, but soon enough, it will understand. And when it does, it will become greater than you can ever imagine.'

'How do you know this?'

'I've seen it.'

'So why can't whoever has opened this doorway just tell us how to grow up?'

Mikhail laughed again, but this time Sally didn't get annoyed. She could see there was no ridicule in his humour.

'Have you ever tried to tell an adolescent what to do?'

Sally tittered. 'I suppose you're right.'

'But you can always give them a push in the right direction.'

'Is that why you're helping me?'

'I suppose so.'

'How much more will you help me?'

'E
nough. Just enough.'

Chapter 24

'Like I said in the notes, detective, we found traces of skin on the knuckles of the deceased's right hand.'

Banin sighed. He hated dealing with these white-coated nerds.
'Why have you only found it now?'

'Look, we only get a short amount of time to look over a body. We didn't find anything, he goes to the morgue. But then we get a phone call from head office telling us to have another look, so we do.'

And Banin had to somehow pin it to this Aleks Dezhurov person, whoever he was. Fingers crossed it would be
his
skin on the corpse's fist. 'Have you got a match yet?'

'I wish it were that simple, detective. We
're running a sample through the database now. We could get an answer in a week or we could get one today. Or not at all. It's pot luck.'

'Fine, whatever. Just let me know when you get a match.
'

'I will.'

Banin mumbled his thanks and left the room. As he climbed the stairs out of the basement — which smelled like hospitals — back up to his office, his mind whirled with questions, mainly:
why me?

'Abra
m,' he said as he passed his junior's desk, 'go door-to-door to all the bars within five miles of the Ryumin crash and check if there was a brawl on the night of his death.'

'Yessir,' Abram said.

'And Abram?'

'Yes sir?'

'Do it quickly.'

Abram grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and left immediately. It made Banin smile to know that at least it wouldn't be him getting a soaking this time.
He flumped into his chair, and as soon as he did, his phone rang.

'Banin.'

'The results have just come through for the DNA search.'

'Really?'

'I said it was pot luck, and you got lucky.'

'Ok
ay, shoot.'
Please be Aleks, please be Aleks.

'Well, that's the sticking point. I can't tell you.'

'I thought you said you'd got a match?'

'I did. But it's classified.'

'Classified?'

'Yes. US Department of Defence level one. That's their top clearance level.'

'Holy shit … alright, thanks,' Banin said, and hung up. He lifted the receiver again and dialled the Chief's extension. His secretary answered.

'Hello, Chief Inspector Azurov's office, how may I help you?'

'It's Banin. Can you put me through, please?'

'Sure thing. But I don't know why you don't just come in person. We're only the floor up from you.'

'I have a hernia,' Banin lied.

'For fifteen years?'

'Just put me through.'

'N
o need to be a grumpy so-and-so. I'll put you through now.'

Thank goodness,
Banin thought.

'Azurov.'

'It's Banin.'

'Banin
— why don't you just come up here instead of calling me?'

'I get that a lot. I have a hernia.'

'No you don't. What can I do for you?'

'Forensics matched the DNA.'

'To who?'

'Don't know. Classified. US Department of Defence.'

'Shit, really?'

'
Really.'

'Shit.'

'I know.'

Azurov sighed.
'Okay, let's get this mess sorted,' he said. 'Give the US embassy a call and get this one out the door before it blows up in our faces.'

'I'd be glad to.'

'See that you are.'

Banin put the phon
e down, then picked it up again and dialled another number. The phone rang for a while, then the dial tone changed and it rang a while longer.

'US
embassy, good morning,' a cheery voice said.

'Hello,' Banin said in his best English. 'I'm calling from the Moscow City Police. We have a case that I think you might be interested in.'

The conversation didn't go as well as he'd hoped. After a lot of waiting, transfers and more waiting, the embassy decided that the US government would neither take ownership of the case, nor reveal state secrets and identify the classified DNA, which meant he was stuck. With any luck, Abram would call with some good news. Four hours later, following a fruitless desk search for Aleks Dezhurov's latest whereabouts, Abram
did
call.

'Banin.'

'Hi, sir, it's Abram — I've got something here you should probably take a look at.'

'
On my way.'

* * *

Sally couldn't sleep. Her mind whirled with thought, about Mikhail, about John Heisenberg — god, the last time she'd seen him seemed a lifetime ago, even if it was just a few months back. She felt as though her brain couldn't shut off until she'd made sense of everything, but for some reason, she couldn't. She shifted in her floating sleeping bag, trying to find a spot that would let her release her conscious and drift off, but no matter which way she turned, her brain would not shut up.

Wriggling from the cotton cocoon, she pulled on a vest and shorts and climbed out of her
quarters. The lights were dim, and she paddled herself in the direction of something to eat. A hot chocolate, too. As she passed Mikhail's quarters, she heard a sound that made her skin prickle. It was a low gurgle, a glottal noise that seemed almost inhuman. It was coming from inside, and she waited, listening. The noises didn't stop so, hesitantly at first, she unzipped the door. Inside, Mikhail had knitted himself into a tight ball of limbs, and his face was contorted with agony. He writhed without warning, and Sally jumped, backing away from him as he thrashed in his sleep. She could hear his teeth grinding together, and that noise, that horrible, throaty noise continued to seep from his mouth. Summoning all her nerve, she grabbed him and shook him hard.

'Mikhail,' she said. 'Wake up
, Mikhail.'

He struggled against her grip, eyes still shut, but she clung on and shook harder.

'Wake up, Mikhail!' she yelled, and with a sudden convulsion, he did. He looked around in sudden jerks, his eyes wide with fright. When their eyes met he blinked, and normality fell upon him once more.

'Sally …' he whispered.
'I thought I heard you calling. Are you okay?'

He was shiny with sweat
and his veins pulsed under his skin. Sally's heart calmed to see him acting normal again, and to no longer hear that blood-curdling noise.

'You were in pain,' she said.
'I had to wake you. Was it another dream?'

Mikhail nodded. He
wiped his forehead, slicking his fingers back through his hair. 'I'm so hot,' he said, and Sally reached out to cup his brow.

'God, you're burning up,' she said, a
larmed. 'Let me get you a damp towel to get your temperature down.'

W
hen she returned Mikhail was looking a little better. She dabbed his head and cheeks, and he shut his eyes.

'What did you dream about?' she asked as she leaned forward to run the towel around the back of his neck.

'I don't know,' Mikhail said, eyes still shut. He screwed his face up and shook his head, looking on the brink of tears. 'I can't keep doing this …'

'Is there anything I can do?' Sally asked, and Mikhail opened his eyes. Their faces were inches apart, so close that she could feel his
warm breath on her lips.

'You're already doing everything,' he said, and before Sally even knew what was happening, she was kissing him.

* * *

This is going to kill me if it doesn't make me insane
, the Director of the Baikonur Cosmodrome thought as he surveyed the Kazakhstani desert, the skies above it as topaz as he'd ever seen them. Another launch re-scheduled, another change of mission and another ridiculous deadline. He had a right mind to make a complaint, for the sake of the safety of his team, but the American — Bales — had been as clear this time as he had been the last. Despite his sleep deprivation, the Director remembered the phone call word for word, as clear as if he were having it face-to-face right there and then.

'You want
what
?' he'd said, feeling his knees weaken as Bales' words sank in.

'I know it's last minute
and I apologise, but the situation has changed and the mission needs to change with it. A specialist has been forced to return, and we need to get someone else up there as soon as we can. I have the people — I need you to build me the rocket. Can you do that for me?'

'Well,' the Director had said, his mind torn in two, 'we're not far off a scheduled resupply, so I suppose it
is
possible —'

'That's exactly what I wanted to hear, thank you. Don't think this effort will go ignored, because it won't. The fate of a lot of people rests on this.'

And then he was gone.

The Director
watched the gantry preparations as he recalled the conversation over and over in his head. He knew it wasn't his business to question the goings on of his superiors, and he knew that NASA had the best interests of the station and its crew at heart, but he couldn't help but feel that something was off. Nevertheless, the preparations for Soyuz TMA Eleven M pushed on, drawing closer and closer to completion. He squashed the nagging feeling back down again as a cool wind blew in across the expansive launch site, bringing with it the fine sand of the desert. Shielding his eyes, he retreated from the observation balcony and back into the protection of the Cosmodrome. Only one more day of this and it would be done.

* * *

Banin pulled up alongside a rough-looking bar just outside of the Moscow city limits, a place only two miles from the crash site. The neon sign — which buzzed in what Banin thought was a painfully stereotypical way — said:
The West House
. He'd heard of The West House before, and the stories didn't exactly fill him with glee. This was the place to come if you wanted to hide from someone — or just plain hide someone. Someone usually dead. There was a cruiser already parked outside, and leaning on it, waiting for him, was Abram.

'Thanks for coming, sir,' Abram said, walking with Banin to the bar's entrance. 'I think I found just what you're looking for.'

They went in, and Abram led Banin to the bar, behind which a stout, ugly man wearing a dirty shirt and overalls was standing.

'This is Ruslan, Ruslan
Vasnetsov. He's the owner.'

'Hello, Mr. Vasnetsov,' said Banin, offering his hand, whic
h Vasnetsov didn't take. Banin retracted it again. 'Right. So, what do you know?'

'I know lots of things, officer.'

This was going to be difficult. Banin gritted his teeth and told himself to stay calm. 'I'm not an officer. I'm a detective. What do you know about the night that my friend here' — he gestured to Abram, — 'has been asking you about?'

'I know there was a fight.'

'Good. Tell me more.'

'There's always fights here, and you boys don't show up most times.'

'I'm sorry about that, Mr. Vasnetsov, but we're very overworked and understaffed —'

'I get robbed nearly every month and you boys don't do anything.'

Banin took a breath and mentally counted to ten. 'Well, we're here now. So what can you tell me about this fight?'

'Well, it wasn't much of a fight. Just a punch. Th
is old boy shows up for a drink like he does every night, and then about a hour or so after, a whole bunch of Americans came in and rounded on him.'

Vasnetsov now had Banin's full attention.
'Americans?'

'That's right. They were in smart suits
— about four of them I think — and they were questioning him for a while. They didn't even sit down, let alone buy a drink.'

'So when did the punch happen?'

'Be easier if I show you.'

'You have CCTV?'

Vasnetsov snorted. 'Of course I do. How else am I going to get you police to do anything when you finally start paying attention to me?'

He had a point, Banin thought, but he didn't fancy arguing the toss with him right now, so he bit his tongue and followed him around to the back, to a s
mall, dirty room with an old TV and VHS player, and a stack of tapes.

'I've got all my tapes labelled and I store them in the cupboard there,' Vasnetsov said, pointing to a bulging piece of flat-pack furniture. 'I
've got the one you want all lined up and ready.'

He turned the TV on, and once the static had settled
, there was a picture. It was the bar, as seen from above, in soft black and white. In the top right hand corner of the frame there was a man on his own having a drink. Lev Ryumin.