26

The posters on her wall once reminded her of home, of the outdoor adventures that she had shared with her dad. Now they seemed more like snapshots from movies that she had never seen, but had been told about. Likewise, her memories felt oddly disconnected, descriptions and details that through the prism of time had lost any personal sensation. It troubled her.

Triana sat at the desk in her room, an hour after Alexa’s burial in space, and stared at the Colorado scenes around her bed. She had camped numerous times in Rocky Mountain National Park, hadn’t she? She had hiked, rafted, biked, sailed … hadn’t she? She had grown up with Mount Evans visible through one window of the house, and Pikes Peak through another, right?

During one of her final group lectures, Dr. Armistead had warned the Galahad crew that this might very well happen to them. There were a few clinical terms for it, but she personally labeled it “separation resolution.” As she explained: “Your mind will eventually combat the grief by detaching itself emotionally from the past; your memories might very well drift from color to black and white, in an emotional sense.”

That’s what’s happening to me, Triana thought. Separation resolution.

Or, she wondered, am I detaching not because of the past … but because of what I’m deciding for my future? It must be easier to leave behind sterile, stock photos than it would be with sentimental possessions. Could it be premeditated separation resolution?

Her journal lay open before her. She rubbed the soft leather cover, then flipped back a few pages and scanned some of the thoughts she had recorded. Emotions, decisions, questions, ideas, opinions … they leapt from the pages and reminded her that she was certainly no Ice Queen, as Channy had often branded her. No, there was indeed a fire that burned inside, melting any ice.

She took up her pen.

To think that this could very well be my final entry is frightening, yet in another sense empowering. I have always believed that written words carry their own form of energy; call it inspiration, call it motivation, call it a false sense of bravado. All I know is that expressing my intentions in writing helps me to trust my instincts.

Two things have led me to decide that I’m the one who must travel through the wormhole. The first was the feeling I had while Gap and Mira risked their lives; I never could get past the feeling that as the leader of this mission, I should be the one taking those particular risks.

The other is, of course, Alexa’s death. Even though she insisted that more study was necessary, ultimately it was my decision to keep the vulture in Sick House during that final EVA. That means that ultimately I am responsible for what happened to Alexa. If there is now a chance to confront the beings who are behind all of this, it falls to me to take that chance.

There will be no Council meeting to discuss it; there will be no conference with Gap to break the news. There will be no message to the crew. Everyone on this ship has been trained to do many jobs, and that includes the Council’s ability to manage in times of crisis.

The only “person” who can know about this is Roc.

She bit her lip and contemplated adding another line, something that would bring closure … whatever that was. But this seemed more fitting.

“Roc,” she said. “We need to talk.”

*   *   *

Channy walked into the Rec Room, her eyes still puffy and sore. She had cried more in the last two days than she had in years. She felt emotionally drained. And yet her mind now seemed clearer than it had in a long time.

This time Taresh had beaten her to the meeting. He sat perched on the edge of a table, one leg swinging back and forth. They had the room to themselves for the moment.

Channy wasted no time. She walked directly up to him and kissed him on the cheek. Then, pulling away, she returned his smile.

“I won’t keep you,” she said. “I think we both have to get back to work. But I wanted to say a couple of things to you, if that’s all right.”

“Of course,” he said. “I’m so glad that you wanted to talk. I’ve felt horrible about our last meeting.”

“And so have I,” she said. “I acted childishly, and I’m so very sorry about that.” She propped up against the table across from him. “All I can say is that I let my emotions get out of control. I care so much about you, Taresh, that I couldn’t stand the thought of not being with you.

“But forcing myself on you was foolish. You made a decision, and if I truly care about you, I’ll support your decision, regardless of the consequences for me.”

Taresh looked genuinely surprised. “Channy … I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. This meeting is really for me to say what I need to say, and then walk away.” She smiled at him again. “I love you, Taresh. I would love to be with you, and to have you love me in return. You have things to work out right now, and it’s possible that you might change your mind and decide that I’m the one for you. If not, then at least I’ll be at peace knowing that I hid nothing from you. I opened my heart to you, and I’m proud of that.

“If the day comes when you realize how rare and precious that is, I hope you’ll have the same courage to reach out.”

She pushed off the table and faced him. “I said I would get back to you about that hug. Well, I would like one very much.”

He grinned, then stood and wrapped his arms around her. She held him tight for a long time, her eyes closed, her heart racing. Then she placed another soft kiss on his cheek and stood back.

“You’ll always have a home right here,” she said, tapping her chest. Without another word, she turned and left the room.

*   *   *

Lita tapped a stylus pen against her cheek. Sick House was often quiet at this time, so she suspected that the buzz of activity going on around her had been arranged for her benefit. The crew members who worked on this shift, particularly Jada, were kind and thoughtful, and they were doing their part to look after her. Apparently, in their minds, the prescription called for action and noise.

She had put off one particular task that now was unavoidable. The remains of the vulture that had killed Alexa had been put back into the containment box and kept in frigid spacelike conditions. It fell to Lita to perform an alien autopsy, to answer whatever questions had not been answered through standard observation and testing. She dreaded it, but understood that it was her responsibility.

Her intercom flashed an incoming call from Triana.

“How are you holding up?” the Council Leader said.

“Oh, you know. Okay, I guess. It’s still hard to believe that it happened. It’s obviously tough around here. I don’t think I’ll touch anything on her desk for a while. I know that might sound odd…”

“I don’t think it’s odd at all,” Triana said. “There’s no rush to do that.”

“Yeah,” Lita said. “How are you?”

“About the same. Listen, I take it you haven’t started the autopsy yet on the vulture.”

“Just about to. Why?”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Triana said. “I don’t want you to cut it open. Instead, now that this new wormhole has opened up, I think we should send it back as is.”

“Uh … okay. You mean … propel it out of the ship and into the wormhole?”

“Something like that.”

Lita placed the stylus on her desk and sat back. “It’s your call, I guess, but … well, what happened to wanting to find out more about dark energy conversion? I thought that was a pretty big priority.”

“I think this is a better way to go,” Triana said. “We still know nothing about the beings that sent the vultures in the first place. Now that this new tunnel has opened up, it’s clear they want to communicate with us. I just feel that cutting up one of their creatures is not a good way for us to start a relationship. I would rather send it back in good faith.”

“We’re sending it back dead. They might not view that as good faith.”

“Nothing we can do about that. But they might consider it ten times worse if we sent back a body that had been desecrated. Who knows what kind of social taboo that might be in their world?”

“Well … okay. How would you like to do this?”

Triana said, “Just have some of your workers take it down to the Spider bay in the containment box. I’ll be down there in a little while, and then Gap and I can figure out the best way to go from there.”

“Will do.” Lita paused, then said: “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know, you just sound … different. I mean, I know it’s been a terrible day, but you sound like you have something else bothering you.”

“No,” Triana said. “Really, everything’s okay. But thanks for asking.”

“Okay. I’ll take care of things on this end and we’ll get the box moved right away.” She offered a nervous chuckle. “To be completely truthful, I didn’t want to touch that thing anyway.”

“I don’t blame you,” Triana said. “Let me know if you need anything from me. Talk to you later.”

Lita snapped off the intercom. She called Jada and gave her the new instructions; then she picked up the stylus and once again began tapping her cheek, deep in thought.