Authors: Adam Christopher
Carter turned back to the wall and frowned, and pressed the call button a couple of times. In between each electronic beep came a faint sound from the speaker grille. It sounded like water, or the roaring of air a long, long way away. Serra didn’t like it—here was one more fucked-up effect of the star they orbited in a space station missing more than half its regulation shielding. The interference was creeping into everything, even the internal comms network.
But Serra had heard the sound somewhere else, too. It was the sound in her dream, and the last few cycles she’d begun to hear when she was awake, when the voices spoke to her. She decided she was still going to keep that from Carter and the others.
“Operator,” Carter said into the comm, “you make me wait any longer, I’m gonna need some hold music, okay?”
The speaker crackled. Serra could hear the operator saying something, but for a second it didn’t sound like the Flyeye they had just called. Carter leaned back, eyes scanning the display on the panel in case it was registering a fault. But everything was clear. He flicked the comms switch again.
The operator was back instantly. “Marine, I have the provost marshal here.”
Carter frowned, and Serra shook her head.
Gee, great.
“Carter? This is the marshal. DeJohn’s tag is not appearing on the U-Star’s manifest.”
Carter shot Serra a glance. She felt her forehead crease as she tried to comprehend what the provost marshal had just said.
But what King said wasn’t hard to understand; it was
impossible
to understand. Somehow the conversation with King had got all turned around. Serra gestured and Carter pushed the button again. “Sir, I’m not sure I follow.”
“DeJohn is not in the ship’s manifest, marine.”
Carter looked at Serra. She reached forward and pushed the comms with her thumb.
“Marshal, sir, this is Psi-Sergeant Serra. What do you mean, he’s not in the manifest? Do we have a twenty on DeJohn?”
The head of security sighed into the receiver, the sound popping the speaker slightly before the background roar faded in again. Serra felt cold. Very, very cold.
“We’re running a systems check now, marine. For the moment assume a fault, but the operator tells me you asked for the demo crew for that deck?”
“Affirmative, sir,” said Carter. “There is someone down here. The Op said they weren’t showing up either.”
“Check it, please. The computer must have bugged and removed DeJohn’s tag. When you find him, the three of you return to the bridge and we’ll get the security system reset. We need to be on our toes with our guests arriving soon.”
“Affirmative, sir. Carter out.” He released the button and then stood, rubbing his chin.
Serra started walking down the passage. She stopped and turned when she realized Carter wasn’t following. “You coming?”
Carter clicked his fingers. “Got it,” he said. “Sonovabitch!”
“What?”
“The other day, remember? DeJohn said he needed to show Captain Cleveland how we do things around here. You’re right. DeJohn is planning something, and he’s taken himself off the security scanner to do it.” Carter shook his head with grin. “Clever boy.”
Serra frowned. He’d have to be—tampering with the computer system was impossible as far as she knew.
“Come on, let’s find him,” said Carter, heading down the passage at a trot.
Serra followed.
17
Izanami lay on Ida’s
bed. He watched her for a few seconds; then he blinked and swiveled his chair around so he was facing the computer screens and the space radio on the desk. The last rush of static faded as the recording came to an end.
They’d been listening to it for what felt like hours. Ida knew every pop and crackle, but it still made him feel scared and ill. At least his head felt better, anyway, the unusual headache finally gone.
Ida turned around in his chair and glanced at Izanami as the recording looped back to the beginning.
Unlike Ida, Izanami had seemed to take a detached, scientific approach, which he envied. Except … her eyes were closed, but at certain points of the recording—when the woman’s voice raised to a fearful pitch that sent Ida’s stomach flipping, and later when the background static washed in and peaked, almost as though it were trying to interrupt the speaker—Izanami’s face was lit by a smile, each and every time. Perhaps Izanami wasn’t really listening to the recording, and with her eyes closed was lost in her own thoughts in the half light.
She shifted on the bed, and Ida turned back to the desk. The playback had only a couple seconds left.
“I’ve had enough, I think,” came Izanami’s voice from behind him.
Ida slumped back in his chair, suddenly tired. How long had they been listening, and for what, anyway? The hobby had turned into a habit, and not, he thought, a particularly healthy one.
When he turned around again, Izanami was sitting on the edge of the bed.
Ida jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the silver box with the blue light. “Get anything new this time? I think I’ve heard it enough myself, actually.”
Izanami nodded, much to Ida’s surprise. “I think so too. I just wanted to hear it a few more times, in case there was something we’d missed.”
“Like what?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. But it’s fascinating, isn’t it?”
Ida frowned. “Yeah, but I’m thinking maybe it’s best to leave it for a while. There’s no information to be had, nothing that tallies with anything recorded in that time period. The station’s computer put the recording in low Earth orbit, but that’s probably wrong. Could be anything, from anywhere. The only thing we know is that the message was sent a millennium ago.” He slapped both hands down on his thighs. “Not much to go on, really.”
“So you managed to get some more time on the comms deck?”
“I did, yes.” The corners of Ida’s mouth turned up at the thought. King would throw a fit if he found out, but Ida had been clever, disguising his computer time under a stack of fake processes that would swamp any activity list an operator would bring up to check. King seemed to be using the deck to run some analysis of his own, but with the lightspeed link down, it seemed as good a time as any to use the spare capacity. “One last pass, trying to filter the noise out. I’ve left it running. Should have something tomorrow, I think.”
Ida leaned back and closed his eyes, and was halfway into a yawn when a knock came from the cabin door. His jaw snapped shut with an audible clack. He didn’t move, thinking King had hauled himself around the hub to berate him personally for using the computer without authorization. The knock came again, and this time Ida quickly got to his feet.
The cabin door had a small square window set at an average head-height. It was a rubbery, thick plastic, scratched and slightly cloudy. As Ida approached, he could see someone moving outside the door, but the corridor was mostly in darkness and the person was just a shadow. The head was large and round, a helmet of some kind, and the person seemed to be bouncing a little, as though he or she were agitated.
Not King. It was Carter, or Serra, or DeJohn, in a better disguise than a T-shirt mask this time. Time really was lying heavy on their hands.
Ida turned, motioning Izanami to get back against the far wall of the cabin. She nodded, expressionless.
Turning back to the door, Ida exhaled quickly, rolling his shoulders, loosening them up. If someone wanted a piece of him, they’d have a fight on their hands.
The cabin door slid sideways the instant Ida jammed his index finger on the control. He held his breath and hopped backwards a little, balancing on his toes, fists clenched.
There was nobody there. Ida darted out into the corridor, checking to the left and right in a half duck, expecting someone to swing out from shadows on either side of the door.
Nothing, nobody. Ida stood to his full height but kept his fists clenched. Turning to reenter the cabin, he glanced up at the security camera he now knew was in the corner of the next bulkhead. This time he’d seen someone at the door. This time there would be evidence and King wouldn’t be able to brush him off so easily.
“Who was it?” Izanami was still pressed up against the far wall, peering out from around the edge of one of the floor-to-ceiling cabinets. With the lights at one-quarter power, the cabinet cast a near perfect shadow across the angle in which Izanami hid. The room was cold again, and Ida caught sight of Izanami’s eyes reflecting the dim blue glow of the light on the radio set.
“Didn’t see, but I have a fair idea,” said Ida, pausing at the threshold. “I need to talk to King. The camera should have got the asshole this time.” Ida shuffled on his feet. “You coming?”
Izanami shook her head. She must have gotten quite a fright.
“Okay, but stay here and don’t let anyone in who isn’t me. If someone has it in for me, they might have it in for you as well. You seem to be my only friend around here. Don’t think that has gone unnoticed. Back soon.”
The door closed behind Ida, cutting the light from the corridor down to a dirty square thrown onto the cabin floor through the small window. Eventually that light dimmed as Ida moved down the passage and out of the section.
* * *
Izanami stepped out of
the shadow in total silence, her eyes glittering. She padded to the door and, with a smile, placed the flat of her hand against the cold metal.
A shape appeared at the window, a black shadow at first barely distinguishable from the orangey gloom until its face resolved, pressing up hard against the cloudy plastic. Pale skin, sickly and white; yellow eyes wide; mouth pulled into an unnatural grin as the flesh squeezed against the window, revealing teeth as yellow as the eyes.
DeJohn writhed against the door, his hands now appearing beside his face, pressed hard enough against the glass to bleach the color from them. His mouth was open and he rocked his head from side to side, pulling the skin and flab into hard geometric shapes. His grimacing face, shoved hard against the window, was a horrifying, insane mask in the dark corridor. If he was screaming, no sound penetrated the cabin. His eyes rolled, shot through with broken blood vessels.
Izanami watched, the smile growing across her face.
Finally DeJohn calmed, his convulsions becoming less and less. His huge eyes lolled in their sockets until they fixed on the face on the other side of the door.
Izanami drew her hand away from the door, put a finger to her lips, and shushed the engineer. DeJohn’s twisted mouth flickered. Then he pulled himself away from the window, leaving a thick, slimy residue of saliva and sweat on the frosted plastic.
Smiling, Izanami opened the door. In the near blink of an eye, it slid to one side.
The corridor beyond was empty.
Izanami stepped into the passage, cast a look at the lens of the security camera high on the bulkhead, and then turned and walked deeper into the hub, into the dark skeleton of the station.
18
“The provost marshal is
busy, Captain, I’m sorry,” said the Flyeye.
Ida blew out his cheeks and almost jogged on the spot in annoyance. The door to the commandant’s ready room was locked, and the Flyeye had been quick to leap from her chair nearby and stop Ida from punching the doorbell.
“What the hell does he do in there?” asked Ida, waving at the sealed bulkhead. “Polish his precious desk?”
The Flyeye didn’t speak, but her hand was held out as though to prevent Ida from charging the door with his shoulder.
Ida sighed. If the marshal didn’t want any visitors, fine—he could use the security console himself.
As soon as Ida turned on his heel, the lock on the ready room door chimed. Ida turned back to see the indicator change green and the door slide open. King stood on the threshold. Behind him, the ready room was dark, lit only by the old-fashioned green-shaded lamp on the antique desk. Ida could see an open book—a
real
book, made of bound paper.
“Captain?” King’s voice was steady, his eyebrow raised in the marshal’s favorite expression.
The Flyeye began to explain, but King waved her away. He drew a breath to speak but Ida held up his hand. King sighed and nodded, and began to rub his forehead.
“I saw him this time,” said Ida.
King shook his head. “We’re a little busy here, Captain. Do you wish to report another burglary?”
Ida realized he was standing on his toes, and he gently rocked back onto his heels.
“No, I don’t,” he said, ignoring the weary look on King’s face. “But I caught him snooping around. He was wearing a helmet, maybe a spacesuit.”
King kept his eyes fixed firmly on Ida’s.
Ida breathed slowly, trying to keep his cool. What was King waiting for? “Marshal, if one of your crew is wandering around playing practical jokes in a spacesuit, I don’t think our incoming guests are going to think much of Fleet discipline.”
King blinked, jaw muscles working as he ground his teeth.
“I’m all for a little fun and games,” Ida said. This was not strictly true and both Ida and King knew it, so Ida picked up the pace before the marshal would notice. “But aren’t you going to have to file a report on Ms. Hollywood’s visit? A crewman taking a suit without authorization to fool around in isn’t going to sit well with Fleet Command, is it?”
Ida widened his eyes a little, playing the innocent, and King finally clacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and, arms folded, turned and strolled over to the security desk. Ida was at his heel, checking his step, trying not to overtake the marshal in his impatience.
King tapped the operator, who stopped his furious typing and turned his huge, multifaceted goggles up at his superior. King nodded his head toward Ida and stepped back. Ida exhaled loudly and leaned over the desk, eyes scanning the array of screens suspended above the console. The Flyeye glanced at King and then back at Ida before signaling his readiness.
“Okay, camera feed outside my cabin—there we go. Wind back about twenty minutes, and also bring up crew scan records for the same period.” Ida stood and rubbed his top lip. “No, further—go back an hour, let’s see what we have.”