The Second Ship (8 page)

Chapter 14

For more than two hours they roamed the ship, headsets on and off, taking those first halting steps that babies take to reach their mother’s outstretched arms. And though their access to the central computer remained limited, it felt great to make at least some headway.

As Heather had speculated, the visualizations were triggered, not by the room, but through the headsets, which broadcast imagery and other sensations directly into their brains. Being on the upper deck was not necessary, but the room’s design enhanced the experience. The more cluttered the room, the more those distractions intruded upon the imagery.

Also, the chairs on the command deck, or more accurately, individual couches, cushioned the body in such a way that she could not even tell she was sitting in them. It felt almost like she floated weightlessly. This made it easier to focus on the sights, sounds, and feelings the computer delivered.

Most interesting was that each person had his or her own individual view. While Mark might be experiencing the ship cruising into Earth’s solar system, Jennifer might see herself surrounded by strange instruments and symbology, while Heather watched something completely different.

Getting the computer to respond was still somewhat frustrating. If she managed to create a clear question in her head, then the ship would respond with a combination of imagery, sensations, and symbology. But that only happened if the ship's computer understood what she wanted.

Heather pictured the starship’s arrival and the computer responded, correcting her initial thoughts as the events played out all around her. The plunge through the atmosphere in pursuit of the Rho Ship, followed by the ground rushing up and smashing into her face, left her gasping for breath, even after playing it back five or six times. It was like floating in a clear soap bubble with scenery flashing by all around you, a somewhat disconcerting feeling when that imagery involved a crash.

As the afternoon waned, Heather confronted more and more roadblocks as she sought to refine her ability to extract information from the computer. The computer presented information when prompted, but most of what she saw was incomprehensible, three-dimensional symbols. She could not decipher the meaning, whether it was the alien language or, more likely, their version of mathematics.

That made sense. Many of the questions she had been asking would have mathematically based answers. Asking something like “What caused the crash?” probably caused the computer to spew out the equations describing the damage.

Although she had grown up in the Los Alamos school system, surrounded by the kids of the world’s top scientists, and despite her exceptional record in all her honors math courses, interstellar math had not yet been covered.

Leaning back in the couch, she let her mind relax. Think, Heather. Think. She visualized a grid containing the origin of a coordinate system. A perpendicular set of lines labeled “x axis” and “y axis” appeared to float before her.

She drew a single point located right three ticks and up four ticks from the origin on the grid, then followed up with another point, connecting the two with a line. It was there, floating perfectly in the air before her.

Right, she thought. She added another dimension to the grid to form a cube, and into this cube she drew spheres, ellipsoids, cubes, and pyramids.

It was easy. The equations came faster and faster, as if she had fumbled around and found a switch in the dark. A part of her mind turned on, big time.

Adding a fourth dimension was easy. She took her three-dimensional grid cube, shrank it to the size of a pinhead, then formed a line of these cubes. Five dimensions formed from a plane of the 3D grid cubes. Six: a cube made of cubes. Seven dimensions: a line made of the new cube of cubes. On and on the mental sequence spun from her mind. Easy. Oh so easy.

She no longer had to think about the equations that represented the shapes. Merely visualizing the shape brought the corresponding equations to her mind. She didn’t have to solve them; she just knew them. It was beautiful beyond her wildest imaginings.

A small hand shook Heather out of her musings. She sat up, slipping off her headset.

“If we don’t leave now, we won’t make it home before dark,” Jennifer urged.

Heather glanced at her watch. “Wow. You’re right. I was having so much fun I lost track of time.”

“I have some very interesting stuff to tell you guys too, but tomorrow,” said Jennifer.

Mark laughed. “It’s going to be interesting comparing notes with my little data-geek sister. I can only imagine the wonders that await us.”

Heather chuckled as she led the way out. Once again they deposited the headsets where they had found them. Somehow, it just felt like where they belonged.

Pedaling hard to beat the sinking sun, the three teens were silent until they halted outside their houses. Heather waved at her friends as she activated the garage door, sending it rumbling noisily upward on its track. By the time her bike was hanging from its proper hooks, her father had poked his head into the garage, an inquisitive look in his eyes.

“You sure are huffing and puffing. Did you guys race home or something?”

Heather followed her dad into the house. “Not really. We had to hustle to make it back by dark.”

“Good girl. Your mom and I were starting to worry. We don’t like the idea of you kids out after dark, even if you are worldly juniors.”

At some point during dinner, Heather realized just how physically and mentally tired she was. Thank God they had no weekend homework. Now, as she leaned back from her empty plate and the smell of the apple cinnamon tea wafted up to tickle her nostrils, a warm glow spread through her body.

Her mother leaned back in her chair. “What’s that smile about?”

“Oh, I was just thinking how nice it is to be a part of a comfortable family. No matter what, I can come home and know that underneath everything, all is well.”

Her father laughed. “That’s a good thing, although at your age you hardly have the fate of the world resting on your shoulders.”

Heather sipped her tea, but the warmth it held just a moment earlier had somehow slipped away.

Chapter 15

God, just let me die, Heather thought. She hugged the sides of the commode, hurling her stomach’s contents into its porcelain interior with such force it splattered her face. If not for the ongoing bout of vomiting, she would have screamed. As it was, she shook so violently she could hardly stay upright over the toilet bowl.

Her mother’s concerned voice preceded a knocking on the bathroom door. “Sweetheart, are you all right?”

“Fine, Mom. I’m just fine.” That was what she intended to say, but the words never made it to her lips, as another bout of violent nausea overwhelmed her. The room swam before her: the toilet, the sink, the shower curtain, the tile floor, the ceiling, and then her mother’s terrified face looking down at her. And swimming next to it all, an endless stream of numbers and equations.

Then, as her mother cradled her head in her lap, yelling for Gil, Heather’s world went black.

“Give me that back, you wascally wabbit.”

The sounds that greeted her return to consciousness could not have been more reassuring. Surely Elmer Fudd could not have made it to heaven or hell, so perhaps she was still alive.

The bed didn’t feel right. When she tried to move, she found a needle imbedded in her left forearm, secured by white tape. Without opening her eyes, she knew that the needle was attached to the end of a long rubber IV tube, into which fluid dripped from a bag dangling from a mobile steel rack.

Moving her right hand across her body, she confirmed that her assumption was correct. She took a deep breath through her nose. Hospital smell.

Heather kept her eyes firmly closed, unwilling to face the possibility that upon opening them she would see, not only the physical things that occupied the room, but also the accompanying equations. The thought of going through her life with that dual view terrified her. Better to be blind than that. Better to be dead.

Savant. The thought came unbidden into her brain. Three months ago the whole family watched a PBS special on a British man, a high-functioning autistic savant. He had the uncanny ability to answer all sorts of mathematical questions without doing any calculations, at least not in any way most people thought of calculations.

While his abilities were incredible, they left him so distracted and impaired that he had great difficulty performing the day-to-day tasks that give normality to life. Heather did not want to live like that.

From the way someone had stuffed her mouth with cotton and pasted her lips together, she guessed it had been a good while since any liquid had made it over those lips. With effort, she managed to work up enough saliva to wet them with her tongue. God, she was thirsty.

Screwing up her courage, Heather slowly opened her eyes. At first she thought that the equations and numbers were gone. Then, as she thought about it, they materialized, a set of three-dimensional symbols that swam through her brain, near whatever object she focused on. Heather squeezed her eyes shut tight, trying to calm her hammering heart.

Afraid that the rising panic would overwhelm her, Heather fought it with a tide of anger. Why was she just giving up without a fight? Several years ago, her parents had encouraged her to take the Myers-Briggs personality type test, and the results had been most enlightening. She was a rare bird, an INTP personality, a type that loved theory, problem solving, and scientific work. INTPs were normally risk takers, blissfully uncaring of what others thought of their chances for success.

Whatever the reason for her fear, she wasn’t going to allow herself to curl up into a fetal ball and surrender. It was a problem. Problems had solutions. Simple as that.

Clearly this was connected to her breakthrough on the ship. It could be that her initial connection had activated the neural pathways that made such thinking possible and that on her last trip she had merely discovered the trick to turn it on. If so, then it should be possible to turn it off.

She opened her eyes, holding her dread firmly in check and setting her mind to experimentation. As she looked at the bedside lamp, she could clearly visualize the equation describing its three-dimensional shape. She changed her focus, thinking about the lamp’s volume, and the symbols in her head morphed to create the equation for volume. Even that small change left her feeling empowered.

Once more, she changed her thoughts—this time to surface area—and again the equations changed. In her mind, she imagined the lamp rotating, and a set of rotation matrices cascaded through her brain.

Encouraged, she again focused upon the lamp. She let herself relax and unquestioningly accepted its physical existence and appearance. The symbols faded. Then, as she was about to congratulate herself, they reappeared.

The effect was very similar to subvocalization, she thought. Like when a person looks at a chair and thinks the sound “chair.” Or when a person reads the symbols c-h-a-i-r, but sees a picture of a chair and hears the sound of the word “chair” in her mind. Heather could look at something and know the equation for it in much the same way.

Apparently, quieting her inquisitive mind was going to take some effort and a good bit of practice. But she had managed to do so, even if it had been for just a short time, which relieved her immensely.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of her mom and dad.

“Heather. Oh, thank God you’re awake. Your father and I have been worried sick.” Her mother moved to sit on the side of her bed, wiping tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“Good to see you back in the land of the living,” her father said, his own eyes glistening with moisture.

“How long have I been here?” Heather asked, her raspy voice reminding her of how thirsty she was. “Dad, could you get me some water?”

Her dad was out the door before she finished asking.

“You’ve been unconscious for three days,” said her mother. “We rushed you here when you passed out. The IV is to rehydrate you. So far they still have no idea what made you sick. At first we thought it was food poisoning, but the tests ruled that out. The doctors' best guess is some sort of allergic reaction, but it’s just a guess.”

At that moment, her father reappeared with two tiny, cone-shaped water cups in his hands.

He shrugged, causing some of the cold water to spill on Heather’s hand as she reached for a cup. “Sorry. It was the best I could do on short notice. I did ask the nurse to get you a tall glass of water, though. She was quite upset that she didn’t already have a jug in here.”

Heather downed both cupfuls of water, equations coming and going as she lost and regained her concentration. Smiling, she crushed the small cones of paper in one hand and handed them back to her father. “Thanks, Dad. That was so good.”

“You’re welcome. Glad to see you looking so much better—awake, for one thing. Mark and Jennifer stopped by several times, along with Fred and Linda. They wanted to stay, but we sent them home saying we’d send word once your condition changed.”

At that moment the doctor walked in. Heather’s mother moved aside as he leaned across the bed. Pulling a small penlight from his pocket, the doctor promptly began doing his best to blind Heather by holding her eyelids open and shining the bright light in first one eye and then the other.

“Good morning, young lady. I’m Dr. Johanson,” he said, pulling out his stethoscope. “You gave us quite a scare.”

Heather gasped as Dr. Johanson applied the stethoscope to her chest. Did he store it in the freezer between uses?

“Nice, deep breath. Now, give me another. Okay, again. Very good.” The doctor grinned and straightened up, revealing a handsome face complete with blue eyes and a shock of unruly blond hair. He looked not a day older than twenty-five, though Heather figured he had to be at least in his thirties.

If she had to have a doctor, Heather thought, it could be worse.

Doctor Johanson pulled the clipboard from the end of her bed and scribbled something down.

“I was going to schedule a CAT scan and an electroencephalogram today, but it looks like that’s no longer necessary. I’ll have the nurse swing by and get your vitals, and we’ll keep you around for another night. Barring something unusual, you’ll be home tomorrow.”

Heather pushed herself up into a seated position as her mom stacked pillows behind her. “Can’t I get out of here tonight? That gives you all day to watch me.”

Dr. Johanson smiled. “I don’t think one extra night here will hurt you. I like playing things safe.”

Her mother patted her hand. “Don’t worry, dear. I’ll stay with you until they kick me out.”

“And I’ll pass word to the Smythes,” her father said. “After school, I’m sure Mark and Jennifer will camp out here.”

After a meal of the hospital's finest cuisine, something vaguely resembling a veal cutlet, Heather slept again.

The remainder of the day passed slowly. In those rare moments when her mother was not beside the bed chatting with her, Heather practiced controlling her visualizations. She found relaxing her mind to be a very tiring activity. Apparently, in its natural state, her mind was full of mathematical questions, which were now being automatically answered. She would have to work to make the natural tendency stop.

Luckily, by the time Mark and Jennifer swept into the room to deliver big hugs, Heather felt in better control. The vertigo effect was gone. Unfortunately, with parents and doctors constantly walking in and out of the room, any discussion of the starship was out of the question.

At last, as the twins turned to depart, Mark called over his shoulder, “We’ll see you at school tomorrow, right?”

“I’m planning on it,” Heather replied.

“Well, plan again,” her mother said. “You’re staying home for a couple of days. At least until I am satisfied you are fully recovered.”

“Mom!”

“That’s final.”

“Don’t worry,” Jennifer said. “We’ll stop in every chance we get.”

“Thanks.”

With a wave, the twins disappeared out the door.

As Heather’s parents prepared to leave for the night, the gorgeous Dr. Johanson stopped by and removed her IV. Then, after her mom and dad had kissed her good-bye, for the first time in a long while, Heather fell into a comfortable, deep, dreamless sleep.