“I—We—”
The sonorous voice interrupted, filling her head, all other thought drowned. “It will be an even exchange, Dr. Jane Holloway. You have nothing to fear. You may explore as you desire. The gaseous composition and gravitational forces have been adjusted, are now adequate for your species. These things do not affect me. There is plentiful foodstuff, as you have already discovered. There are horizontal platforms, like these, where you may take rest. Your journey has been long, arduous, primitive. It is over now. You are home.”
“But, where’s the crew? A ship of this size must have a crew!”
“They have…departed, long ago. There is only myself. And now, you.”
She sensed it was slipping away. The hum was receding. She concentrated, willing it to stay. “What’s happening? Why are you being so cryptic?”
“I will let you rest now. You are fatigued.”
Desperation propelled her a step forward. “Wait a minute!”
“Yes? You require something more, Dr. Jane Holloway?”
She blinked and softened her tone, “What are you? Where are you? Who are you?”
“This conversation will be more optimally resumed when the required mental link has been more properly established. With time, and repetition, it will become easier and no longer cause you discomfort or distress. This is prudent, Dr. Jane Holloway. I only desired to relieve your anxiety, to inform you that you are safe. That is sufficient. I leave you now.”
“No. Please! Don’t go. I—I still have questions….”
She fell silent.
It…he?…was gone. The humming was gone. She was alone again.
She walked over to the cabinet and opened it. It was as she remembered, though she could reach it without the chair now. There was a bag of ground coffee, masa, rice, beans, lard, a small paper sack filled with root vegetables and several yellow-brown plantains. She backed up slowly and laid down on the bed, fingers spreading over the soft, worn quilt her mother had brought from Minnesota.
Was she small again? The suit was gone. She was drifting, dreaming.
She sat up abruptly, aghast at her manners.
She hadn’t even asked his name.
4
“What are you fighting, Jane?” Bergen urged, shaking Jane’s shoulder, but she just flopped. She was out cold.
“Ronald, get her feet up,” Ajaya ordered.
Gibbs crouched, bent Jane’s knees, and propped her legs on one of his shoulders.
Bergen checked the display on the front of her EMU. It seemed to be working properly. “I need to run a diagnostic on her hardware. She could be hypoxic. Give me the laptop.”
Gibbs handed it over and Bergen quickly interfaced it with the PLSS module on Jane’s EMU.
“She’s not cyanotic, Alan,” Ajaya said, turning Jane’s helmet slightly and shining a light into it. “Respiration rate is normal now. Let’s give her a minute. I think it’s just a panic attack.”
He strove to control his movements, to be patient with the thick gloves on the keyboard while a bright flash of red-hot anger flamed inside. “A panic attack? Why now? Why not at lift off? Why not on the approach or, or, when we opened the damn hatch? Why would she close that door and suddenly, out of the blue, have the first panic attack of her life?”
Ajaya frowned and glanced at Walsh. “We can’t know that.”
“What—you think she lied at Johnson or somehow fooled them? She didn’t even want to be there. I—we—convinced her to do this. She wouldn’t even begin to know how to lie, Ajaya. You should know that by now.”
He looked up. Walsh and Ajaya were exchanging knowing glances.
“What? You agree with that bullshit?”
Walsh frowned. “Right now, all we know is she’s passed out. Let Ajaya look at her.”
“I need to run a diagnostic on her EMU controls,” he muttered.
Walsh sent Gibbs to scout ahead to make sure they were still alone, and knelt down in Gibbs' place, his face impassive, watching Bergen and Ajaya work on her.
“Bergen.”
Bergen ignored him and checked another subroutine, mentally cursing the useless gloves as they impeded his typing. He’d be done by now if he weren’t wearing them or if they were better designed—if he’d been the one to design them. But he couldn’t do everything.
“Berg.”
“What?” he said, exasperated, finally looking up to meet Walsh’s gaze.
The soldier’s mask was gone, replaced with a look of grave understanding, though only briefly. “Check yourself,” he said curtly and looked pointedly at Jane, Ajaya, and then down the hall where Gibbs had disappeared.
Bergen bit back a scathing retort and focused on the screen, struggling to school his features. So, Walsh knew. He’d been more transparent than he’d meant to be. In the panic, he’d forgotten his game face. Walsh knew he wouldn’t have reacted this way if it’d been Compton or Gibbs or Ajaya on the floor. Fuck.
Well, what did it matter now? He’d managed it—he’d passed all their tests, proved he’d be an asset instead of a liability. He’d made it there and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.
But, if Walsh knew…the others might too. Gibbs had loose lips. And Ajaya might get all girly when the guys weren’t around. They’d screw it all up. They’d tell her.
Dammit! He didn’t want anything to change. Not yet. He wasn’t ready. They had to finish this first and go home. That was years away and they had to actually survive. By then…she…he…maybe it could work.
“If this were a simple episode of syncope, she’d be awake by now,” Ajaya said flatly. “She may be hypoglycemic, or severely dehydrated, or perhaps her electrolyte balance is off due to the fluid shift with gravity. I can’t determine anything, I cannot do anything for her, unless we get her out of the suit.”
“You’ve got enough air samples to analyze?” Walsh asked him.
“Yes.”
Walsh slipped a hand under Jane’s back and picked her up with a grunt. “Fall back.”
In the modicum of time he had to himself during the selection exercises in Houston, he found himself reading Holloway’s file over and over until he had it practically memorized. He kept tabs on her remotely, but he didn’t have any access to her once she came to Johnson. They were convinced he’d nearly botched it, so they wouldn’t let him anywhere near her.
He heard through the grapevine that the big guys were wining and dining her and that she was a hard sell. She was really making them work for it.
He couldn’t get her out of his head. He didn’t know why. She wasn’t particularly beautiful or anything, although she had a great smile. She was something of a Plain Jane, he tried to convince himself, frowning. She wasn’t his type at all. She was all prissy and round—savvy, smart.
He liked bouncy, athletic girls, who could keep up with his six a.m. running schedule, who’d be up for an impromptu hike or day of surfing, if a free day suddenly came up. Sure, none of them were rocket scientists, but he’d given up hope of finding a girl with a mind he could really admire, not that he’d really been looking too hard. Maybe he was getting too old to be hanging out in college bars, hooking up with girls who weren’t looking for more than a good time.
He’d been in the middle of a think-tank planning session when he was pulled out. He thought it might be bad news. There were rumors they were about to announce the final five and he was nervous. He’d done everything he could to meet every qualification, pass every test, but he was afraid it wasn’t enough. He’d attempted to minimize their perception of his more negative personality traits. He knew they were a problem, but he already had a reputation within the organization and nothing he could do now would change that.