She shook her head slowly, her lips pursed together in a thin, white line. “Look, I’m not some wild adventurer. I’m not who you think I am.”
“Your childhood would suggest otherwise,” he said sardonically.
“That was my parents. That wasn’t me.” She resumed a crisp stride back to her car.
He trailed behind her, bewildered. He was going to catch hell when he got back. They were going to assume he’d made some kind of off-color remark that put her off. They were going to think he’d fucked up a sure thing. He’d failed their test.
When he came out of the park, she was in the car and the motor was running. He got in and she took off, her driving no longer measured and controlled. She was going a little faster, taking a few more risks.
“Is it fear?” he asked quietly. “Because we all…I mean, it’s normal….”
“No.”
It was a forceful answer. She didn’t say anything more. He had to take that at face value. She parked on campus and sat there, staring straight ahead.
“They’re going to ask me why. What should I tell them?”
“When people take risks, they do it for selfish reasons, for their own personal indulgence. They don’t consider how their actions will affect others.”
“Who will you affect, Doc? We’ve done our research. There isn’t a thing about you we haven’t considered. You tick off every box. You’re divorced, have no children. Your one surviving parent appears to be off the grid and the grandparents you spent your teens with are both deceased.”
She looked down at her lap.
He fished in his wallet for a business card. She took it silently and he got out. The car was already getting hot in the sun and he didn’t know what else to say to her. He was just about to slam the door when he thought of one last thing, “Are you going to be like this girl, this student of yours, with regrets? Or are you going to fulfill your potential and do something absolutely amazing that will benefit the human race?”
She didn’t reply, only closed her eyes.
He retrieved his ID card from inside the building and remembered he needed her to sign the confidentiality agreement. As he headed for his own car, he noted that hers was gone. So, he’d screwed that up, too, dammit.
Partway back to Pasadena, his cell rang. It was Holloway.
Her voice sounded cold, formal, rehearsed. “Dr. Bergen? This is Dr. Holloway.”
He checked his mirrors and decided not to change lanes just yet. “Yeah, this is Berg.”
She cleared her throat. “Have your people contact me about the arrangements.”
He sat up in his seat a little straighter. “Oh, you changed your mind?”
“I’ll go to Houston. That’s all I’ll agree to, for now. And that’s just to satisfy my curiosity.”
3
Bergen cursed.
“Sorry, Doctor Holloway—but it looks like you’re out of a job,” Walsh said flatly.
Jane let out the breath she’d been holding. She told herself she should be relieved. “Don’t be too quick to make assumptions,” she found herself musing aloud. “This could be a social custom that we don’t understand. Visitors may be expected to follow the lights to a designated location. It could be a welcoming gesture.”
“Like walking the red carpet, or something,” Gibbs suggested.
“Think there’s any paparazzi?” Bergen said.
Walsh shook his head. “The docking lights, the airlock opening, the interior lights—are probably automated, triggered by proximity. I think we’re looking at the ‘vacant’ scenario here.”
A gut feeling insisted he was wrong. There was someone in there. Jane eased forward, reaching to pull herself through the opening.
Bergen was grimacing. “So, where does that put us on the flow chart of doom?”
Walsh grabbed Jane from behind before she could go further. “Wait. Compton—getting any response to the radio transmission?”
“Negative, Commander. No joy,” Compton said evenly from the cockpit.
Jane spoke up, “They’ve welcomed us. They know we’re here. I think, maybe, they expect us to—”
“Run like rats through a maze?” Bergen put in with an arched brow.
Jane swiveled to face him, scowling. “Don’t judge them, Dr. Bergen. We don’t know anything about them. You jeopardize the mission with comments like that. They could be monitoring us, even now.”
“You think they speak English, Doc?” Bergen said dryly.
Had they forgotten all the training? Jane put some snap in her voice, “We’ve been through this. It’s a mistake to assume anything. We have to remember their culture is completely foreign. They don’t think like we do. Perhaps they fear their appearance will frighten us. They may be shy—eager to observe our behavior before they show themselves. There could be hundreds of reasons that I’m not equipped to imagine.”
Walsh turned toward the base of the capsule. “I don’t think there’s any ‘they’ to be worried about, Holloway. It’ll be our job to figure out why that is.”
Jane grit her teeth.
Walsh pushed off for the cockpit. “We’ll give this some time.”
Bergen fiddled with an instrument. “It’s pressurized. We’re at about 12 psi now. I should go in there and take some air samples, at least.”
Walsh said, “No. Stay put for now.”
“But—” Jane started to argue, though she knew she was pushing it.
Walsh turned, an eloquent pirouette. “Under the protocol of this scenario, you’re working for me, Dr. Holloway. We’ll do this my way.” He proceeded to send another transmission to Houston, detailing what had occurred so far.
An elaborate “If this, then that” chart had been hammered out in Houston. Depending upon the circumstances they met at the Target, either she or Walsh were in command at any given time. Walsh wasn’t going to hand over the baton without proof that there was someone in there, which was fine. Jane had never wanted the command, but she did care about getting this right. First contact was a delicate thing, even back home, among humans. And this was far more precarious.
Walsh was following the protocols they’d hammered out in Houston. At some point, though, she’d developed doubts that human logic would mean anything out here.
Jane lingered with Bergen at the apex of the capsule. Bergen was peering into the ship, getting as close as he dared without incurring Walsh’s irritation. He was getting twitchy, checking his instruments and reorienting them on his suit. Through her helmet, she could hear the muffled scritch of the velcro peeling apart repeatedly.
“Which way is up?” she asked Bergen.
He thwacked her helmet with his gloved knuckles. “Turn on your comm, Doc.”
Damn. She’d hoped he could hear her speaking quietly. Must every word, every movement, be public? At least her thoughts were still her own. She turned the comm back on. “Which way is up?”
“Hm.” He gazed at her thoughtfully. “I was just wondering the same thing. In microgravity, it doesn’t matter. Yet, we still like to think of an up and a down orientation. They may as well.”
She nodded, as much as the stiff suit would allow. “Well, you’re the engineer. What do you think? Did they put the lights in the floor or the ceiling? There aren’t any other cues, are there?”
“Hard to say, since the lights are flush with the surface. It could really go either way.”
“Gibbs’ comment about the red carpet, though—and the way they turned on—made me think floor. You?”
“Mm. I’d like to get in there and take some measurements, but….” He glanced back toward Walsh with frustration.
Walsh studiously ignored their conversation.