While they waited for Cal to finish gassing up, Catherine said, “Do you know a woman named Iris Addy? She’s supposed to live around here.”
The woman looked her over with dark olive-brown eyes. “You from the government?”
“What?”
“You and your friend. White people in a rental car, asking after Iris. You ain’t dressed like government, but just the same.”
“No—not really. I mean, that’s not why we’re here. We just want to talk to her.”
The woman humphed, then started ringing up the total after Cal finished. “That’ll be forty-five fifty-one, with the sodas.”
Catherine handed her cash and tried again. “I… I think I went through something similar to her. We just want to talk.”
“Yeah, I know who you are now. I saw you on TV.” She handed Catherine her change. “That road out there is Route 59. Follow it up about five miles, you’ll see a bunch of power towers. Turn right there. Iris’s place is about six more miles.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. She ain’t gonna be happy to see you.”
“Still. Thanks.” Catherine took the sodas and left “We’re all set,” she told Cal. “And I got directions.”
“There’s only a few hours of daylight left,” Cal said. “Should we find a place to stay and try in the morning?”
“Let’s not.” She handed him one of the sodas. “I have a feeling the clerk is going to give Iris a heads-up that we’re coming. Be nice if she didn’t have time to run off.”
“All right.”
When they were back on the road, there was no more easy chatter. Catherine’s stomach was tied in knots and she couldn’t stop fidgeting with the soda bottle.
“Hey.” Cal reached over and squeezed her forearm, giving it a shake. “It’s going to be okay. Worst case, she can’t tell us anything, and we got to have a nice drive through God’s country.”
“Yeah,” Catherine said, unconvinced. “Sure.”
The towers the clerk mentioned were easy to spot, and Catherine wiped her damp palms against her jeans as the remaining miles ticked by. A homestead came into view, a gray, weathered cabin and a few outbuildings equally as weathered. A handful of sheep and goats stood around in a pen, and as they pulled up, a dog started barking.
Cal and Catherine got out of the car and had barely taken ten steps to the house when a woman burst through the front door. She wore denim overalls and a plaid shirt, and had wild hair that spilled over her shoulders. She had a shotgun in her hands, and as they watched, she racked it and aimed.
“Now you just get back in that car and turn right around the way you came,” she said.
32
BEFORE CATHERINE COULD react, Cal shoved her behind him and raised both hands. Well, he gets points for gallantry, I suppose…
“We’re not here to harass you,” he said.
“I know who sent you,” Addy replied. “I’m not telling you anything. I’ve done all the talking I’m gonna do. Now just go.” She gestured with the shotgun, and Catherine had a moment of relief when she saw her finger wasn’t on the trigger—yet.
“Commander Addy,” Catherine spoke up from behind Cal, and in fact, stepped around him with her hands up as well. “We’re from NASA, but they don’t know we’re here. My name’s Catherine Wells.”
Addy’s brow creased, and she took a closer look at Catherine. “What do you mean, NASA doesn’t know you’re here? You’re their media darling right now, I bet you can’t piss without someone keeping track of it.”
“Well… let’s just say they’re not real fond of me at the moment, Commander. I think you and I have some things in common. Can we talk about them?”
“Who’s he?” Addy pointed at Cal.
“Cal Morganson,” he answered. “I work on the Sagittarius program with Catherine.”
“You’re no astronaut,” she said dubiously.
“No ma’am. I’m the flight activities officer for Sagittarius II.”
Addy sniffed. “Why aren’t you at Johnson? Your people are up there right now, aren’t they?”
Cal put on a charming smile. Catherine bet it worked wonders on grandmothers and maiden aunts. “Well, Commander, that’s part of the reason we’re here.”
Commander Addy was older than Catherine by maybe twenty years—it was hard to judge from her face. Her salt-and-pepper hair was ragged and looked as if she cut it herself, and her eyes were the same faded and harsh blue as the desert sky overhead. She was nobody’s grandmother or maiden aunt, and she wasn’t charmed. But she did lower the shotgun. “Catherine Wells, huh? They say it took you six years to get home, that right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It’s a hard thing, being out there alone for so long. People like this one,” Addy indicated Cal, “don’t get that. You do, though. I can see it in your eyes.” She kicked the shell out of the shotgun’s chamber. “Ah, hell. Come on in. But no snooping.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Cal muttered, and Catherine elbowed him as he passed.
The cabin was clearly meant for only one person. There was just one armchair in front of an overstuffed bookcase. On the table next to the chair was a portable radio. Everything was haphazard and looked slightly off-kilter—a lot like Commander Addy. There was nothing decorative, nothing that didn’t look absolutely necessary. The wall by the door contained a rack of guns. The main room’s two windows were heavily shaded, making it gloomy even in the bright late afternoon. A ham radio set was on a desk in one corner, but there was no sign of a computer.
Something about the entire place made Catherine feel uneasy. It reminded her of the Unabomber’s bunker; all that was missing was a manifesto. And Catherine wouldn’t be surprised if there was one of those around somewhere, half-written. Something was wrong here. A deep sense of discomfort was growing inside her, something she couldn’t put her finger on, an itch she couldn’t reach.
“Don’t have many visitors,” Addy said, pulling two chairs out of the kitchen. “Sorry.” She didn’t offer them anything, and they didn’t ask, but sat in the hard kitchen chairs.
“No, this is fine,” Catherine said. “Thank you so much for talking to us.”
Addy humphed, then settled into the armchair with a groan. “Keep your voices down. I did a sweep yesterday, but I can’t guarantee no one’s listening.”
Cal exchanged a look with Catherine. “Thanks for the warning,” he said.
“You don’t believe me. That’s fine. She does.” Addy nodded toward Catherine. “You know what it’s like to be under surveillance, don’t you, Wells?”
Catherine didn’t answer directly, especially since Cal had been the one surveilling her. “What happened to you, Commander? Can you tell me?”
“What do they say about me?” Addy asked. “Had a breakdown, unfit for duty?”
“That’s… yes,” Cal said. “No one talks about the details. No one talks about it at all, officially.”
“No, they wouldn’t.” She looked at Catherine. “Is that what they told you, too? Breakdown brought on by wormhole-induced amnesia?”
“Something like that,” Catherine responded. Her head was starting to buzz, like the power towers they’d passed.
“Did you get it, too?” Addy leaned forward. “The amnesia?”
“I don’t remember anything about our time in the TRAPPIST system,” Catherine admitted. “But my doctor thinks it’s trauma-based. We still don’t know what happened to my crew—”
“I have a few ideas,” Addy said. “How’s Dr. Darzi doing, anyway? She still trying to tell people to move on and stop worrying about the past?”
Catherine flinched as if struck. “Did she tell you that, too?”
“Don’t focus your efforts on trying to remember the past,” Addy said in a singsong voice. “You have to live in the now and get back to your life.”