"Now wait a minute—you say you have proof—that her blood and tissue samples contain alien DNA? That could have easily been tampered with." Kelly shook his head, dismissing it. "And can you prove that the sample dates from the time in question— before we obtained the Statue City cultures? That it even came from this child? How could you have an active culture if you say it was taken eleven years ago? Do you expect the Scientific Review Committee to believe that?"
"You're saying I took it from recent alien remains and formed a culture—to pass off an ordinary child as an alien?" Faulkner wrinkled his brow, incredulous, but sharp enough to sense Kelly's hidden accusation.
"If you wanted to prove a point that Knightwood and Cameron had orchestrated some kind of cover-up then—yes, I believe you would."
"I thank you for the confidence in my abilities," Faulkner said sardonically, "but you give me too much credit—even I could not possibly manage to fabricate such a fantasy."
"Look, Aidan," Kelly sighed. "All I can say is the girl looked pretty normal to me. Now, I can understand your need to prove that Knightwood withheld information about the first alien ship for her own purposes, but until recently you rejected the idea that the two alien ships were even connected at all, much less to propose that the daughter of two famous war heroes is actually an alien—"
"Fine, Ian." Faulkner waved his hand dismissively. "It looks like I made a mistake trying to bring you in on this. But you'll see—when Erin Mathieson-Blair returns from space, I'll have her brought in for a medical exam—and we'll see who's chasing an illusion."
Ian shook his head. "Good night, Faulkner." Crazy bastard. Kelly thought as he terminated the signal, leaving Faulkner staring mutely at a blank videoscreen.
"You just turned down one hell of a chance." Faulkner glared at the screen, his voice a hiss.
Moving back to the protracted sleeper panel, Faulkner carefully lifted the syringe lying across it. "Here's to me," he gazed at the purple-red emulsion, and jabbed himself in the arm.
* * * * *
"It's incredible isn't it?" Scott Dimitriev made his way beside her and leaned against the railing, resting an elbow and joining her in star-gazing.
Scott caught the gesture, and his head cocked sideways. "Not in the mood for a conversation?" He choked off a laugh, and then his tone turned serious. "Anyway, I just wanted to wish you a successful mission. I have to leave now—I'm on duty on the bridge. I just wanted you to know that I hope you get back safely. Good-bye, Erin."
Scott pushed himself away and strode briskly to the deck entrance. Erin continued to stare out at the view, feeling much more agitated than she appeared. After Scott left, she wondered how many people had left things unsaid, things undone when they came out here to the end of the solar system—and she almost went after him.
Then, after a moment, she did.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Scott!” Erin called, catching him by the doorway. He stopped reluctantly and turned around.
“You have something to say, lieutenant?” He asked calmly, with a look and manner of cold civility; she felt a sudden distance between them as surely as if he had spoken through a wall.
“Why did you come all this way to talk to me?” Erin asked, scrutinizing him, but his steady gaze betrayed nothing.
“I was on my way to the bridge.”
“Yes, but you came out of your way to talk to me—to wish me luck?” She pressed.
“Yes, didn’t I say I hoped you’d come back safely? What more did you expect?” There was no affection in his voice now. She began to wonder if his heartfelt parting words had been in her imagination.
“I could have sworn that you came to make a confession.” She admitted.
“A confession? What could I possibly have to say to you, lieutenant?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know because you’re always eager to see the world the way you want it to be, rather than see what it for what it really is.” His tone was harsh.
“What makes you say that?” She said, still not quite understanding his vicious behavior. In the past few months, she thought they had at least begun to get along well; she suddenly realized she didn’t know where she stood in his opinion.
“Why don’t you just tell me what you thought.”
“You’re trying to make me feel foolish now.” She declared, hardly able to believe it possible; she searched his gaze for a denial, but the moment had stretched too long. “I see,” she concluded. “I thought you came because perhaps, even given your present situation and our respective duties—I thought perhaps you might be in love with me.”
“And what gave you that idea?” He said, laughing as though at something ridiculous.
“What gave me that idea?” She threw back defensively. “The way you’ve been acting. You avoid speaking to me directly. You always seem so surprised to see me whenever our paths cross outside of duty. And then, then you also hang around and listen to my conversations with others on the bridge, as though you think I won’t notice. If this behavior wasn’t enough to suspect—what I suspected, I would certainly be able to call you a gossip—but I don’t think you are.” As she spoke, his careful composure began to irritate her.
He laughed. “You don’t imagine any one has deceived you—or rather, that any one can deceive you, then?” he said, denying nothing, admitting nothing.
“No, I don’t. I don’t give those who would deceive me any consideration in my affections in the first place. I know that you’re incapable of deceit.” She said, staring at him, beyond him.
“Do you? But perhaps you’re wrong.” He said, crossing his arms across his chest. “Anyway, what could you mean to me? We don’t know each other well, and what time I’ve spent around you has been because I’ve had to. Duty compels me to spend time near you. You, on the other hand,” he laughed, “seem to be harboring a silly girlish fancy—like a lapdog following and hanging on where it isn’t wanted. I only came to say good-bye to you out of pity, if you want to know the truth.”
“Well, it takes more bravery to admit your feelings than to hide them.” Erin said staunchly, yet it was the first time she had ever admitted anything of the kind.
He sighed in disagreement. “Not always.”
“Maybe not, but you risk more when you expose your feelings to others, don’t you?” She insisted.
“And you, I suppose, would take that risk?” He suggested, his tone derisive.
“I would. I would expect nothing less of myself. But I would still hope to gain something lasting by it.”
“Women are all so unreasoning, always dwelling on this idea of gaining complete security or love for themselves.” He said, with a dismissive manner that was an insult. “Nothing is guaranteed, Erin. And by that logic no emotion can mean much outside the moment which incites it. Nothing lasts, either.”
“I disagree,” she said evenly, refusing to be daunted. “Anything worth value for only a moment is cheaply bought. I don’t know what you consider love to be, but anything I love—anyone I love—I will love forever.”
“My, my. What about Erik?” He threw out, studied her expression.
“Oh, I understand that it took him courage to keep his feelings for me without any guarantee of my returning them,” Erin admitted, “but I believe his sentiment was lust or obsession, not love. From the first moment he saw me, he created a fantasy out of me.”
“Isn’t your affection for me the same? Your love is really love of love, and love of yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“That often when we imagine ourselves to be in love, the person whom we choose to love reflects some aspect of ourselves, or else something we wish we were. What you fancy is a heroic image that doesn’t exist.”
“You’re wrong.” Was he right? she thou
ght to herself. No! She had been around him long enough to know that their minds worked in a similar way, long enough to have developed a sense of who he was at unguarded moments, as when he was around others. And she knew that she loved him entirely, unconditionally.
“If you want pleasure, you can get it so easily. There’s no point in anything else except survival. Love is just an emotion that you don’t need to survive.”
“You’re hard.”
“Give me up then, as a friend. You will, when you start to conclude that I don’t care. Yes, go ahead and believe that. It will make it easier to give me up. Learn to hate me.”
“I didn’t know you could be cruel.”
“I’m not, merely rational. I don’t love you, but I want you to be well and safe.” His eyes observed her coldly.
“Well, I suppose I don’t care what you say now and what you tell me to do or not to do.” She shook her head. “But all the same, for whatever it’s worth, and that may not be much in your book, I do understand that the course of your life has brought you to this, bitterly arguing against what you used to believe, and bartering cruelty for that light-hearted sense of humor you used to have.”
He made a vague scoffing sound.
“Melodramatic.” He said, but he let her continue, his eyes carefully reserved. He almost seemed to want to hear more.
“Life has made you change I see.” She went on, ignoring his criticism. “I know because I remember what you were when you were closer to being yourself, when you still knew yourself better than anyone else and still spoke your own mind.
“I remember you well, Scott Dimitriev, then and now. And I know you. I’ve had years to reflect upon what you said long ago, and what it revealed to me about you. And I’ve had months to watch you now. I know you, and if it is foolish to love you, then let me be a fool.”
“You are such a fool, presuming to know me.”
“Didn’t I already admit that? I’m not going to deny that it hurts me to know your opinion of me, but I’ll still love you.”
“No, of course not. You’re too proud, or—perhaps tragically noble?” He smiled, smiled artificially.
“I won’t give up my love because it isn’t something easily given, and unfortunately no easier to withdraw. But don’t think that I’m ‘obsessed’ with you. Don’t insult me that way.”
“You should cut your losses now.”
Why did he keep arguing? she wondered. Why was he being so cruel when he could have just ignored her or walked away?
“If it were that simple, I would.” She said.
“It would be if you were at all sensible.”
“Maybe. But my I choose to remain loyal. I can’t seem to do anything to change that, no matter how much I want to sometimes.”
“Nonsense. Everyone betrays one another. Everyone deceives someone—if not himself.”
“When I do it isn’t intentional. I wouldn’t deliberately betray anyone’s faith or trust in me.”
“If that’s true, then I suppose it would be a privilege to be loved by someone like you.”
“But not by me?”
“You comprehend me perfectly.”
“Why are you trying to torture me?” Her outward expression refused to submit to the injury, nonetheless.
“Because you seem to believe that noble sentiment should govern the human race. You need someone to teach you a lesson. Higher feelings don’t amount to much.”
“You’re wrong.” She said staunchly. “I only regret that they can’t. I never said that I believed it possible. I wish for it, yes!”
“In the end, we’re all just selfish creatures. And as you know, I’m only here on the Stargazer for revenge. That’s the only long-term goal I have time for. So any consideration I give to you would be merely in hopes of what you might have to offer me today.” He paused. “But they have pleasure centers for that, thankfully.”
“I didn’t think you were like them.” She sounded profoundly disappointed.
“Like who?”
“I thought more highly of your character.”
Dimitriev just stared at her and said nothing. After a moment, she turned and walked away.
* * * * *
Colonel Kansier cocked an eye up at the sound of the door swishing open. Major Dimitriev came in without saying a word and found his position in the second command chair in a distracted, agitated way. Kansier did not want to say it, but Dimitriev had the look of the damned. He kept moving about in his chair, rubbing his eyes, exhaling loudly. He moved about with an anxiety unusual to him and looked up with a lost gaze; when he composed himself and regained his powers of discernment, the manner in which he surveyed his surroundings bore the mark of an entirely dissatisfied mind.
Damn her.
Kansier decided not to question Dimitriev about it, and got up to leave the bridge, when a sudden high-pitched whine interrupted the order of the scene.
"It's from Saturn," the communications operator, lieutenant Cho informed them flatly. "I'm patching us through, sir."
Colonel Dawe's stern, round-faced image materialized on the video screen.
"Calling cargo ship Observer. Mining supplies being sent back to Earth. Expect you to join them at 0730 7/12. Jettison present cargo the standard two hours prior to engaging engines. Over and out."
At last, the long awaited message had been received.
"Put us on red alert, Lieutenant Baker. Naseem, set our course for Charon, maximum speed." Kansier ordered.
With the red warning tones sounding and the relay screens coming alive with reports all around him, Scott Dimitriev found himself thinking about the unfortunate timing of his confrontation with Erin. He had convinced himself she had forced him to say what must be said.
Now he could imagine Erin rushing towards the cargo bay where the infiltration team would assemble and review their plans until the deployment time arrived.
He remembered the crestfallen expression in her eyes, an expression that betrayed a vulnerability he would have moved mountains to defend.
What if she should die now, without knowing the truth?
The truth was that he did love her. She was the one person he loved left alive on Earth, the one woman he had ever loved and the only one he ever would truly love.
And now she had every reason to hate him.
He just couldn’t let his love get in the way of his need for revenge.
* * * * *
At 0530 the next morning, the specially created infiltration team took off in a small shuttle while the Stargazer maintained its position behind Charon. Once the team was securely away, the Stargazer engaged its engines and relocated just inside Charon's dark side. The shuttle's initial velocity had been calculated to propel it close to the alien ship, and then the thrusters would be deactivated in order that their approach was silent and hopefully undetected by radar.
It had to look like discarded cargo, simple space junk like the fragments of ruined ships and supply shuttles caught in Pluto's orbit, until the fleet could provide a distraction. Then, if they could, they planned to inflitrate the alien ship.
* * * * *
What have I done? was the prevalent thought in his mind when it returned to him.
The visions that had taken over were growing day by day. Only brief moments of Faulkner surfaced between hallucinations. Now he understood the term "losing his mind"—but he wasn't crazy.
He hoped he was dying.
When he wasn't absorbed by images from another time and existence, conjured by the alien poison he had foolishly welcomed, his body writhed in pain. He felt as though someone had ignited his pain sensors from within, as though his inner being slowly burned away.
Faulkner blinked. The grotesque computer terminal in his dream melted away to be replaced by an innocuous metallic plane, a ship
that obliterated the view in front of him. The world had been cut in two—the nature surrounding him, opposing the zenith of alien technology dead ahead.
How had he made it all the way out here? he wondered.
Far to the left, cargo operators were loading supplies into an air lock for some purpose. He hadn't heard any news about outfitting the alien ship—but then he had been out of it for some time.
Faulkner stumbled in the dirt, drawing instinctively towards the activity. He felt the approach of another blackout and groaned spasmodically, flailing his arms, somehow managing to put off the illusions that had begun to take form in the air around him.
Faulkner never heard the call of the cargo operator. The man only shrugged and scratched his head, supposing the figure clad in a white UESRC labcoat to be one of the scientists from Knightwood's group. They paraded in and out at all hours, disrupting the cargo operators. Now they weren't even bothering to show their entry passes!
Faulkner wandered, but he had lost all concept of time and feeling. A strange, synthesized voice called to him in unintelligible gibberish, and no matter where he moved, the vision of a small panel of illuminated sensors—some kind of computer terminal—appeared before his eyes.
Faulkner heard a doorway open ahead and entered a cold, dark corridor with an unusual taste in the air.
I cannot let you return, he finally understood the meaning of that voice. You are part of us now.
Faulkner looked up when the light appeared. The force holding him finally loosed its grip, and he sank to his knees, his arms falling limp to the ground. His vision gradually returned, and a remnant of Faulkner looked about, pulling himself up on one elbow, squinting through his fingers as he peered into the brightness.
The canopy of silvery-gold leaves sighed, rustled by the breeze.
And Faulkner collapsed, dreaming of hell.
We have you now. For all eternity.
* * * * *
Just inside the outer hull of the alien dreadnought, the twelve fighters of Arnaud's infiltration unit rushed towards the narrow aperture, a breach in the second hull skin that was their entrance into the alien ship. All about them the mass of living wires and cables that rearranged the hull plates of the outer hull were now pulling together to seal the hull's interior and repair the damage incurred when the electromagnetic field was temporarily disrupted.