The command staff gathered at the big round conference table. The Selene chair normally reserved for computer expert David Kano sat empty.
"Let's go over what we know," Koenig said, his hands folded in front of him.
Sandra: "The object is matching the moon's course and maintaining a constant distance at orbital reference three-three-seven."
"Whatever it is," Paul Morrow said. "It is encased inside an energy shield, and we know it can send out blasts of energy."
Professor Bergman: "It has mass and it is space worthy so we can deduce it is an artificial vessel of some configuration, and that in turn indicates intelligence."
"Yes, Victor," Koenig said. "But malevolent, or benevolent?"
"Now hold on here, commander," Carter said, his face a shade of red. "We got the answer to that question when it knocked Parks and Bannon from the sky."
"I agree with Alan," Morrow scowled. "They hit Eagle Two with an energy pulse that disabled the ship and they're trying to hijack our computer systems. The question has been answered."
"Has it, now?" Bergman mused.
"Energy pulses that disable ships and a transmission that interferes with our computers? What do you think?" Marrow rested his case.
Sandra reported, "We still cannot identify the type of interference, but we do know it impacted data storage first, and then moved into main processing before we blocked it out by shutting off all inputs and operations."
Koenig stood, rubbed his chin, leaned over the table and looked each of them in the eye, one after another. "If Sandra is right, then whatever that object is, it tried to get at us through computer. It invaded the memory banks on Eagle Four and then again here on Alpha, before moving on to the main processing systems."
"That happened fast," Bergman noted. "So it didn't find what it needed in the data banks."
Morrow's brow furled. "What does it need?"
Bergman answered only with pressed lips and a shrug of his shoulders.
Koenig wagged his finger first at a window overlooking the moon's surface and then behind him, in the general direction of medical. "Point is, that thing got into computer first and now I think it's in Kano's head. We could stop it by turning off the computer. Kano is a different story."
Sandra asked, "I do not understand. How is this signal getting into David?"
Helena, in a softer voice, explained, "Through the web of fibres implanted in his head. He was part of an experiment when he was young to link the human brain to a computer."
"Now wait a minute, commander," Carter broke in. "Are you saying that whatever caused Parks and Bannon to lose control is in Kano's brain?"
"Ah, well, two different issues," Professor Bergman held up his hands with the fingers stretched wide as he tried to sculpt an accurate description. "On one hand, Parks and Bannon were hit with a powerful surge of unidentifiable energy. When that surge hit Eagle Two, it had an effect similar to an electromagnet pulse. The ship's systems were, well, overloaded and caused to fail."
"Sounds to me like your saying they have an EMP weapon," Carter jumped to a conclusion.
"Alan," Koenig interrupted. "We don't know what it is, but it keeps repeating."
Morrow prompted, "Professor, you said there were two issues."
"Yes that's right." He leaned his elbows on the table top and jabbed a fist into the palm of a hand. "Besides this repeating energy surge, there's this transmission the object is sending into our computers and, it would seem, into David Kano. Two different issues; as different as, say, the rockets on an Eagle and the communications system of that same Eagle. I wouldn't be surprised if that is a very accurate comparison."
"We can block the transmission from our computers," Koenig said, his voice strong and firm. "But we can't block it from Kano."
"To put it bluntly," Bergman scratched the side of his head and explained. "Kano's implant has no off switch. It's a receptacle. Some how this transmission is accessing the implanted fibers directly. Quite interesting, actually."
That drew Paul's ire. "I doubt David Kano finds it interesting."
Koenig said, "Paul, we don't know what's happening inside his head."
"It could be some kind of communication," Bergman suggested.
"Or control, Victor," Koenig countered. "We've seen that before."
A hint of panic came with Sandra's observation: "If it impacted computer data storage first, is it not possible that it is infecting David's memories?"
Bergman scratched his chin. "I suppose so, yes. But the human mind isn't a computer, no matter how hard we've tried to make it so. Whatever our visitor is doing inside of Kano, I'm certain the results will differ from its experience in our computer."
"Commander," Morrow said. "David could be in pain. He could be suffering."
Dr. Russell replied, "That's possible, yes, but there's no physiological indications of distress. From what we can tell, he's simply asleep."
"But you cannot wake him?" asked Sandra.
Helena sighed. "So far, no. But we've avoided chemical stimulation. With a strong enough stimulate, I might be able to wake him. The question is, what damage might that do to Kano?"
"The answer is up there, in orbit," Carter broke in. "Professor, you said this object is firing off this energy blast on a regular basis. That's what I heard, isn't it?"
"Yes. The period between eruptions is shortening. The first sixty minutes after it arrived, then forty five minutes later. That suggests a cycle."
Koenig speculated, "Or a countdown."
"There's the answer, commander. When I took Eagles One and Two up before, we didn't know what we were in for. All we have to do this time is wait down here for the next blast to fire off, then we've got a window before the next pulse."
"A window?" Morrow asked.
"And I don't need a big window to get off a shot," Carter said.
Koenig rubbed his chin and looked away from the pilot. "Yes, Alan. We've already figured that out."
"Figured it out?" Carter's shoulders tensed. "What do you mean?"
Morrow volunteered, "Combat Eagle Three has been repaired and is on standby on pad four."
"Why wasn't I informed?"
No one answered. Koenig avoided eye contact.
Carter said, "I'll suit up."
"Pete Johnson has the duty," Koenig replied.
"But—"
"But nothing. That's how it is."
Carter's shoulders slumped. "I see. That's how it is."
Koenig summed things up: "Eagle Three is ready to launch if we need her. For now, we monitor the situation. Helena, inform me of any change in Kano's status immediately. I don't want to press the issue but, well, we might have to force him awake. Paul, continue to beam every scanner we've got in the direction of the object. I want a constant read out on its exact position. If it strays by a centimeter, I want to know it. And Paul, put all sections on alert. We don't know what to expect next."
"Yes, commander."
"Dismissed."
The staff meeting broke up. Morrow and Koenig headed to Main Mission, Sandra and Bergman exited through the side door to the outer passage. Only Helena and Carter remained behind. She had something she wanted to say, but Alan spoke first.
"Doc, you were monitoring vital signs from Eagle Two the whole time. Parks and Bannon…" he looked down at clasped hands. "Were they… were the alive when..?"
"Alan… Alan, I'm not going to answer that question."
He looked up. "You just did, Doc. You just did."
Carter walked around her, headed for the door. Her body tensed.
"Alan."
He stopped.
"It is my medical opinion you are not suited to fly."
"Don't do it, Doc. Not now. Not after all this."
"You are in emotional distress. You need time. But for now, Alan, you're grounded."
His lip stiffened, his upper body shook, and he funneled that energy into swiping a stack of papers off the conference table. And then he stormed out of the room.
# # #
A mental fog covered everything, but slowly that fog lifted. As it did, Kano became aware of the pain in the back of his head. A cold pain; frigid. An icicle jammed into his skull.
He walked a corridor in Alpha, one without activity. The commpost was dark as were most of the wall panels. He could see his way, but couldn't discern why—no lights shone. No personnel. Just David Kano, alone in the dark.
He stumbled forward, little strength in his legs and his mind flooded with confusion.
How did I get here?
Where is everyone?
What has happened?
Is this real?
"Ah, David, hello there."
The voice belonged to Professor Victor Bergman. He came out of the shadows and strolled forward with a bounce in his step and the hint of a smile on his lips.
"Glad we found you." Victor scanned the corridor and took stock of their surroundings. "This is a big place. Lots of nooks and crannies, as one might say. But," he poked a finger in Kano's direction. "Here you are."
"Professor… I don't remember. Where am I?"
"Why, you're right here."
"I'm confused."
Again, Bergman glanced about. "This is a confusing place. Different from the others. All the various passages and around every corner a new mystery."
"I don't understand." Kano touched the back of his head. The pain remained. "Am I… am I dead?"
"Yes, well, there's another one of those mysteries. I'm not really sure what that even means. But look, if we try hard I think we can figure things out. Tell you what; let's go for a walk."
Bergman placed a hand on David's arm as if to steady him, but there was no need: Kano found his balance. They strode through the dark corridor. Kano felt he should recognize the intersections they passed, but they seemed off. At first glance, he was inside Apha moonbase. But it was wrong. The configuration different. Doors in places where he didn't expect them; hallways leading off seemingly forever.
"Ah, yes, look at this." The professor said as they arrived at a reception area. The commpost here was dark, too, the desk unoccupied. Bergman approached the closed travel tube doors.
Kano, however, was not interested in exploring. "Where is the commander? Dr. Russell?"
Bergman ignored the questions. The two doors opened, offering access to the car within. Bergman cocked his head and grinned, pleased with what he witnessed. He raised both hands as if trying to physically grasp a mental concept.
"See, here this takes us from one place to another. Isn't that wonderful?"
"It's a travel tube, professor."
"Yes! Yes it is. Come on now, let's see what happens."
Professor Bergman stepped onboard, turned, and faced Kano, waiting.
"This is a waste of time," David said.
"Time. What a marvelous concept! I think I understand it enough to make some progress. Why don't you join me in here. You're going to find this fascinating."
Kano huffed and followed him inside, still unsure as to the reality of the entire situation.
The door shut and the tube moved forward, buzzing and humming as it went.
Kano had ridden travel tubes an uncountable number of times, but this one felt different. On the communication screens and monitors, the same squiggly lines that had overloaded computer.
"What is this? What does it mean?"
Bergman sat. Kano stood, clutching a hand rail.
"You're different from everyone else in this place," the professor noted. "Are you part machine?"
"What? What are you asking?"
"Are you part, um," Bergman searched for the correct word and his expression brightened when he found it. "Are you part computer?"
Kano thought of Anna who had said similar words but had done so with a tone of accusation. The professor came across more as curious.
"No. I'm not a machine."
"But you have machine parts. What was that?"
Kano said, "A choice," and almost added a bad choice, but didn't.
"You seem to communicate very well with these computer things. Is that the case?"
Kano slung his head. "Sometimes I think computer is the only one I communicate with."
Bergman slapped his knees and stood, saying, "Well, good thing for you or we might not be here, you and I."
"Professor, what is this about?"
Bergman waved at the interior of the travel tube as it moved along, destination unknown. "This is an incredible contraption. See how it works? Do you?" With waves and jabs of his index finger accentuating every word, he explained, "You get on board, and it takes you some where. To a new place. And then you get off, and you're in that new place. You've left the old place behind."
"This is a travel tube. It takes us around moonbase. The the launch pads. To other sections. It is nothing special."
The tube slowed.
Bergman motioned at the chaotic lines dancing on the screens. "Not much of it left. Not now."
"Where are we going?"
The professor's image ignored the question. "The thing is, David, if you're not inside this… this travel tube when it leaves one place to go to another, then you'll never get to the new place."
"What are you saying?"
"You'll be at the old place. Forever. Left behind, as it were."
The car came to a halt. The end door that should lead to a boarding tube opened to darkness. Professor Bergman exited the car.
"Where are you going? There's nothing there!"
The professor disappeared.
Kano tried to follow and stepped into nothingness. He fell, spinning and falling into a bottomless void of black.
# # #
The monitors in the medical center told the story of a healthy man with no apparent afflictions, no injuries. David Kano should sit up, yawn, and get out of bed as any other human would after a long nap. But he wasn't waking. He slept. Seemingly at peace.
"Should we wake him, doctor?" Bob Mathias asked. "He's been like this for more than two hours. It's not natural."
Helena slowly shook her head. "What is natural, Bob? Out here, we can't trust our eyes, or sometimes even our instruments." She stepped to the monitor recording low levels of brain activity. "According to this, he's napping. But you and I know, there's more to it than that."
"All the more reason to wake him."
"Is it? We're assuming the alien intelligence that probed our computers is right now probing Kano's mind. Maybe even communicating with him, in a way they can't with us, or our machines. It could be they are having a conversation with Kano, and when that conversation is over, he will snap out of it and tell us who they are and what they want."
"You sound like Professor Bergman."
She smiled, a little. "The idea did originate with him, I admit."
"We should approach Kano's condition as medical professionals, not philosopher scientists. To the professor, David is a guinea pig. He wants to see the results of this experiment."
Her mood darkened. "That's not fair, Bob."
"Doctor Russell, you and the others are hoping this is a benign communication, but Kano is not a willing participant. He was attacked, like our computers. Instead of jamming as they did, he collapsed into this state."
"Giving him a stimulant now could be dangerous. We can't be certain of the effect on his brain. Besides, according to these readings, he is not suffering any measurable stress."
"You said it yourself. We can't trust our eyes or our equipment," Mathias insisted. "To us, he seems to be resting peacefully, but for all we know, he could be suffering great trauma."
# # #
Doctor's orders were to rest, but Alan Carter could do no such thing. He stood, in his quarters, looking out at the lunar landscape. From his window he spied the unidentified craft that had brought death and chaos to Alpha. Just hovering up there, plotting. Waiting to strike again. He felt it in his bones.
Channeling anger toward the intruder was the easiest means of chasing the guilt weighing on his shoulders.
He had known Stuart Parks for years. Before assignment to the moon, they worked together on upgrades and enhancements to the original Eagle models. They had been among two dozen test pilots assigned to the program, living in simulators then pushing prototypes to the limit until they had found the right balance of power, control, and utility that made the Eagles the most-used shuttle in the space program's history.
Here, on Alpha, in the time since breakaway, Parks helped identify and repair Eagles that neared the end of their service life. With no reinforcements from Earth coming, it was up to the reconnaissance division to keep the fleet running.
As for Bannon, Alan hadn't known Parks' co-pilot well before assignment on Alpha. He knew him best for his stoic poker face. His bluffs were legendary. But September 13, 1999 made them brothers. A fraternity of pilots and mechanics who shouldered the responsibility of keeping the Eagles flying. They were, after all, the eyes and ears of Alpha, and the only means of escape for the people living here, should Exodus ever come.
And I killed them. I blasted them to pieces.
Alan pounded his fist on the window sill.
A beep came from the closed entrance to his quarters.
He sighed, pointed his commlock at the door, and buzzed it open.
Sandra walked in holding a coffee tray. "I thought you could use something to drink."
Alan did not want company. He wanted to suffer his punishment in silence; the punishment of being grounded, the punishment of living with his choices.
"I'm not thirsty."
"I thought you would say that, too."
"Yet here you are."
She put the tray on a table top and looked to him.
"Look, San, I appreciate the gesture. Right now, I sort of want to be left alone."
"You are predictable, Alan," she said and stepped closer, but not too close. "I guessed you would say that as well."
He sighed, shook his head, and waved a dismissive hand. "Look, thanks for the coffee but I'm not ready for cheap psychotherapy. I get enough of that from Dr. Russell. Just… just leave me alone."
Sandra was a diminutive person, her voice soft, her speech quick as if hurrying to get out her words before she could be cut off. It would be easy for Alan to bully her from his room, but today she came with extra strength in her spine.
"Alan, you are upset. You feel guilty. That is understandable."
"I told you, San. I'm not up for this."
"You need to hear it, Alan. You need to hear it before you become lost in self-pity."
His eyes widened. "Self-pity? I shot them down, Sandra. I can't take it back. I can't change time. I'm responsible." He thumbed his chest. "Me. No one else. My decision. And because of it, two of my mates are dead."
"Eagle Two was—"
Carter rattled off names, one after another: "Donovan, Abrams, Wayland, Cousteau…Mike Ryan."
Sandra winced.
"And more. So many more I'm losing count. All from reconnaissance. Men I've flown with, trained with, fought with. And now Parks and Bannon. The difference, Sandra, is that Parks and Bannon weren't crushed by some space entity or shot down by an alien machine." His voice grew into a shout. "It was my finger on the button… my laser that blew their ship to pieces. Me. No amount of talking or time in medical center is going to change that! I'm responsible!"
Alan's breath came in out and in fast but deep heaves, his eyes locked onto her with a tinge of anger, but even more pleading. Begging for help. Begging for release.
Her voice remained low and calm, in stark contrast to his outburst.
"You are correct, Alan. You fired the shot that destroyed Eagle Two. Parks' Eagle. Bannon's Eagle. I can say nothing that will change that. But Alan, you shot them down, but you did not kill them."
"They were in the Eagle and they were still alive when I fired."
"They were dying, Alan. They were unconscious and out of control. Falling at Alpha. Your list of names… the friends you've lost. I have a list, too. Paul Morrow, David Kano, John Koenig…" She stepped closer to him with each name. "Victor Bergman, Helena Russell, Tanya Alexander. And me. That is a list of the people you saved."
"You don't know that. I killed—"
"You saved, Alan. Not killed. Saved. Parks and Bannon were dead already. There was no rescuing them in those last seconds, even if they regained consciousness. Their ship was in an unrecoverable dive. You did not change their fate, but you changed ours. You changed mine."
He shook his head, trying hard to deny the comfort.
She asked, "How brave were Parks and Bannon? What kind of men were they?"
"Are you kidding? You must not have known them. Parks was on the run to break up the nuclear waste dumps the day we got knocked out of orbit. His Eagle was practically falling apart from the magnetic radiation, but he kept going. Even when he knew the risk, he kept going. Bannon was on the line when the Sidons came knocking on our door."
"So tell me, Alan, what would they have wanted? Would they have wanted to be in the cockpit of the Eagle that killed everyone in Main Mission? If they could have spoken to you at that moment, would they have told you to hold your fire? To let them crash and take all of us with them, too? Is that what you think?"
He sighed and bit his lip.
"Answer me, Alan. Tell me the truth."
"No," he admitted.
"No," she repeated. "They would tell you to save everyone. They would have told you to do exactly what you did; to use your laser to stop them from hitting Main Mission. Because that's who they were. Who your friends were."
He looked up at her and found her eyes. There was a measure of gratitude there. The guilt on his shoulders weighed a shade lighter now.
FLASH.
A brief, brilliant glow covered the lunar surface outside his window for a moment, then faded.
"Another energy surge," Carter said and back came the anger, fueled by shame. "Do you know what this means? It means I've got a few minutes."
"A few minutes for what, Alan?"
He headed for the door at a fast trot. "To do what needs to be done."
Sandra watched him go… and then followed.
# # #
Kano picked himself up off the floor. At first, nothing but darkness, but his eyes slowly adjusted and he found himself standing in a nondescript Alphan corridor. The walls, the gray light panels, the quiet commposts… all resembled what he knew on moonbase, but arranged in a different fashion. A facsimile close to, but not exactly matching the original.
The silence was broken by a low rumble from somewhere ahead.
He touched the back of his head where the cold pain had dulled to a throb and considered his options. Kano was trapped somewhere. In a dream? In a simulation?
Whatever the truth, he saw no path other than forward. He moved ahead, following the noise. It led him to a pair of half-open doors beneath a sign reading FLIGHT CONTROL. Movement came from within. He squeezed through the opening and went inside.
On one wall, windows looking out at what should be the lunar surface, but the view in this phantom zone was one of streaks of sparkling light. On one wall, a large screen surrounded by computer panels. On yet another, an observation window offering a view of the massive hangar storing Alpha's fleet of Eagles.
A lifeless, T-labeled commpost and tables cluttered with unidentifiable scientific gear were also inside.
As was Paul Morrow.
Alpha's second-in-command paced in front of the hangar window thumbing through pages on a clipboard.
"Paul?"
Morrow looked away from his papers and glared at Kano. "It's about time you got here. There's not much of that left. I thought you'd have figured that out by now."
"I don't understand," he pleaded as a depression born of frustration fell upon him.
Wherever he was, the occupants here—be that his own persona or an outside influence—were trying to tell him something, but these specters didn't speak plainly, perhaps because they couldn't. A language barrier, maybe?
"Look here. Look."
Morrow directed his visitor to the observation window. Beyond, rows of Eagles parked, ready for use. Flight control was not a place he visited often, but even he knew the neat lines of transports and the orderly arrangement of cargo and fuel drums within the hangar was a far cry from the reality he knew. The real Alphan hangar was littered with damaged ships, spare parts, and maintenance scaffolds erected around Eagles undergoing repair work, some of which had been abandoned for lack of materials.
Nonetheless, the point Paul Morrow made remained true: "You know, there are enough Eagles to transport everyone on the base. You know that, don't you? Every last soul could fit inside the fleet."
A hoist carried an Eagle across the cavernous space toward a launch pad lift.
"Operation Exodus," Kano said, speaking in a monotone voice much like computer's. "It cannot be carried out without enough Eagles. Maintaining an operational fleet is priority."
"Listen, David, this is important. Eagles can be flown on automatic. Computer control."
"Yes."
"Pre-programmed flight plans. Accounting for fuel consumption, power recharging, navigational way points. Do you understand?"
He did not, but he tried. "Computer can fly an Eagle without a pilot."
"Yes." That answer pleased the ghost of Paul Morrow. "Many craft are like that. No need for a pilot. Set the coordinates, execute the flight. To go from somewhere to somewhere else. No one inside would have control. It would just happen."
"What are you saying?"
From behind them; from the corridor outside past the half-opened doors came a light gaining in brilliance.
"When a course is set, it cannot be undone. It happens. Do you understand?"
"I don't understand!"
The light was like a giant glowing ball. Its radiance erased the physical walls and Kano felt himself leaving this corner of the fantasy.
Morrow: "An Eagle—all the Eagles—can fit in the travel tube! Kano, you must hear me. You must!"
The glowing ball of energy overwhelmed Kano's senses, causing him to clench his eyes shut.
# # #
Carter came to an intersection and stopped, pausing before rounding the corner into Embarkation. He knew he wouldn't be alone.
Under normal circumstances, Alan Carter would never consider that which he was about to do. But this wasn't the Alan Carter of yesterday. This was the man who had pushed the button that killed two friends. Despite Sandra's best efforts, he carried that responsibility, but he could also funnel it into anger. Anger at that mysterious object shadowing the moon.
The commander, Professor Bergman… the others. To them, that diamond-shape enigma was an unknown, unquantifiable element. Not to Alan. He saw what it did. He knew what it was capable of. Its actions caused him to fire his laser on Eagle Two. Forced him into a corner as if playing a game with lives; pulling the strings of puppets. While everyone else was locked in a state of inaction because of muddled thinking, Alan felt clarity of purpose.
I will blast it from the sky.
But to do that—to save Alpha—he needed to go against character. Rage had a way of letting that happen, as did knowing that his window for action was short.
So he rounded the corner, forcing himself to move at a casual pace.
Ahead, a set of double doors with a sign on one side indicating EMBARKATION POINT and a light box above with the option NO ACCESS lit while the other option, COUNTDOWN, was dark.
Alan needed to go through that door, but a purple-sleeved, mustached security guard stood in the way.
He forced a smile and approached this obstacle. "Hey, Carson. You must've drawn the short straw."
"Captain Carter. Yes. That's my lot, I guess."
Alan pointed to the closed doors. "Pete's already on board, right?"
Carson glanced over his shoulder and then back to Alan. "Yes, sir."
"Right. I drew another of those short straws. Make way, mate."
Carson held up a hand but also held a friendly smile. "Hold on. The base is on alert, Alan. Sorry, I can't let you pass without authorization."
"You didn't get authorization? Look, I'm authorized. See?" He pointed his commlink at the door and pressed the access button. A warning chime meant access denied.
"What the bloody hell?" Carter looked at the device, feigning surprise. "Look, Carson, you'd better get on the horn and talk to Main Mission. I'm was supposed to be on Eagle Three five minutes ago."
"Sure."
Carson unholstered his commlink.
Alan punched him in the gut. The guard's commlink fell away and he hunched over. Carter followed the surprise blow with a sharp one-handed chop to the back of the man's neck, hitting the right nerve in the right place to induce unconsciousness. Carter used both hands to slow the man's fall and let him lay out on the floor without a hard landing.
"Sorry, mate," he said in a whisper. "I know how it feels."
Next, Carter grabbed the guard's commlink and buzzed open the access door leading to the boarding tube. Then did the same to the Eagle passenger compartment door. It opened. He took a stun gun from the armament rack, hid it behind his back, and moved for the cockpit. Triggered by his approach, the connecting bulkhead doors rolled open.
Pete Johnson sat in the pilot's seat wearing an orange space suit, the helmet on the floor within reach. He turned his head fast, surprised at the unexpected visitor.
"Alan?"
"Hey, Pete. I'm your relief. Commander's orders."
Carter was not dressed in an space suit, his hair was disheveled, sweat on his brow.
"I need to check with the commander."
Alan revealed the stun gun and pointed it at his friend. "Say, why don't you go ask him yourself."
Johnson eyed the gun, held his hands up, and rolled back in the pilot's seat. Slowly he stood, grabbed his helmet, and exited the cockpit.
Alan watched him go and mumbled to himself, "This is my mission. I'm in the responsibility seat."
# # #
The bright light faded and Kano walked the halls of Alpha moonbase—or what pretended to be Alpha-again, yet this time the light panels shined covering the corridors in the usual sterile, pale glow.
"This is what you chose?"
It was Anna. She walked at his side, one hand grazing across the wall as if touching the place might bring understanding.
David shook his head and kept moving. "You're not here."
"All these hallways, so many paths, and around every corner, here I am. I'm sorry that I'm still here. You are wounded by my presence."
He came to an intersection, looked in both directions, then stepped to his left. "You've been gone a long time."
She followed a pace behind. "But I'm not the one who left. You left, David. You ran. You ran from me, your father, from everything. Here, to live among the circuits."
"I'm not listening to you. You're a… a vision. A distraction." David waved his hand at his surroundings. "This is a puzzle I must solve. A message. But what does it mean?"
"You went to the moon, and then into deep space. Is it far enough yet? Have you escaped?"
"I'm not listening to you."
"No, you didn't listen, did you? And you haven't gone far enough. Here I am, still wandering in this maze. Hiding around every corner, lurking in the shadows."
They came to Main Mission. The place was fully staffed. Commander Koenig, Paul, Tanya, Sandra, even Professor Bergman. Or, at least, that's who he thought they were. They stood as still as mannequins, their faces covered in shade.
"You thought that computer… that Alpha… would be your refuge. But David, it's your prison."
Anna retreated from the room, back into the shadows.
"This is where I want to be," he insisted. "This is where I belong."
Movement on the main viewer caught his eye. It was the big blue marble of Earth. He recognized the bands of white clouds, the glimmer of the polar caps, vast oceans of blue, the familiar land masses. So beautiful it nearly brought him to tears. But yet, this had been the place from which he had fled so many years before.
Why did I do that? Why didn't I listen?
Kano pushed aside his personal feelings and tried to fit the pieces together. Professor Bergman in the travel tube… Paul Morrow and the Eagle hangar… Anna, to whom he had refused to listen.
"Listen," he mumbled to himself. "I did not listen then." Kano's eyes widened. "And we're not listening now."
On the screen, Earth shrank. Getting smaller. Farther away.
He stepped to the Koenig. "We must hear them, commander. We must listen!"
But the phantom of John Koenig did not react. He stood still, stoic, the natural scowl of his face unmoved.
Something seemed… wrong.
Slowly, Kano reached his hand to the commander's face. "Can you hear me? Can you understand?"
He touched the man's cheek. Instead of warm skin, cold plastic.
Kano pulled. The mask fell free. Beneath, sparkling lights, a glowing orb, the buzz of mechanical parts. A machine, far more advanced than man could ever know; could ever conceive. An intelligence birthed from eons of mechanical evolution. A being unlike any humanity had encountered, so different that communication was nearly impossible.
Nearly.
"Who are you? What are you?"
No reaction.
"You're in my mind. You're sending a signal into me, the same signal—the same message-you tried to send to the Eagle's onboard computer, and then to main computer. We shut you out." Kano touched the access port surgically implanted into the back of his head so long ago. "But I can't shut you out."
Each of the specters in the phantom Main Mission raised an arm and pointed to the computer banks along the wall. Kano followed their direction and stepped to those rows of buttons and panels and readouts.
"Main computer," he said. "We must let you speak to computer."
He glanced at the screen again. Earth was smaller now. Distant. Then back to the machinery in front of him.
"The answer is in here, isn't it?"
Kano reached out with both hands and took hold of one of the many panels protecting the inner workings of the Alphan computer. He pulled that panel free.
Inside, the gray matter of a living human brain, linked to the circuits, tied together as one.
Kano heard a scream inside his head, and collapsed.
