But The Stars Page 9

  The frozen planet below them is largely devoid of clouds. Cracks in the pack ice are visible from space, marking vast sections near the equator where patches of open water allow access to the deep ocean.

  Dante can’t see their ground base. It’s far too small to be visible from orbit, but she recognizes the landmarks. A shield volcano with its slopes largely clear of ice provides a signpost. Glaciers form intricate patterns running along the side of a familiar mountain range. Somewhere near the rugged coast, a robotic construction squad is drilling through the ice sheet, wanting to reach a subsurface lake containing fresh water. That must be where they came from. That thought, though, is unnatural. It doesn’t spring from anything she’s seen recently or any line of reasoning she currently has, rather it’s the culmination of numerous encounters and leaves her feeling as cold as the ice below.

  “Alright,” Cap says, finishing his review of the logs. “We’re all here. What’s going on?”

  “Can’t you feel it?” Dante asks, turning to face the crew. “The darkness? It’s all around us.”

  “What the hell has gotten into you?” Zoe asks, marching aggressively toward Dante. “You dragged us out of bed in the middle of the goddamn night to fuck with our minds?”

  Dante ignores her. “Benson. You can see them, right?”

  “Them?” Cap asks, turning to face his second-in-command, but Dante ignores him.

  “Mags. You’ve seen them as well. What was it you wanted us to remember? You were up here on the bridge. You had a construction device—for rivets, I think. A gun. You fired it.”

  Mags walks toward the spot where she once stood wielding the makeshift gun, but her eyes are elsewhere, darting around the bridge. “Oh. Angel. I am so sorry.”

  “What? Me?” Angel says, pressing a hand against her chest in alarm. “How does any of this have anything to do with me?”

  Mags ignores her, facing Dante as she says, “I thought it was a dream—a nightmare. I mean, I barely—”

  MacInnes cuts her off. “Will someone tell me just what the fuck is going on?”

  Sheepishly, Benson says, “Every time, it’s the same. No one ever believes me. Not even Dante.”

  Cap looks annoyed. Vichy shakes his head in disbelief.

  Zoe waves her hand, signaling she’s done with this, and turns to leave, saying, “This is stupid.”

  “No,” Dante says with a hand raised in alarm, horrified by how quickly the discussion has unraveled. “Do not go out there.”

  “And why not?” she asks.

  Mags says, “Because, if you do, everything resets.”

  “And we’ll forget,” Benson says. “All of us. We’ll lose everything. Again.”

  Zoe stops just shy of the corridor. There’s no door as such as the bridge is open, with walkways leading in from both sides, but there’s a groove in the floor and ceiling, marking where the containment shell is designed to cut through in the event of a hull breach, sealing the bridge. Zoe holds her hand out as though she’s touching an invisible barrier in front of her.

  “You can feel it, can’t you?” Dante says.

  “Don’t do it,” Benson says, pleading with her. “Please.”

  “We need this time together,” Dante says. “Don’t you see? Don’t you understand? This is the first time we’ve all been together in the same place.”

  “First time?” Cap asks, genuinely surprised. “Since when?”

  Dante says the words the others dread and don’t want to say.

  “Since they took over the Acheron.”

  Zoe

  Zoe steps away from the threshold. Her bare feet move as though she’s searching for safe ground behind her, sliding rather than stepping backwards.

  “You don’t actually buy this bullshit, do you?” Mac asks her.

  He turns to Dante. “What is this? Some kind of sick psych test? What are you looking for this time, doc? Team dynamics? Susceptibility to peer pressure? Or some other shitty metric?”

  With that, he steps around Zoe, toward the corridor.

  “No,” Dante calls out.

  “Don’t go out there,” Benson says, but Mac ignores the second-in-command.

  Zoe rushes in front of him, blocking his path. She rests both hands on his chest, barring his way, leaning into him. She’s not pushing him back, though. She couldn’t. At six foot four in height and musclebound, Mac could toss her aside if he wanted, but there’s a connection between them.

  “Please,” she says. “Just listen.”

  Dante’s surprised by the sudden change in Zoe. Something that was said has triggered a memory. Perhaps it’s just a vague recollection, but something’s troubling her, warning her of the danger.

  Mac sighs, nodding. Reluctantly, he turns to join the others.

  Cap says, “Just what the hell is going on, Dante?”

  “I—I don’t know. All I know is everything is wrong.”

  Vichy says, “It’s a puzzle, right? It’s like a jigsaw, only there’s no picture on the box. All we see is part of the solution. No one sees the whole thing.”

  “Yes,” Mags says, pointing at him. “That’s it. No single one of us knows everything, but together we know at least something. We have to pool our ideas.”

  Dante looks to Benson. “Tell us what you see.”

  “It’s only when I’m tired,” Benson replies. “Or bored. But I see them. They come in and out of view.”

  Cap laughs at the notion. “You’re saying the Acheron has been overrun by aliens?” He has his arms outstretched. “I don’t see any acid-for-blood xenomorphs clambering over the bridge. Do you?”

  “We—I.”

  “Why should I believe any of this?” he asks, cutting her off. “What evidence do you have?”

  “None,” Dante replies. “And yet, look at you. You know something’s wrong. You just don’t know what.”

  Naz says, “I don’t see anything.”

  “I feel it,” Vichy says.

  “Feelings? Really?” Naz replies, cocking his head sideways. “That’s what we’re going on now? Fucking feelings? I thought this was a science mission.”

  “Fuckin-A.” Mac is indignant. “I didn’t travel halfway across the galaxy to jump at my own shadow.” He turns to Zoe. “Are you really buying into this?”

  Zoe has her head bowed, looking at her bare feet protruding from the oversized flight suit. She must have grabbed Mac’s suit in the dark and rolled up the cuffs. As he’s taller than her, he can’t make eye contact, but he’s trying, wanting to look into her eyes, hoping to understand. Dante’s not sure whether her posture is deliberate, but it gets his attention.

  “What’s wrong, babe?” he says, putting his hand under her chin and gently raising her head. “You don’t believe any of this madness, do you?”

  Zoe has tears running down her cheeks. Her eyes are bloodshot. Her bottom lip quivers as she speaks.

  “It’s—I thought it was just me. I thought I was being silly. Irrational. I mean, how crazy is this?”

  “There’s no one there,” Mac says. “Look, I’ll prove it to you.”

  With that, he goes to walk out into the corridor. Dante bites her lip, wondering just how quickly reality will dissolve, hoping she won’t forget, desperately wanting to commit this moment to memory. She trembles at the thought that this opportunity could be lost forever. This could be the end. Neither she nor anyone else might make it this far again. These ragged, loose threads might never unravel quite the same way. Zoe doesn’t say anything, but the look she gives Mac is one that pleads for understanding, searching his eyes for pity.

  Mac comes to a halt. His eyes are on her, not the empty corridor. He sighs, stepping back. Zoe forces a grateful smile. She’s holding back tears. Dante finds the change of dynamic fascinating. Zoe wasn’t going to stop him a second time. He had to arrive at this decision for himself. For all his bravado, it seems even Mac has his doubts.

  “I don’t get it,” Naz says, seeing Mac surrender. “I think you’
re mad—all of you.”

  Cap turns to Dante. “You better be able to explain this.”

  Dante is at a loss for words. She scrambles, trying to articulate a hunch.

  “When was the last time you took a piss?”

  “What?” Cap says, squinting as he looks at her in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

  “When? Think about it. All of you. When was the last time you had a good shit or peed in the bowl?”

  Dante is being deliberately crude, wanting to provoke a strong response and bait them with something everyone does several times a day in spite of the social norms and pleasantries that ignore this aspect of being human. Shock has value. For her, it’s the best way to raise the alarm. Dante remembers Mags pulling the trigger on the construction gun. She saw Angel’s skull cracked open like an egg, but it seems only she and Mags remember that particular moment. That incident was lost to everyone else, including Cap who cradled Angel as she died. Dante’s trying to get their attention. If they lose this moment, if the darkness closes in again, she hopes they’ll be left with a gnawing sense of uncertainty, a vague feeling that something’s wrong, even if they can’t quite figure out what or why.

  No one answers her question, not even Naz, although he’s still brooding. Eyes dart between the various members of the crew, but no one gives voice to their doubts.

  “We live in the moment,” Dante says. “I think that’s what they’re exploiting. Our memories are vague and easily manipulated, but there are tells.”

  “Faults,” Benson says, eager to show his support.

  “Look, I know you’re a doctor and all,” Vichy says, smiling, trying to make light of the situation. “But, seriously? You’re basing this on a lack of bowel movements?”

  “So when was it?” Dante asks, tackling the issue head on. “If this is just paranoid little old me, tell me what you remember about your most basic of daily bodily functions.”

  Vichy looks at his feet. Naz is silent. Cap fidgets.

  “You can’t, can you?” she says. “None of you can because they haven’t factored that in—yet. Don’t you see? We have so little to go on. We have no idea how long this has played out, but they’re fabricating our reality.”

  Dante laughs at the thoughts cascading through her mind, smiling at what she’s about to say, “Yeah, I’ll admit it. This is pretty damn shitty as far as evidence goes, but it’s all I’ve got.”

  She throws her hands up in exasperation, allowing them to fall to her side.

  Mags says, “Think about it. No food. No drink. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “No coffee,” Vichy says, raising a single finger in alarm. “I’m Italian. I sweat coffee. Coffee is the blood in my veins—and no coffee.”

  From anyone else, such a statement would be a joke, but Vichy’s quite serious, finally coming to her aid and helping convince the others.

  “And it’s not just you, right?” Dante says, picking up on his point. “This is true for all of us. None of us have any recollection of anything beyond now. Is anyone even hungry? Thirsty? Wanting to go to the bathroom? Just basic aspects of being human?”

  No one replies, so Dante says, “Honestly, that’s frightening.”

  “Terrifying,” Mags says.

  Mac edges away from the corridor, stepping back slowly, giving the empty air in front of him the respect one would afford a snarling, wild animal. Zoe holds his arm, almost shrinking behind him.

  “So none of this is real?” Cap asks.

  “It looks pretty damn real to me,” Dante says. “It feels real, but there are things that are missing.”

  “Like what?” Angel asks, poking at the navigation console. She pushes a smooth panel, testing it, watching it flex beneath the tip of her fingers, trying to find its limits. She’s investigating, probing the boundaries of the illusion. “I mean, this is real, right? I can touch it.”

  “What can you smell?” Dante asks.

  “Nothing,” Benson says. He lifts his arm and sniffs at his shoulder. “I don’t smell anything. But maybe that’s a good thing because, damn.”

  Instead of finishing his sentence, he crosses his eyes to make his point.

  Dante says, “There’s no odor. Not a hint of sweat or a trace of shampoo or scented soap.”

  “Why is that important?” Cap asks.

  “I don’t think they’ve figured that out,” Dante says, quickly adding, “Yet.”

  “Fuck,” Mags says. “We are so fucking fucked.”

  “Ya think?” Mac replies, shaking his head.

  “Wait a minute,” Cap says. “Back this up a little. So the fact I don’t remember taking a dump and I can’t smell anything somehow means the Acheron has been taken over by hostile extraterrestrials? That’s a bit of a stretch, ain’t it?”

  “Think about the process of remembering,” Dante replies. “We assume too much. We live in the moment. We see, hear, touch and smell things around us—or we think we do.

  “Colors assault us. Shapes surround us. Sounds bounce around us. We feel the temperature of the air, the faint vibration of a motor in a ventilation duct, a breeze circulating, the apparent weight of our bodies. Hundreds of variables come at us like water gushing out of a fire hydrant, but none of that remains. In seconds, it’s all gone and what we’re left with is a vague impression of the past.

  “Our recollection is selective—limited to those details we noticed at the time. You can rewind a video to look for more details in a movie, but you can’t rewind your brain and choose to focus on something else that happened way back when. Beyond a few fleeting moments you collected at the time, the past is a haze—nothing but a blur. We think we remember more than we actually do. We remember the gist, the essence, a summation of what happened, not the detail, not what actually occurred.”

  Cap doesn’t look convinced. He’s surly. Sour. So Dante continues.

  “We create patterns, mental maps to guide us and build associations, forming a sense of familiarity, but they’re generalizations.

  “Think about all the advertising back on Earth. What does it rely on? Repetition. Brand recognition. Why? Because we’re shit at remembering things unless they’re beaten into us.

  “People used to think eyewitnesses were reliable. Then along came video cameras and forensic science and we realized our eyewitnesses were fooling themselves—often embellishing the facts or recalling what they wanted to see rather than what was actually there.

  “And it’s really not that surprising when you think about it. We have limited mental bandwidth. We have to generalize or we’d never be able cope with the information overload coming at us. Dealing with reality is like drinking from a firehose, so we have to be selective.”

  “And?” Cap asks.

  “They’re using our weaknesses to hide.”

  Cap turns to Zoe. Although she’s stopped crying, the tracks of her tears are visible on her dark skin. Her hair glistens in the light coming in through the window as the craft rotates, briefly facing the planet as dawn breaks hundreds of miles below them.

  “What stopped you from walking back out there?” he asks, pointing at the corridor. “What do you remember?”

  By asking that, Cap’s admitting he’s lost as well. Dante would love to know what he remembers, but he seems reluctant to say too much. It seems Cap wants to hear from the others.

  “I thought it was a dream, you know? Just a nightmare or something. But you’re not supposed to remember those, right?” Zoe asks, looking to Dante who nods, not wanting to break the chain of memories reaching Zoe’s conscious awareness, understanding how fleeting and fragile those thoughts are. If just one link breaks, she’ll lose them all.

  “But this was different. This wasn’t a dream. This was one of those memories—just like you said. It was vague except for a few points, specific things I remember with stunning clarity. I… Ah… For me, remembering this stuff is like watching birds through a pair of binoculars. I can see a bald eagle perched on a branch, but not the tree, not
the mountainside, just the bird. And not all of its features, just its shape.”

  She fights back a lump in her throat. “We were in the antechamber, waiting to open the airlock and retrieve the submersible.”

  “Hang on,” Cap says, pointing at the planet. “Down on the surface? You remember being down there?” He shakes his head. “But the assemblers haven’t finished the core drill yet.”

  “Yes, they have,” Mags says.

  “She was there,” Zoe says, pointing at Mags.

  Vichy is surprised, raising an eyebrow and looking to Dante for confirmation. Dante just shrugs. She knows nothing beyond what she’s hearing from Zoe. It’s just something he’s going to have to accept.

  Cap madly searches through log files and surface updates, flicking his fingers over a holographic interface.

  “You won’t find anything,” Dante says. “You’ll only see what they want you to see. You have to understand. We’re in some kind of shared illusion.”

  Cap says, “The logs show we haven’t breached the subsurface lake.”

  Vichy interrupts, changing the subject. “Wait a minute.”

  He holds his hand up, wanting Zoe to stop. “I think we have a bigger, more immediate problem.”

  “Vee,” Dante says, not wanting the conversation to be hijacked, desperately wanting to hear Zoe’s recollection of a surface op that, technically, couldn’t have happened yet.

  Vichy walks around the bridge, examining the walls, “Look at this place. Look at how real it is. Look at all the detail.”

  Dante says, “We need to let Zoe finish.”

  “This is important,” he replies, agitated. “I think there’s a flaw in your reasoning. You said this is a shared illusion, right? Based on our memories.”

  Dante nods.

  “And we remember things in a generalized manner, right?”

  “Right?”

  “But this is incredibly detailed. I mean, look around you. This is the bridge of the Acheron. This isn’t a vague recollection. We’re living in this moment right now.”