More importantly, at least for Jake's mental well being, another member of the crew—K.D. Tamanaka, the first engineer—had appeared just two days ago for a short visit in his cell in the same sudden inexplicable way. First just her outline in brilliant neon-blue, then K.D. herself appeared.
Apparently the Irazii could bring anything into the doorless half dome in the same unusual manner, including a portable booth that contained a sonic shower and toilet. Magic, Jake thought, shaking his head—some kind of teleportation or telekinesis.
So, he was indeed well fed and comfortable, not suffering too much from the isolation, but still curious and very suspicious. He knew that the indigo glass was more than just a source of illumination and heat; it was like a two-way mirror, and he felt the Irazii watched him constantly.
But why?
For what reason had the crew been brought here?
What did the aliens want from him and the other crewmembers?
Were they all just curiosities to the Irazii, nothing more than zoo animals?
The Irazii
Jake had been intensely interrogated four times by the Irazii in the seven days of his capture, always in the same manner.
The luminescence of the cell wall would diminish in intensity, then the indigo glass would gradually lighten up, transforming to a much lighter shade of blue, until it finally revealed Jake's captors: the Irazii.
They were humanoid in size and shape—a little over six feet tall, very thin, with two legs, two arms, and a head; but insectoid in feature, movement, and mannerism. Jake had been most impressed by the complete lack of expression in their bug-like faces, especially the multi-faceted cold black eyes, whose penetrating stare reminded him of the look of a praying mantis examining its prey.
The Irazii always remained on a viewing platform—its plane outside the dome just slightly above the plane of Jake's floor—hooked into some kind of console in front of them, bright silver wires running from the console to a jack in the back of their heads. When they questioned him, there were three or four of them, seemingly randomly spaced around the circle—the entire platform lined with consoles, easily able to accommodate forty or fifty viewers if the Irazii stood shoulder-to-shoulder. But Jake had never seen even close to that many at one time.
The interrogations were always brief, a series of rapid-fire questions; but the fourth interview only yesterday had been quite different, because the Irazii allowed him to ask a few questions of the interrogator…
***
After the wall had dimmed and the Irazii came into view, the first words, as always, were preceded by a moment or two of static like crackling—activation of some kind of translation device?
There were three of them this time, their consoles close enough to each other, so Jake could see them all without turning about. When examined closely, the three Irazii were slightly different in size and shape, each having individual features, but their facial expressions remained similar, inscrutable throughout the entire interview.
"Good day, Captain Jacob Silva," the spokesman, the Irazii in the middle, said, the translation equipment making its voice ring with a tinny, distant echo, its cold black gaze at definite odds with the formal warm greeting.
"Good day," Jake replied, repressing an urge to shudder.
"Today, we will answer some of your questions," the interrogator announced. "You have many, we understand."
Jake had tried to ask questions in each of the previous three interviews, without any success. So, surprised by the opportunity this time, he first asked, "Why am I not allowed out of my cell to visit my other crew members? Am I a prisoner?"
The spokesman replied, "No, you are a guest, an honored guest. You are kept in the control dome for your own safety and comfort. Outside, here with us, would be extremely uncomfortable for you, perhaps even fatal. Too many Gs of gravity, temperature too low, air too thin and oxygen-deficient, and because of some of your ahhh…aggressive tendencies, much too dangerous…" The speaker paused for a moment to consider the other aspect of the question.
"The female crew member was teleported yesterday for your convenience and not really allowed out of her comfort dome either. No need to teleport you to her. In fact the procedure seems to be especially stressful to members of your gender –"
"What about the other crew members?" interrupted Jake, expressing his concern. There'd been six crewmen on the 49er, four males, and two females.
The Irazii answered again in a matter of fact manner in his detached tinny echo, "Unfortunate. Very unfortunate. The three other males did not survive our rescue. Too stressful on them. They arrived alive but damaged and expired despite our best resuscitation efforts. So sorry. Both females fortunately survived, and you will be seeing the other one very soon now."
Oh, thank God, I'll be seeing December, too, Jake thought, with a sigh of relief. She was the most important person in his life and had been for over a year. But Shane, Trey, Gavin, the three male crewmembers, all killed by the…rescue. The Irazii called the snatch a rescue? he asked himself wryly. Must lose something in translation.
As if privy to Jake's silent question, the spokesman explained, "Rescue, yes. Your ship had a tiny defect in its drive, undetectable by your engineering instruments, but it would have soon ignited its fuel source, atomizing your entire crew. We were forced to act with haste. Without proper study, we were not aware our teleportation procedure would be so stressful on your gender. Be thankful that you and the two females survived."
Jake wasn't sure he bought this explanation of the Irazii's motivation for the snatch. They were just hanging around the asteroid belt or wherever they were actually located, waiting for someone from Earth to rescue? No, that explanation seemed bogus to him. The Irazii snatched the crew of the 49er for some other reason that they didn't want to reveal.
Jake had asked a few questions concerning the survivors' future and being returned to their ship, which was apparently under repair; but the speaker was evasive about everything to do with the future, seeming to be interested in only entertaining a few basic questions of the past or present. Most of Jake's questions went unanswered.
The opportunity to ask questions did not last very long. It was over too soon. And that meeting, early yesterday, had been Jake's last formal contact with the Irazii.
***
Occasionally the luminescence of Jake's cell would dim for a few moments and he'd catch a fleeting glimpse of various numbers of Irazii—two to as many as ten on one occasion—hooked up to the consoles, just watching him, staring intently with their multi-faceted black eyes; and apparently communicating with each other, making a series of high-pitched clicking and clacking sounds, which were indecipherable to Jake, since they hadn't been preceded by the crackling static. But these sudden dimmings seemed to be unscheduled, accidents that were all too fleeting…perhaps a kind of power surge or maybe only a lack of concentration by the viewers.
***
Jake thought a lot about the first three interrogations because they were actually quite surprising in subject matter, the questions always focused on his memories, about the abduction, his past relationships with crew members, especially his close relationship with December, all about his memories; and the more he thought about the questions and his responses, the more uncomfortable he became. A little paranoid in fact, because there was something not quite right about the Irazii focus. It was indeed strange that they had no apparent interest in Earth: its culture, its defenses, and its science—the kinds of questions one would naturally anticipate from an alien. No, the Irazii interrogators asked nothing along those lines. Only questions about his memories of things. And there was something definitely wrong with the nature of his answers to these questions.
Finally, he figured out what bothered him about his replies to the Irazii interrogators.
During the interviews but especially afterwards, Jake was not able to recall any sensory/perceptual information. How something sounded, smelled, tasted, or especially how something felt—never an emotional response, even to the bizarre abduction of the 49er, and his eventual awakening in the indigo cell. Of course this was more than just a little odd. It was almost like he'd read a script of his immediate past and was only repeating what he'd read, the writer's tract completely void of affect or colorful sensory description, cold, flat, and uninspired.
The more he thought about this, the more Jake suspected that his memories had been tampered with and were really only some kind of Irazii programming. They had written a script of selected parts of his life—he drew a blank trying to recall anything in his childhood—including his memories of time spent at New SF base on the moon and focusing on the six months or so prior to the abduction. So, he decided that their questions during the interrogations were just a test of the effectiveness of their own programming—how well his recall conformed to their script.
But why?
Who was supposed to be fooled by the programming?
The two other surviving crew members—K.D. and December?
If that were so, Jake concluded, then all three survivors were really only subjects in some kind of Irazii designed experiment.
Experimental Subjects
K.D. had been teleported in to visit Jake two days ago…
Her neon-blue outline had been so brilliant that it made him blink, look away.
Then K.D. Tamanaka was standing in the middle of his cell, appearing slightly disoriented and confused, and like Jake, still wearing her tan uniform coveralls with the red 49er logo on her shoulder, but her dark hair appeared different from before the snatch, done up now in one long neat braid down her back.
Glad to see someone from the crew, Jake quickly went over and hugged the diminutive first engineer, then led her to the table, where he sat her down in the chair.
"You feeling okay?" he asked, sitting on the corner of the table, after pouring her a cup of water.
K.D. smiled, sipped a drink, and nodded. "I'm fine, but their method of moving a person is quite unsettling, you know. Even though this wasn't my first trip, I'm still not used to it."
"You've visited some of the others this way in similar cells?" Jake asked, anxiously. "Who? Which ones?"
"Yes, I've had one other visit, with December only yesterday, and all our quarters seem exactly alike," K.D. replied, after glancing about. "You haven't seen her yet?"
"No," Jake answered, "I haven't been out of here since I awoke from the abduction seven days ago. How is she?"
"December's fine, except she really misses you," K.D. said, smiling sympathetically. Then after another quick look about, she asked, "Why do you think we're here? What do the Irazii want?"
Jake replied, "I'm not sure exactly what they want, but I think we're some kind of experimental subjects."
"Part of an experiment?" she said, frowning slightly. "What makes you think so?"
For a minute or two Jake talked about his three interrogations and his unease about the nature of his memories—the possibility the memories were planted or altered by their captors.
Then he asked K.D., "And the Irazii, they must have interrogated you and December, too?"
K.D. nodded, holding up one finger before taking another sip of water. "Only one time. Each of us."
"What was the nature of the questions? Did they ask about your memories too or were the questions more technical?"
She frowned again, the crease between her eyes a little deeper, "No, not technical and not memories, really. Actually their questions were kind of strange…"
That's funny, Jake thought. You'd think they would be interested in K.D.'s expertise if they were really repairing the 49ers drive. This only strengthened his disbelief in the Irazii explanation of the rescue operation.
Then Jake and the first engineer compared notes on the substance of the interrogations, K.D.'s one interview differing substantially from his in the nature of questioning. The Irazii had been interested only in her emotional responses to the abduction, her confinement, and her visit with December, when she viewed videos of home. Her affective life, not her memories. And for sure, nothing technical concerning her position as first engineer. The Irazii didn't seem to be concerned in the least with her professional function on the 49er. Only her emotions.
Suddenly, at that point in their discussion, the luminescent line traced K.D.'s shape, intensified, and she disappeared, her visit lasting less than ten minutes, leaving Jake with a number of still unanswered questions.
It was almost like the Irazii intentionally cut off K.D. and his comparison of interrogations.
What had they expected?
Jake had no idea.
But his next visit with the third surviving crew member was to be longer and of a different nature.
December Moran
The 49er medical officer, December Moran, appeared in Jake's cell about twenty-four hours after his last interview with the Irazii.
For a moment or two Jake was startled and just stared at December from where he sat on the corner of his bed, as she rubbed her eyes.
She, too, was dressed in the same tan uniform worn prior to the abduction. But like K.D., her auburn hair was worn now in a long thick queue down her back. Even with a dazed expression and wearing a wrinkled, baggy uniform, December was a strikingly beautiful woman, with green eyes, high cheekbones, and sensuous lips. She was tall, the curve of her breasts and hips, just visible through the tan coveralls, contouring an athletic body.
And this gorgeous, sexy, talented woman loved him, Jake thought, grinning with pride, after regaining his composure.
Leaping up, he crossed the cell and swept the disoriented woman into his arms. "Oh, I've missed you," he said, hugging her tightly. "Until I saw K.D. two days ago, I wasn't even sure you were alive."