Offworld (21 page)

"You're not thinking that that's what happened here?" Trisha asked,
dubious.

"No, of course I'm not," replied Owen. "But I am thinking about
how much there is still to be learned by the human race. No matter how much we discover, no matter how far the hand of mankind
reaches away from this planet, or down to the subatomic, the universe
still has an infinite number of surprises in store for us. And maybe it
always will."

Trisha knitted her brow. "You think what happened is some
kind of ... natural occurrence? Some sort of strange, random effect
or.."

"How could I? I have no idea what happened," Owen replied. "I'm
saying that there are more variables in the cosmos than we may ever
comprehend. The possibilities are nearly infinite. Just like what may or
may not have happened to our friends; we can't know every variable
they've faced in trying to find transportation and get back here."

He watched Trisha take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He
knew that particular tic; her mind had been forced down a path she
didn't like and she needed to process it a bit before she could comment on it.

"Stars is still there," Mae said, causing both Owen and Trisha to look
at her, suddenly remembering she was with them. Her eyes remained
closed, but she was talking nonetheless. "See 'em all the time."

`And are they the same?" Owen asked.

Mae shrugged. "Look the same to me."

Owen glanced at his watch. It was two AM. The more time that
passed, the greater the chances that Chris and Terry would not be
returning. It was a logistical probability. And they'd been gone an
awfully long time.

He could put off discussing it no longer. He was about to suggest
to Trisha that they begin exploring their own options for escape and
survival when the unmistakable sound of helicopter blades met his ears. He turned to Trisha just as she turned to him, and they jumped
to their feet.

"There!" she shouted, pointing north.

Running lights and what looked like a search beam hanging from
the front of a helicopter were beating as direct a path toward them as
it could despite the ever-present wind.

It was at the lighthouse in less than a minute. The chopper bucked
and swayed dangerously in the storm, but the pilot did his best to hold
it steady and within another minute it was on them.

A side door slid open and a rope ladder fell out. Owen sent
Mae up the ladder first, and it took some time, but she managed to
finally climb inside. They couldn't risk more than one person on
the ladder at a time, so he asked Trisha to go next. But as second
in command, she told him to go, and he respected her too much to
argue the point.

When he was finally onboard the jittery aircraft, he discovered
that it was not Terry who'd thrown down the ladder, but Chris, who
was strapped tight in the window seat with a sling immobilizing his
left arm. Owen seated himself across from Burke, who was clearly
exhausted and much worse for whatever experiences they'd had. Yet
he insisted on helping the three of them get onboard, and didn't let
himself rest again until he'd given Trisha a very careful hand up into
the cabin.

When Trisha collapsed herself wearily in the copilot's seat next to
Terry, Terry turned around and shouted into the microphone built into
his helmet, `Any particular destination? I don't think she has enough
juice to get us very far."

`Just head west," Chris replied into his own helmet's mike. `And
look for something dry."

"I need to confess something that's eating at me," Chris began. "I need
to tell someone, and you're the one I trust the most."

"Okay ... Trisha replied, taking the visitor's seat next to him.
She was tired. So, so tired. She didn't feel like keeping up the facade
anymore. She hadn't had anything healthy to eat in days, her exercise
routine was off, and she was feeling it. She cared about whatever was
bothering him, but it was hard to think about anything but her own
desire to collapse and rest.

It was early afternoon, the day after the escape from the flood,
and Chris lay in bed resting his shoulder. Trisha had stopped in to
check on him. His arm was still in the immobilizer, and he sat up
with his back against several pillows. They were alone in a patient's
room at Methodist Hospital in New Orleans. Chris had initially been skeptical when Terry suggested the famously lower-than-sea-level
city as their stopping point, but they had little choice. The helicopter
wouldn't carry them any farther, and his fears were unfoundedremarkably, the city was just a little damp from the rain. New Orleans
was almost one hundred miles southwest of Biloxi, and well outside
the range of the flood surge they'd encountered. What parts of the
flooded riverways that did make it that far west had been buffered by
the enormous Lake Pontchartrain that was situated directly between
New Orleans and the mainland of Louisiana.

Methodist Hospital was one of the city's smaller medical venues,
housing just over two hundred beds. But it was more than sufficient
for their needs.

Terry had spotted the hospital on the east end of town and
set down the chopper on the building's rooftop helipad. A hospital
seemed a logical choice; between the five of them, they were sore,
exhausted, hungry, and suffering from injuries of all sorts-Chris'
shoulder being the worst. After the drenching and blowing rain and
flood, none of them felt like they'd ever be dry again. A hospital
could provide everything they needed to recuperate quickly and get
back on the road. And Chris was already insisting on just that, having
dictated upon their arrival that they would shelter here for no more
than twenty-four hours.

The storm in Biloxi had come so close to defeating them, and
a sense of gloom hung over the hospital like the same storm clouds
they'd been trapped under last night. Their worst loss of all was the two
four-by-four vehicles they'd acquired at Kennedy and all the supplies
carried onboard-not to mention every one of Mae's earthly possessions. Not that she seemed distraught by this; like with everything
else, she barely seemed to notice. Only whatever she'd managed to
hide away in her gigantic coat, and Owen's laptop survived.

"Right, okay," Chris began, and Trisha was troubled by the expression on his face. She saw doubt there, and that was something one
just didn't see coming from Christopher Burke. "I, uh ... I almost made a bad call last night. I wanted to go off and find the chopper
by myself."

Trisha shook her head. "Everybody has those days, Chris, it was
a high-stress situation. Don't kick yourself."

"No, that's not ... it's not about blame...." He grappled for what
he wanted to say. She chastised herself, deciding not to interrupt him
again. "I feel like a rope that's been stretched tight, and its fibers are
starting to unravel. I should have seen that crash coming on the jet
ski. I could have and should have avoided it. I flew state-of-the-art
fighter jets in a war, for crying out loud.

`And then there're the dreams-my waking memories of what
happened on Mars. There's been more of them. Like last night, when
I fell from the lighthouse."

"I wondered if that's what that was," Trisha confessed.

As I'm learning more and more about what happened, the events
I'm seeing in my dreams have started becoming more ... obscure.
Surreal. I'm not even sure if they're real memories anymore, or if
something from my subconscious mind is seeping into the dreams. I
still have no idea how I survived what happened on Mars."

"What in your dream was so surreal?" she asked, unable to stop
herself.

"I don't think you'd believe me," he replied.

"Never stopped you before now."

So he told her. He told her about descending deeper into the lava
tube, and nearly running out of oxygen. And he told her about what
he'd next seen materialize out of thin air.

"You're right, I don't believe it," she whispered in reply. "I mean,
I believe you. Of course I believe you. But what you described ...
Your mind has to be playing tricks on you. Or played tricks. Maybe
you were hallucinating."

"I don't know... " Chris said, closing his eyes. A pained expression covered his face as he tried to reach back into his mind and
recall it again. She didn't like seeing him this way. It was a far cry from the confident leader she'd lived and worked with side by side
for so long.

When she said nothing, he spoke again. "There's something
else."

'All right."

"Maybe I really am going insane, because I've been seeing-well,
this thins. When I'm awake, not asleep. I don't know what it is, but it's
the same every time. A spatial anomaly, or some kind of atmospheric
distortion. I first saw it in space, just before the crash, but I've seen
it again several times since we hit the ground."

Trisha was uncertain how to respond to this. Was he serious?
"Are you sure it wasn't just a retinal flash?"

A curious phenomenon of long-term space travel was rapidly
traveling cosmic rays, which moved through space-and through
human brains-manifesting in flashes of light behind the eyelids.
The ionic radiation caused by these cosmic rays could be harmful
to human cells, though NASA had long ago manufactured ways of
counteracting these effects. But the flashes of light behind the eyelids
remained; there was no way to eliminate them.

"What I'm seeing is dark, not light," replied Chris. "There's no light
in it at all. And it's not just a flash; this thing stays put for a minute
or more each time. It's like staring into a miniature black hole. One
that's stalking me."

Trisha breathed in and out, long and thoughtful. "You think this
whatever-it-is is related to D-Day?"

Chris frowned, dismal. "I feel like it has to be. But there's no
answers. What I'm really worried about though is ... what if ...
whatever happened to me in that cave on Mars-what if I came back
wrong, somehow? Different? Changed. With the crash, and then everything that's happened since we got back ... I'm worried my judgment
has been compromised. There's too much at stake, and the others
need me to be the leader. But what if I can't lead anymore?"

Trisha was speechless. This was not the Christopher Burke she knew. He never questioned his own decisions, he never blubbered on
about his fears, and he never, ever doubted himself or his faculties.

Something was happening to him, that much was certain, but
she had no idea how to respond to it or what to say to him about it.
What if he really was losing his mind?

"I'm sorry for dumping on you," Chris said. "I just ... don't know
what I'm thinking or feeling anymore. It's a jumbled mess up here."
He pointed to his head.

She rose from her seat. "I'll put some thought into this. It stays
between us-you're right not to worry the others. For now, you should
really try to get some rest. And call me if you need anything."

"Hey," he said as she was about to leave.

"Yeah?"

"Keep an eye on Terry," Chris said. "He mutinied last night. Pulled
a gun and said he'd shoot me in the leg if I didn't stay put while he
got the chopper."

Trisha considered this. "Under the circumstances, I can't really
say he was wrong."

"I know," Chris conceded. "I was being irrational. It just makes
me worry what else he's capable of You know the effects that longterm solitude can have on a person."

"Okay," she said, tired and wanting to leave, "I'll watch him."

He offered a weak smile as thanks, as she quietly glided out of his
room and shut the door. She had taken a room right across the hall.
The others were spread out elsewhere; many of the hospital rooms
had been occupied on D-Day, and so they were still in various stages
of upheaval, with unmade beds, belongings stashed all over, IV lines
and heart monitors disconnected from anything. They had decided
upon first arriving that the easiest thing to do would be to find rooms
to bed down in that had not been in use on D-Day.

Trisha rested her back against the closed door to Chris' room for
a moment. It was so frustrating, seeing him like this. And selfishly, it
was another burden for her to bear in silence. Wasn't her load heavy enough already? She didn't resent him for opening up to her; she
resented the world for trying to keep her beaten down.

She opened her eyes and jerked her head around with a start.
Mae stood beside her.

Trisha grabbed the girl by the arm and dragged her out toward
the nurses' station so they would be out of earshot of anyone else.

"Why were you eavesdropping?" she hissed.

"Wasn't," Mae replied.

"Then what were you doing?"

Mae shrugged. "Needed to-"

"What?" Trisha spat. "You needed to what?!"

Mae looked at her with those silver eyes, and as ever Trisha found
it impossible to decipher what was going on behind them. They were
unnatural, unsettling.