Finality Page 3

  "Nice to know," I mutter.

  "So I've been here alone for four weeks while I waited for you to show up," he continues. "I read the manual on temporary isolation. Hell, I even annotated it. It's hard being alone in a place like this. The entire station is barely thirty meters across, so it's not like I could even go for a walk to clear my head. I spent a lot of time staring out the window, watching the planet below. I even took the lander out once for a completely unnecessary trip to the main storage facility. I told myself it was a routine maintenance check, but really I was just trying to find something to do." He pauses. "Fortunately," he adds, "I didn't go crazy. Lucky for you, huh?"

  I smile politely, but the truth is, I'm still not convinced that this guy is entirely sane. My memory is starting to return, and I distinctly remember being warned before I left that there was a small chance I might arrive and find that this Sutter guy had lost his mind.

  "You're staring at me like you think I'm dangerous," he says after a moment.

  "Just being cautious," I reply.

  "Wise choice," he says with a faint smile. "We're the only two people in this entire sector of the galaxy. Even if there was an emergency right now, it'd take four weeks for help to arrive, so like it or not, we're going to have to work together. I don't know if that poses any particular problems for you, but I'd like to encourage you to be up-front about issues as soon as they arrive. To put it another way, we have no choice. We have to get along."

  "For the good of the project," I reply.

  "They taught you well," he says.

  "I know why I'm here," I say firmly. "My job is to serve the human race and ensure that our outward expansion continues. Supreme Command has given me a wonderful education, and I intend to repay them by serving humanity."

  "You're very obedient, aren't you?" he adds.

  "I try to follow the rules."

  "Sounds like you're doing a good job," he replies, although it's clear that he's not particularly impressed.

  I smile, but the truth is, my memories are only coming back very slowly. I'm starting to remember places and sensations, but not people, at least not yet. I have a distinct memory of being at a military training camp somewhere on Mars, but while I remember all the physical tests and simulations, the faces of my fellow cadets are all blurred and indistinct. Still, there's no way I'm going to let this Nick Sutter guy know that I'm struggling. He seems like the kind of person who'd happily take advantage of any weakness, so I need to cover my tracks while I wait for my faculties to return. I don't want to come across as weak or uncertain.

  "I guess you should take a few hours to settle in," he says finally. "Take a look around, check out your bunk, get to know the place... I know it's not exactly the largest station in the galaxy, but even these old C-class bases can be a little disorienting when you arrive. When you're ready to get started, come and find me. Shouldn't be too hard. The place is only thirty meters from one end to the other, so it's not as if either of us can get lost." He heads to the door that leads through to a corridor, before glancing back at me. "And welcome. It's good to have someone else on-board again. I'm sure we'll get along just fine."

  "How long did you say you were alone here?" I ask.

  "Four weeks," he replies with a forced smile. "But don't worry. I promise didn't go crazy."

  Once he's headed through to another part of the station, I find myself pausing for a moment, trying to get my thoughts straight. I fully understand that a trip through the void in suspended animation is likely to have messed with my head, but I can't help wondering how much longer it'll take before I get all my memories back. Right now, I feel as if I'm operating with one hand tied behind my back, and it doesn't help that there's something about Nick Sutter than worries me. Then again, I guess my impaired mental state might just be causing a little paranoia. I should just get moving and hope that I can shake my concerns. After all, we're stuck here together, hundreds of light years from any other humans, and there's no way we can work together if we don't at least start to get along.

  My memory will come back soon. It has to. Until then, I just need to get along with this guy and try not to seem too lost.

  Chapter Five

  Sutter

  "This is Io-5 base commanding officer Nick Sutter," I say, leaning closer to the microphone. "I'm calling to confirm the arrival of replacement technician 51106, Crizz Arnold. The subject seems a little dazed, but within normal parameters. I anticipate putting her to work within twenty-four hours. Right now, I'm just working to get her up to speed. Nothing further to report."

  I reach out to hit the 'Send' button, before pausing. At some point, I have to mention the problem with the surface feed pipe, and even though I really don't want to draw attention to myself, I figure this is my best opportunity. It's always good to remind them that I'm keeping things ticking over.

  "Also," I continue, "I've been noticing some fluctuations in the surface feed pipe at mining position 21b. It's probably nothing, and it doesn't even trigger the sensor overloads, but I'm keeping an eye on it anyway. I'm not planning to head down and check specifically, but I'll include a pass on the next scheduled planet-side inspection. Like I said, it's probably nothing, so..." I take a deep breath, wondering how to make the story sound more genuine. "So it's almost certainly a glitch in the sensors," I add, "but I'd like to check it out for sure. Maybe I'm just being a little over-cautious, but I like to run things according to the manuals. I'll include an update in the next scheduled report. Io-5 station out."

  After hitting the button, I lean back in the chair.

  I guess that wasn't too difficult, and I sounded fairly convincing. It'll take a couple of days for the signal to reach the home-base, and then another two days after that for any reply to reach us. Factor in the time for them to discuss the feed pipe, and it could be up to a week before I get a reply. That's one of the problems of being out here on the edge of known space: you end up having to wait ages for information, and by the time a reply comes through, it's usually too late to be useful. Still, there are some advantages as well: for one thing, from this distance they won't be able to patch into the station's diagnostic units, so they won't be able to see that I was lying. The surface feed pipe is fine, and although there have been one or two slightly unusual readings, there's certainly no reason to worry.

  Still, it's a good cover story.

  Hearing a banging noise elsewhere in the station, I glance at the ceiling. Crizz is exploring the place, getting to know the little metal sphere that's going to be her home for the next few years. I remember my first day here, and how difficult it was to adjust to such a strange environment, and I at least had the advantage of a fully-functioning memory. For Crizz, whose thoughts are undoubtedly all over the place, this must be a particularly difficult time. Long-term suspended animation causes minor memory problems, but her memory wasn't exactly pure to begin with. Hell, so many people have been tinkering with her head lately, it's a miracle she's able to stay sane at all.

  Chapter Six

  Crizz

  Sutter was right about one thing. Staring out the window and watching the vast planet below, I can't help but feel that a person could go absolutely insane out here.

  Io-5 is a rocky planet, not much bigger than Earth but with far less water. The surface is a kind of dusty brown color and for the most part the territory is covered with mountains and valleys. As I watch the planet slowly turning a couple of hundred miles below us, I can't help wondering what it must be like to go down there and walk on the surface. The atmosphere of Io-5 is just about breathable, although the oxygen level is lower than would usually be comfortable for a human and the ultraviolet light levels are quite high, so it's standard procedure to wear a suit. I guess I'll be going down at some point, for my first ever steps on a planet other than Mars.

  I don't know whether to be excited or scared.

  Both, probably.

  Turning away from the window, I look over at my bunk. It's little more than
a shelf, really, set into the wall with a mattress and a sheet. I always used to think that the bunks back at the academy on Mars were bare, but compared to this place, they were luxurious. Then again, the Io-5 station is so small and so compact, there clearly isn't a square inch to spare. Even in here, which is supposed to be my private room, there are wires running all over the walls and ceiling, and I can't help but notice that the main thruster control panel is right next to my bed. So much for privacy; if Sutter ever needs to make manual adjustments while he's sleeping, I doubt he'll bother to knock before he comes into my room. There's no door, but if there was, he probably wouldn't let it stop him.

  Feeling a faint itching sensation beneath my left breast, I unzip my tunic and give myself a brief scratch. After a moment, I feel something wet, and when I pull my hand away I find that there's a small amount of smeared blood on my skin. Lifting my breast, I try to get a proper look, and finally I spot a faint cut in the skin. I have no idea how it happened, but I seem to have an inch-long tear. After letting go of my breast and closing my tunic, I try to think back to the process that was used to put me into suspended animation.

  I swear that I'd remember if they'd warned me about an incision.

  Figuring that I can worry about a little blood later, I glance around the room. Barely six feet by six, it's no more than a place to sleep and store a few personal items. I certainly can't imagine spending much time here, although that's pretty much true of the entire station. I feel completely out of place, and although I knew these sentiments would affect me, I can't help but wonder if I'll ever settle in. Something about this entire station, and about Nick Sutter in particular, is worrying me, and I can't shake the feeling that Sutter isn't being honest with me.

  The worst part is that some of my predecessor's personal items are still in the room. Deborah Martinez left a small bag of toiletries by the window, and when I take a closer look, I find a few strands of long dark hair on one of the combs. Holding up a toothbrush, I can't help but notice that the bristles have been slightly chewed. I empty the contents of the bag into a bin by the door, but I figure the actual bag might as well stay. Sitting on the bunk, I spot a few photos pinned to the wall: they show a smiling, dark-haired woman sitting on some grass with a man and a child, and I immediately realize that Martinez must have had a family waiting for her back home. I guess she came out here to earn some money for a few years, and she probably aimed to eventually go back to Mars and resume her old life.

  Taking the pictures down, I hold them for a moment, not really sure what to do. Until four weeks ago, Deborah Martinez slept in this bunk, in these sheets, and now I'm supposed to just take her place. It's hard to believe that a human being can be replaced so easily, but I guess it won't help to dwell on such things. I stare at the photos for a moment before, finally, I lean over and drop them into the bin. I guess I can't afford to be sentimental. Life goes on.

  Still, it feels as if there's a ghost in this room. Everywhere I look, there are little reminders of the woman who worked here before me. Even the bedsheets turn out to be used, and when I sniff the pillow, I realize that Sutter didn't bother to change anything in the room at all. I guess I figured that with four weeks to spend alone, he might at least have bothered to help make the place a little more pleasant for my arrival, but he doesn't seem to be the kind of guy who really thinks about things like that. Then again, maybe this is deliberate; maybe he wants me to realize that Deborah Martinez was a real person rather than just a name on an accident report, or maybe he had a close relationship with her and he couldn't bring himself to come into the room at all.

  Either way, I figure I want to spend as little time as possible in here.

  As I make my way out of the room and onto the gantry that overlooks the small, spherical control room, I can't help but think back to my training modules. We were drilled over and over again about the psychological dangers of working in this kind of environment. The human mind is a dangerous thing when it's left with too much time to contemplate itself, or at least that's what my commanding officer used to say; he warned us all to keep busy, and although I thought at the time that he was exaggerating, I'm starting to realize that he might be right. After just a couple of hours on this station, I'm already catching myself staring at the walls every few minutes, as if I'm losing focus. I need to stay sharp and poised, which means I need to speak to Sutter and find out exactly what he wants me to do. The only thing to do out here is to work, and, for my own sanity, I think I want as little down-time as possible.

  It's time to get started.

  "Hey!" I call out. "Sutter! Where are you?"

  I wait for him to reply, but there's nothing.

  "Sutter!"

  Again, no response. I pause as I try to work out how the hell he could manage not to hear me. Sure, there's plenty of background noise from the computer systems and the life-support unit, but still, it's hard to believe that he can't hear my voice at all. Climbing down onto the floor of the control room, I wander over to the main diagnostics panel and bring up various reports, but it's clear that there's nothing wrong. Glancing over my shoulder, I almost expect to find him watching me, but there's no sign of anyone.

  "Sutter!" I shout again, a little louder this time. "I'm ready to start work!"

  I wait.

  "Sutter!"

  Sighing, I realize that whatever the hell's going on, he either can't hear me or doesn't think he needs to bother answering. Climbing through the access panel that leads into the engineering room, I take a quick look around before heading to the docking bay and then, finally, the storage area. It's here that I find Sutter standing with his back to me, staring out the window at the vastness of space. I wait for him to acknowledge me, but he doesn't say anything, nor does he turn to look in my direction. He just stands perfectly still, as if the view has transfixed him.

  "So I'm ready to work," I tell him after a moment.

  No reply.

  "Sutter?"

  I wait but, again, he doesn't respond.

  "I want to get started," I continue, trying to ignore the little voice in the back of my head that thinks something might be wrong. "Can you give me a rundown of my duties?" I ask, taking a step toward him. "I think it'd be good to hit the ground running and just... you know... see where I fit in..."

  I stop when I get close to him.

  He still hasn't replied.

  I wait, and finally I reach out and touch his shoulder.

  "Sutter?"

  "What?" he says, turning to me with a shocked look in his eyes. It takes a moment for him to settle, but finally he forces a smile. "Sorry," he mutters, clearly a little ruffled, "I was just meditating. I like to empty my mind from time to time and just watch the stars." He pauses. "Sometimes I get a little too deep," he adds, "and it can take a while before I come up for air. It used to drive Martinez crazy. She'd call out for me, but I wouldn't respond and..."

  An awkward silence falls between us for a moment.

  "I was just thinking," I say eventually, "that I'd like to hit the ground running and maybe start working on my duties. Can you give me a rundown of exactly how you need me to fit in with the schedule around here?"

  "That sounds good," he replies, "except that for organizational purposes, I'd prefer it if you started at the beginning of a new day. It's just neater that way, you know, and I'm afraid I'm a stickler for neatness. Why don't you spend the rest of this afternoon just taking a look around, settling in -"

  "I've already looked around," I say, interrupting him. "There are six rooms and I've been in them all. Twice. No offense, but there's really not a whole lot to see."

  "Still, you should take a look at the systems," he continues, "and familiarize yourself with the way we do things around here."

  "I've done all that," I tell him. "I want to get to work."

  "And you will," he continues. "Tomorrow morning, first thing. I swear. Until then, maybe you'd like to join me for dinner? It's the usual swill, but it'd be a good oppor
tunity for us to get to know each other a little. I'm not usually much of a conversationalist, but I can probably handle a few questions and answers." He pauses. "Sorry, that didn't sound very enticing, did it? Please, I'd like to eat with you."

  I want to argue with him, but finally I realize that he seems pretty set in his ways, and the last thing I want to do is cause friction on my first day. At the academy, they always told us to find a way to slot into a situation without antagonizing anyone, and I guess that was good advice, especially when dealing with someone like Sutter.

  "Sure," I reply, forcing a smile. "Dinner sounds great."

  Chapter Seven

  Sutter

  "What are you doing?" I ask, watching as she removes the portions from her food-pack and starts arranging them on the plate.

  "Putting them in order," she replies. "Why? What's wrong with that?"

  "You put your food in order?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

  "We were told at the academy that it's best to eat each portion in a certain order," she continues. "You start with the starch, and then you move on to the protein and then finally the nutrient base. Apparently there's a minor uptick in absorption rates when you eat according to the correct progression. There was some new research, and guidelines went out a while ago. It's something to do with amino acids and..."

  Her voice trails off as she notices the slightly disgusted look on my face.

  "What?" she asks after a moment.

  "Is this what they're teaching you at the academy these days?" I ask, genuinely surprised. It's been a fair few years since my days on Mars, but at least they used to let us eat our goddamn food however we wanted. I guess the march of regimentation is never-ending. "You know it's bullshit, right?" I continue.

  "No," she replies, "there's actual science behind it. I read the papers."

  I watch as she uses her fork to shape each of the three portions into a perfect heap. There's something vaguely pathetic about the way she's adhering to orders even though she's far from the academy. It's as if their training has become so deeply fixed in her personality, she can't even contemplate an alternative. This kind of behavior would be strange enough in anyone, but in her, it's quite bizarre.