"You've seen that before, doctor." Mathieson interrupted. "When our team came in for the last composite physical."
"Well yes,” Cameron admitted, “in some of the less diluted descendants of the supposed 'superbeings' that were genetically engineered during the twenty-first century, we have seen a pattern of diminishing size of the appendix, like in the case of your friend Gurney. But this case isn't quite the same." Cameron shook his head, peering down at the analysis readout.
"She hasn't got any kind of trace organ remnant—but her appendix wasn't artificially removed." He shrugged. "I suppose it could be a mutation, though.”
Cameron caught Sasha’s nervous expression and smiled. “Well, aside from that, the superficial scan isn't showing anything out of the ordinary, but we'll need a psychological evaluation to look for emotional scars.”
“Oh, yes.” Sasha agreed.
“In the meantime,” Cameron went on, “I prescribe lots of playtime, a good night's rest, and good eating. It is surprising, though, isn't it, that she's so healthy after living out there?" Wrinkles gathered between his brows as they drew together in contemplation.
"Where will the UEG send her, doctor?" Sasha asked, squeezing the child's hand and smiling down at her. "We haven't got any permanent care facilities here at the base, and we can't send her away from her home territory to Utopia City."
"I honestly don't know what they'll decide." Cameron admitted. "We've never had to deal with a situation of this kind before. I assume we'll have to find a place for her." Cameron clasped his hands together and pursed his lips in concentration.
"Well, if it's possible," Sasha ventured tentatively, looking to her husband, but Richard already wore an approving expression. Government care was out of the question. "We'd like to take care of her," Sasha continued.
“You would?” The way Cameron asked conveyed that he was not in the least surprised.
"Yes. We could adopt her.” Sasha suggested. “Richard and I are moving to a larger room next week when Moira turns six. We'd have more than enough space. Can't you use your influence, doctor, to have her placed with us?"
"Well," Cameron began gruffly, then smiled. "You know, I do believe Knightwood would be happy to hear that the child isn't going anywhere. If you're sure you want to, I'll see what I can do to make the arrangements for you."
“We’d appreciate anything you can do.” Mathieson said.
“Yes, it may be beneficial to keep her here for surveillance." Cameron added, almost to himself.
Mathieson was about to ask another question when the videocom tone announced a message, and a communications operator's small image patched through. They stilled to watch, reminded of the gravity of what had so recently transpired in sector eight.
"Dr. Cameron, the Acadia cliff side has just fallen. Instruments report a giant avalanche fifteen minutes ago swept into the area and buried the alien spaceship under several million tons of rock."
Chapter Six
"I am asking for your silence, Zhdanov." Orrin Hollendar addressed the figure sitting in the dark. Hollendar was a tall, long-limbed man, muscled like a long-distance runner, a man of striking regal bearing, whose skin was so coal-black it seemed to shine.
Zhdanov's features were turned away from the Security Chief, his pensive gaze intent upon the landscape outside in the late hours of the day. Lead grey clouds outside the narrow window of the aboveground office hung upon the land, settling upon the upper branches of the dense forest, giving the impression of descending twilight even though the sunset was still over an hour away. A flock of dark birds swept across the nearest trees. Inside, however, Zhdanov's office was very dark.
Zhdanov watched a few raindrops fall soundlessly on the astroport and onto the nearest row of majestic oaks beyond the base; he could see the leaves dipping under the heavy rain, but he could not feel the cold sting of it, or hear the wavering sigh as the rains tapered off and began again with new strength.
"Do you think the rest of the UESRC will actually believe that the ship was buried and destroyed—by a landslide?" Zhdanov asked at length, shaking his head.
"We already have classified files to prove it—"
"Which intense scrutiny would show to be false." Zhdanov interrupted. "Would you rather the people know that they could be attacked any day right in their own back yard?" Hollendar asked harshly, each question like a volley. "You know we couldn't prevent it if it were to happen—and anyway, we have no evidence to believe that the ship came here to attack the Earth. If that were the case, it seems likely we would have seen some signs of activity after the avalanche, but we didn't."
"So the rest of the world sleeps easy, and you and I live in terror." Zhdanov said, turning to the tall, dark form standing in the shadows behind him. Hollendar's steel hard, coal-black eyes narrowed on him, making the bright whites of his eyes disappear. The rest of his face was hidden by the darkness.
"Yes," Hollendar said, an acerbic edge to his voice, but he was glad the darkness hid him. Right now, he felt a comfort to be lost in it. He could be someone else, then return to himself, untouched by the unpleasantness which must follow. He was not himself now; he was not really listening, even to his own words. "If you say anything, I will have to do something to stop you," he warned.
"You didn't see it." Zhdanov said with an odd sensitivity, turning away. "Do you have any idea what kind of technology it took to create a ship like that? The occupants have activated some kind of anti-radar that keeps it invisible to our scanners."
"Why would they do that, Zhdanov, when they know that we know where they are?" Hollendar said, his tone critical.
"I don't know, damn it! The fact is that they have."
"Exactly who are they? We have no proof that there's anything inside, and no signs of activity. Anyway, it's out of our hands." He moved his great, naturally muscular shoulders in a small show of aggression. Zhdanov heard the material brushing upon itself, a quick beat. "The Security Federation has decided to keep this secret to prevent mass hysteria. Period. You don't talk about it."
Zhdanov twitched his head slightly, a faint symbol of his objection.
"For God's sake, Sergei, you are a stubborn bastard!" Orrin said, then drew himself straighter, upright. "And you leave me no choice. I am not asking for your silence, Zhdanov, I am ordering you to keep it. By no means are you to let news of this out, not to anyone. Is that understood? If you do, I will have you executed." He waited, deaf to all but the necessary words, aware that he was very much an instrument of his government.
"Very well," Zhdanov nodded. "Lie."
* * * * *
After a long week of recon flights and late nights examining radioactive and electromagnetic emissions from the area surrounding the alien ship, Cameron finally cleared an afternoon to examine the tests and tissue samples taken from the young girl Sasha Mathieson had found.
Cameron's initial relief that the blood screen and genetic grid analyzer picked up no signs of infectious or chronic diseases quickly faded the moment he sought to confirm the computer's assessment by examining the blood sample himself physically. As if she had never even been exposed to the simplest cold, the girl's blood contained no antibodies, and a low ratio of white blood cells to red blood cells. Otherwise he would have to admit, the sample seemed pretty normal.
But Cameron stared at it for hours, searching through the solution, his eye pressed hard into the eyepiece of the microscanner, producing a sore circular patch along his eye socket at the ridge of his brow and along his upper cheek, a discomfort which he chose to ignore. He could not say why he felt compelled to continue, and every minute that passed only affirmed the normal pattern he observed.
Then at last, Cameron began to see an aberration. Under high magnification one of the cell nuclei that had appeared blurred finally focused into a distinct shape, formed not of one but of three swirling nuclei pressi
ng inward upon each other. Cameron watched, entranced for a moment and then shifted his attention to the rest of the cell, where he observed the faint clear outline of a familiar structure.
There should not have been any other cell apparatus in the mature red blood cell. But he wasn't concerned about that specifically. He had found what resembled a chloroplast, the square-shaped cell machinery responsible for photosynthesis in green plants, though this one appeared smaller, roundish, and clear.
Cameron jumped up from the microscanner at the sound of the door.
Zhdanov uttered a greeting and continued to speak, his face pulling into an expression of concern.
"Take a look at this," was all Cameron managed, without understanding a word from his colleague.
Zhdanov shrugged and approached, then leaned over towards the microscanner.
A minute passed as Cameron held his breath.
Then Zhdanov rose. "So what's wrong?" he asked pleasantly.
"Don't you see it?" Cameron huffed, sounding flustered, and quickly reached for the eyepiece. "This proves—" he stopped, and spent a moment making slight adjustments to move the sample. "I don't understand—" he faltered.
"You've been working too hard. Take some rest," Zhdanov suggested, wondering why Cameron always insisted on getting his hands dirty. Cameron only blinked at his colleague, watching the younger man retrieve his lab coat before leaving. Alone again, Cameron turned to the sample.
"Perhaps I was hallucinating," he thought aloud; Cameron then leaned back in his chair and rubbed his tired eyes in a circular motion. "Suspicious old man." He added in self reproach, shook his head, rose, and uttered a word to snap off the overhead lighting.
* * * * *
Sasha forgot the cheerful tune she had been whistling and dropped the dinner plate. The vegetables rolled around in their partition as Sasha fished around in her drink for a piece of ice.
"What did you do, Mommy?" Moira asked, looking curiously into the food preparation room from the living area table.
"Mommy’s a little careless, Moira. Mommy forgot to set the auto-temperature and burned her hand, but she'll be okay," Sasha said, picking up the two other dinner meals from the food preparation unit in one hand and bringing them over to the table.
When Sasha returned to the food preparation room for her own dinner and came back to the table, she found her new daughter still watching every movement she made; the little girl's dinner remained untouched. She seemed to be staring at Sasha's hand with her wide, unblinking eyes. Without warning, her two small hands reached out to take Sasha's burned one.
"It doesn't hurt," Sasha reassured, noticing the injured look on the girl's face. Much. She added inwardly, feeling a blister forming under the skin.
The child’s expression was not the look of token sympathy, however; it had the appearance of one in genuine pain.
She doesn't understand me, Sasha thought to herself, wishing her husband were there. He had left more than an hour ago with Gurney to oversee the addition of a room to the family's new apartment in the east wing. With the addition to their family, Head Trainer Olery Arnaud had granted them clearance to move in a few days early. After dinner, Sasha had planned to bring the children over and then return to pack up their personal things.
Permission to adopt the young girl was given that afternoon, along with a little note of congratulations signed by Dr. Cameron, and now that Sasha no longer feared the child being taken from them, she didn't mind being separated from her for a few hours.
Sasha smiled and showed her new daughter how to hold her knife and fork again; the girl seemed to forget what to do each time she sat at the table. Fortunately, she always turned to watch Moira and then began to imitate her.
A few minutes later, the door tone unexpectedly sounded.
"Come in," Sasha called cheerfully, imagining that her husband had returned to collect something. The door swished open, but Sasha didn’t look up.
"Excuse me for the interruption," Dr. Saira Knightwood's voice ventured politely, "but I just wanted to drop by and wish you my congratulations and to thank you for your generosity in accepting the girl from point Acadia."
"Oh," Sasha managed, turning around in her chair. "Can I get you something?" She added after a moment, remembering her manners.
"No, thank you." Knightwood said pleasantly, still maintaining some distance. "I don't mean to keep you very long. I just wanted to come and see how the little girl is adjusting. But personal matters aside, I do believe that this is the best solution to preserve top security—and to maintain an eye on her progress without giving her a conspicuous childhood at a government facility," Knightwood added, moving into Sasha's view.
"Moira, dear, don't chew with your mouth open," Sasha said in a distracted voice.
"Please, don't mistake me," Knightwood added a moment later, suppressing amusement. "I do wish you every congratulations. I'm afraid you've taken me for a cold fish, but being a scientist isn't my only profession—I am in part responsible for the security of this base. Under such circumstances, I do what must be done, without stopping to consider whose toes I'm stepping on. But believe me, I respect what you are doing. And I hope—that in time you'll accept my friendship and good wishes."
"I understand, doctor. Thank you for coming by," Sasha said; afterward she realized there had been a trace of hostility in her voice.
"Yes, well, enjoy your dinner, girls," Knightwood offered a gracious smile to Sasha's children and turned to leave.
"Knightwood," Sasha called after her; something in the tone made Knightwood pause in her steps as Sasha fumbled for words. Glancing at the youngest addition to her family, Sasha swallowed and took a sharp breath. "Thank you." The words were simple, but Knightwood appreciated what more they meant.
Chapter Seven
After some time, the unnamed, unidentifiable foundling child from point Acadia chose the name Erin in a book of names, so Erin she became. This made an improvement over “Sasha’s shadow”.
The child in question had been sitting quietly beside Moira for the better part of an hour one evening while her new sister tirelessly plowed through names, and Richard and Sasha vetoed them. Then the little girl had chosen for herself, suddenly bobbing up and down like a cork at “Erin”. Almost at once she answered to the name, but she still could not tell her new parents if it had once been hers.
In fact, she hadn't told them anything. For weeks Richard worried that she wasn't ever going to speak at all, but Erin had finally uttered her first words when they made a family outing to the observatory gardens. The next day, Richard took Erin to Cameron, who agreed this was a good sign; both of them were relieved to know that it had not been too late for Erin to learn how to speak despite her abandonment.
Cameron felt certain that this ability to comprehend what was said and to speak meant that Erin’s original family must have constantly interacted verbally with Erin or else she could not have been able to develop such a language skill. For a moment, he imagined Erin’s birth mother and father with their child; tenderly loving her. The vision evaporated as he realized that this same hypothesis meant that they could never have abandoned her—that they must indeed have been with her and killed by the crash of the alien vessel.
Cameron suggested Richard and Sasha put Erin into school to help her to develop social skills. Richard didn’t feel that Erin was ready for it. However, since the floodgates opened, she'd been speaking almost as well as any child her age, as though she had been committing the English language, and all of her observations, to memory all along.
Yet it was the strangest thing, Richard thought; they couldn't seem to correct Erin’s voice and accent—Erin very nearly sang her words. And her voice was music, music as strange and as untamed as the wilderness from which she had come.
* * * * *
Six months later, just after coming on duty for the morni
ng shift, communications officer Hastings received an emergency call from the Comet Tracking Operator base on Pluto.
"Pluto base Cerebus calling UESRC, Pluto base calling UESRC. If you read us, please respond. This is Chief Gallagher's aide calling to establish communication. Please respond—over. Will relay message momentarily and await suggestions."
The message that had traveled just over five minutes from Pluto base had just arrived in the UESRC communication room as Dr. Zhdanov entered, teacup in hand. Dawe and Hollendar were in Central City at a UES Council monthly alpha-centauri progress meeting and Arnaud was unreachable; Zhdanov knew that meant he was expected to deal with the situation.
"Halt all other communications. I want everyone listening to what Pluto has to say. Gallagher never calls unless it's important." At Zhdanov's words, all commotion ceased, and the assembled company paused to wait for the news. A moment later, the operator received another message.
"Calling to report temporal and spatial fluctuations outside our solar system sending acceleration waves in our direction... we will wait a few minutes until it reaches a distance of ten million kilometers before we can get a positive identity confirmed—wait a minute, the waves have stopped."
Zhdanov shifted uneasily as the crew waited still further. It was unnerving to be kept like this, so artificially silent. There were a few coughs in the room, some shuffling, and isolated whispers before they heard the aide's voice over the communications system again.
"Not another!" The aide shouted. "Excuse me, but we've just confirmed a visual of another space vessel, roughly identical to the first in size on a direct course for us, cloaked by some kind of anti-gravitational wave device. With the visual tracking data, calculations estimate it will arrive here in just under five minutes. Gallagher is ordering us to defend ourselves if necessary with the anti-asteroid missiles. I will continue to transmit at his orders in case you miss any information."