Traveler in the Dark

18

Dorothy Hackford was pressed against the stiff plastic of the isolation chamber's corner. The gun made deep grooves in her skin where her hand clenched too hard. She could hear Emery's impassioned plea to the Captain, but she had taken one look at the large gold insect and immediately switched off the video feed. She knew, of course, that Emery was right. She'd said as much herself the day before. They were going extinct. They needed a home. But knowing it academically and actually facing what it meant were two very different things.

It was the eyes. They were so opaque and hard. Dead. She shivered. Just a machine, she told herself, a complicated series of math problems. Nothing more. It had no will, it had no malice, it just was. Like the food printers or the draybots or the Keseburg itself. She closed her eyes and raised one arm to wipe away a slithering trickle of sweat. Got to get a hold of yourself, she thought, stop being such a coward.

She didn't belong here. Not on the Wolfinger. Not on this mission. It was supposed to be Paulo's mission. He was the one that wanted to go, not Dorothy. But then his daughter had taken a turn for the worse. She'd gone on the ventilator almost fifteen Earth months before launch, and Paulo backed out of training to care for her. But the Spindling didn't let go. She'd died two days before the mission started. The funeral had been the last thing Dorothy had done before departure.

When Paulo had left training, Dorothy had taken his place. She'd failed the psych tests on purpose, hoping they'd kick her from the teams. The moment she'd had to put on the environmental suit for the first time, she'd realized she would have failed them anyway. The Admiral had insisted though, citing her research record and put her into treatment throughout training. It didn't help. She'd hoped to pull Bruheim's crew. The moon didn't have the same communications problem that the planet had. She'd never have been out of contact. It was barren and silent and all the probe data indicated it would be a simple survey and collection mission. It was meant to be a blank slate. Water, atmosphere, and soil. That was it. Safe. Silent.

But instead, she'd been put on Stratton's crew. Bruheim had worked by the book, rejecting anyone outside the norms. But Stratton had been willing. Too willing. And now she was here, stuck in the tiny isolation chamber, her chest too tight, her skin too warm and all the time waiting for a monstrous bug-robot to slice open the plastic and let death come pouring in.

"Dorothy, your vitals are spiking. Take a deep breath." Dr. Cardiff meant to be calming, Dorothy knew, but the woman rubbed her the wrong way. She sucked in a long breath anyway. "Good. Now, why don't we go through the coping exercises—"

"Stop treating me like I'm crazy!" Dorothy shouted. "There's a massive robotic alien headed my way. I'm alone in a fucking plastic bubble with a gun— a gun. We don't even know if jolts will work on this thing. And even if they do, I'm not a soldier. It's perfectly rational for me to be anxious." She heaved another breath to catch up.

"Of course, Dorothy," said Dr. Cardiff, her tone a deeply patronizing calm. "But you must try to relax. Leroux says you are at risk for a takotsubo cardiomyopathy."

"In plain language, doctor," said Dorothy.

"You've been under extraordinary strain. Your heart is showing indications of a bulge. If you don't calm down, it could get worse. Cause a heart attack."

"Thanks, Phyllis, I really needed that at the moment." She adjusted her grip on the gun. "Look— my tests are clean. Oxwell said so. I'm not going to get sick in the next six hours. Just— just let me back into the Wolfinger."

The feed was silent.

"Please, Captain."

"I'm sorry, Hackford, I truly am, but I can't risk the crew." Stratton sighed heavily.