Noumenon Infinity Read online

  But if he was right, and they were wrong, then wasn’t there still a chance for her?

  Maybe he could make a deal.

  “I’ll come quietly,” he said, a spark of sensation flaring in his sternum. “But only if we go back.”

  “Go back where?” Dr. Taylor asked, pulling a pen from under her bright yellow head wrap. She scrawled something on the small notepad she retrieved from a hip pocket.

  “Wherever we just dove from. Because maybe she hasn’t come back yet. Maybe we can still save her.”

  “Doctor Kapoor, you mean?”

  Her condescending tone made his teeth gnash. “Yes,” he said, slapping the glass as Justice had done only moments before. “Kapoor, Vanhi Kapoor. Is there an echo in here? She is going to die unless we go back.” He did his best to explain, speaking slowly, articulately, making sure they couldn’t twist his words to mean I have her hidden somewhere aboard and unless you give in to my demands she dies!

  “I think that gurney is probably a good idea,” said Steve.

  Dr. Taylor looked troubled, but not in an I believe you sort of way. “You’re not in a position to negotiate, Stone.”

  “Then I’m not going.” He crossed his arms and strode back to the cot, dropping onto it with a decisive plop.

  “I have the authority to forcibly remove you,” Taylor said.

  “Then do it,” he dared.

  Steve smirked, the expression growing into a sadistic full grin as he made to open the door.

  “Hold on,” Justice said, sliding in front of him. “Is his request really so unreasonable?”

  “Out of the way,” Steve demanded. “As the doc said, he’s not in a position to make requests, reasonable or otherwise.”

  Stone resisted the urge to taunt him with the fact that he’d filled Stone’s request to contact Justice.

  “Move,” Steve spat when Justice showed no sign of yielding.

  “Come on,” Mac said, laying a hand on her arm, “let them do their jobs.”

  She jerked back. “Last dude who laid a hand on me got his fingers broken, so help me—”

  “This is ridiculous,” said Steve, attempting to manhandle her out of the way.

  Stone jumped to his feet. “Leave her alone!”

  Bodies jostled outside his cell. Two more guards joined Steve in his attempt to remove Justice. She and the men yipped at each other like dogs in a fight. Dr. Taylor got pushed to the side, and both Captain Baglanova and Mac tried to break it up.

  Justice threw a punch, clipping Steve in the ear. Baglanova shouted. Stone paced.

  He couldn’t do anything, he couldn’t—

  And then he saw her. Not Justice, she was holding her own.

  Vanhi.

  Dr. Taylor stared wide-eyed at the woman who’d appeared at her side, clutching her hand to her chest like she was witnessing a specter. She quickly crossed herself.

  Dr. Kapoor floated as before, disconnected from reality. But she opened her eyes more quickly this time, falling when she did, slumping into Dr. Taylor, who looked like she wasn’t sure if she should catch Vanhi or refuse to touch her.

  Stone was more than elated. He was vindicated. “There! Turn around, she’s right there!”

  The fighting stopped. Everyone spun.

  It’s real. And she’s safe. She’s here.

  It was definitive proof. He had witnesses. He wasn’t hallucinating, and she wasn’t dead. They had no actual answers, but at least they had her.

  Overcome with relief, he sank to his haunches, his knees giving out. With a stuttering heart and trip-catch lungs, he put his hands on his head and whispered, “Gracias a Dios.”

  Justice spent the night in the brig for throwing the punch. Tempers were hot convoy-wide, and both Captain Tan and Captain Baglanova didn’t see any reason it should go on her permanent record. After all, she’d only been defending her friend against potentially harmful medical treatment.

  Stone wasn’t sure if it was the sundial or the ship that Vanhi was tied to, but thank god it wasn’t her spacial coordinates. The only thing he knew for certain was that the dial couldn’t follow her to . . . wherever she went.

  Initially, Tan wanted to keep Dr. Kapoor’s “condition” hush-hush, if for no other reason than it might cause mass panic. But he quickly realized that her safety depended on the crew knowing.

  Most of the crew had a hard time taking the announcement at face value. Alien structures in deep space were one thing, but this . . . it was broaching pure science fiction. How could such a thing be possible? Had Tan lost his mind?

  The majority had to see it with their own eyes before they accepted Vanhi’s condition as scientific fact. In a way, it helped that Dr. Kapoor began popping in and out on the regular, though witnessing one’s mission head disappear or materialize out of nowhere was—on the whole—incredibly distressing.

  It was like she was her own SD drive in her own SD bubble, diving and emerging uncontrollably.

  Eventually it became clear to everyone that when she jumped, she always left the dial behind, and she always reappeared in its vicinity. So that her touchstone didn’t accidentally end up at the bottom of a trash compacter, and her along with it, protocol dictated the trinket to be returned to a med bay immediately, where it would be kept in a prominent and open position until she returned.

  Twenty-One Days Since the Accident

  “Yikes, C, what’s with the screeching?”

  The PA reduced the volume on its output, and the little light on the side of the sundial blinked in earnest. “Apologies, sir. I’ve been having minor malfunctions since July sixth.”

  “You and me both,” she murmured.

  She stood in front of a door, three decks above her own quarters. It looked like any other door, and she meant the errand to be quick, but she couldn’t bring herself to knock. Not yet.

  One year, eight months, and seven days. That was how long Pulse had been in service. One year and millennia, it seemed. The door was mostly unblemished, with nary a scratch. It didn’t have the cake of age, or the dullness of wear brought on by knuckles rapping again and again over the same spots. It looked new. It was new.

  “If you’re waiting for me to ring the buzzer, I regret to inform you that I don’t have fingers,” C said.

  “Oh, hur hur,” she said. With a deep breath, she rapped once.

  The door whisked silently to the side—effortless on its rollers.

  Stone stood on the other side, eyes wide, surprised. Pleasantly, she hoped.

  He looked a little rumpled—but she supposed they all did these days. Few people besides Tan and his closest staff saw fit to keep themselves well pressed, clean shaven, and wrinkle-free. Stone’s hair stuck up haphazardly, as though he’d just rolled out of bed.

  “Hi,” she said softly.

  “Hi,” he echoed.

  “Sorry if I’m interrupting your downtime, but I—”

  “No, no. Uh, come in.”

  “Oh—” She’d expected a swift exchange, hadn’t envisioned getting past the door. “Okay. Thanks.”

  At first, his quarters looked like many others. It was a single, though he could have easily upgraded to a four-person if he’d wanted. There were plenty of open housing options. His bed sat beneath the room’s one window. A small table occupied the space to Vanhi’s immediate right, and it was stacked high with paper books.

  It should have been immediately obvious, though—the walls—but she was focused on Stone, the way he moved to make space for her in his home. He scooped up a pile of hardbacks occupying a chair, and waved at it in offering.

  She sat before she noticed the color. “Nice. Your walls, I mean.” They were alternately bright crimson and sky blue.

  He demurred, smiling lightly to himself as he reshelved the volumes on the bookcase that spanned floor-to-ceiling on the far wall. “Yeah. I’m probably the only person who devoted a good portion of their personal weight allowance to paint. When the acceptance letter said we could personalize ou
r staterooms, I got a little excited. I’m used to barracks, where the only touches from home are a handful of pinups and maybe a picture of your madre if you don’t mind getting ribbed.”

  He turned away from the shelf, and the last book in line toppled over with a thunk. He didn’t right it. “What can I do for you, Vanhi?” He paused, caught himself. “Or . . . or should I call you Doctor Kapoor now? I know Tan’s been pressing for more formality, says it helps ingrain a sense of stability—”

  It felt odd, though, the formal address. They’d been having difficultly reconnecting with each other ever since the accident, and she wanted that to change. “Please, Vanhi. I’m not officially the mission head anymore, so no need to be so prescribed . . . no matter what the captain suggests.”

  “You’ve assigned your successor, then?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It was necessary,” she said, folding her hands in her lap, eyes fixed on the sundial. “I’m still working, still taking on most of the responsibilities of mission head—but Doctor Gabriel Dogolea is going to be filling in when I’m, you know, absent. And he’ll take over if . . .”

  Stone didn’t finish the sentence for her, but he let out a shaky breath.

  She was glad, in a way, that the disappearances caught her off guard. She’d never had time to think What if this is the last time? What if I go and just . . . don’t come back?

  As far as she was aware, she’d disappeared and reappeared seven times. She didn’t remember them all explicitly, but they were all being documented. It was possible there were more instances—no one monitored her in her sleep, and she didn’t wear the sundial in bed for fear of stabbing herself with the gnomon.

  The whole situation was maddening.

  “Anyway,” she said, forcing herself to segue away from her spiraling thoughts, “I wanted to thank you for getting my sundial back to my room. I came to more or less in bed.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, a distinct blush spreading across his nose and cheeks. “How did you know it was me?”

  “Tan’s protocol,” she said. “Everyone knows the sundial is supposed to go to the medical wing if it’s found. But a few people, like Gabriel, know that I hate appearing in the med bay. No one keeps the dial anywhere soft there. I’m always coming to on a cold floor or half off a hard exam table. You’ve heard me complain before.”

  “Sure, but I’m not the only one.”

  “So you didn’t put it in my quarters?”

  “Nope,” he said frankly. “Well, I mean, I had maintenance do it. It’s no big deal.”

  “But it is, to me,” she insisted, standing, moving toward him. “You . . . Look, a lot of people are worried about my safety. Tan, the department heads, everyone. But not a lot of people seem to care about my well-being. You’ve been looking out for me since before I realized I needed looking out for, and I’ve never properly . . .” She reached out, her fingertips grazing his arm as she tried to get him to look at her.

  His eyes shot to hers at the touch.

  They were wide, but wary. Why was he so wary?

  Can’t we go back to the banter? To the flirting and the stolen moments? There’s so much wrong with the convoy now, can’t we have a little bit of normalcy?

  A dark thought clipped itself onto the end of her quiet plea: Maybe I don’t deserve any normalcy. Maybe it’s fitting that I’ve ruined this . . . whatever this was . . . too.

  He backed away slightly, rocking on his heels to separate himself from her touch. She withdrew her hand, recoiling as though she’d crossed an obvious line.

  “I do worry about you,” he said softly. “Justice thinks I worry too much.”

  “I like that you worry,” she confessed.

  “Well, good. Because I like worrying about you.”

  Her breath caught. “Will you keep worrying? If I ask you to?”

  “Yes. Even if you don’t . . .”

  They both smiled sheepishly, and Vanhi’s stomach flopped over in a giddy knot. She felt simultaneously elated and like an idiot. They were grown adults discussing a highly improbable medical condition—for want of a better term. Physics condition?—but she felt like a graceless schoolgirl.

  “Then,” she said, as an idea caught in her mind. She fumbled with the latch on her wristband, fingers stuttering though the action was familiar. “Can I ask you a favor?” The leather was soft, supple. Crease lines feathered out over its surface, revealing how often she’d taken the strap off and put it on again. “Keep this for me?”

  “What?” Stone asked, followed immediately by a digital, “What?” from C.

  “I can’t keep wearing the dial, I realize that now. I haven’t wanted to give it up, because my sister gave it to me.” She traced the metal dial with her thumb, pressed the gnomon into her skin, let it bite and leave an impression. “It was a jab at my attachment to a PA—antiquated as they are. Were. Suppose they’re really antiquated now.” She huffed a small laugh, pressing the keepsake to her chest. “I should have put it in a box as soon as I realized it was my ground—my connection to the greater dimensions that keeps pulling me back from wherever I go. Should have put it someplace safe.”

  Stone’s gaze was earnest. He clearly meant to refuse, to insist he couldn’t accept the responsibility for anything so precious. But he’d already taken responsibility for the most precious thing she owned—her very life—so why should this trinket be too big of a burden to bear?

  “But I can’t stuff C in a box. It’s stupid, I know, but my PA is my friend. It knows me better than anyone aboard, and even if it can hibernate, I don’t want it to.”

  “I don’t mind, sir,” C said.

  “I know,” she said to the little thing clutched to her breast. “But there’s more.” She looked Stone in the eye, needed him to understand. “I don’t want to wake up in a cold medical office, either. I don’t want to come back and be alone and have no one to—to understand.”

  Don’t tell him you cry in the shower. Don’t tell him you think it’s like dying a little every time you disappear. Don’t tell him you’re afraid you’ll never come back.

  “This is my tether,” she said, taking Stone’s hand, turning it palm up. She set the sundial in his hand, and he let her curl his fingers over it. “But I need a touchstone. I need someone to ground me. To keep me sane. I have something to come back to. But I also need someone to come back to.”

  Both hands went to her cheeks, then to her chest. She felt too hot, as though with fever. “I know it’s a lot to ask—”

  “Yes,” he said quickly, cradling the sundial like a delicate egg in his palm. “I can be that for you.”

  He tried to put the sundial on, but chuckled when he found the strap didn’t reach. It broke the tension—the dam that had been building in Vanhi’s chest with so much pressure behind it. But instead of letting all of her emotions spill over, they flew away, and she took a deep breath. “Oh, no,” she said, trying to help him, to get the leather to stretch all the way around his wrist.

  “Wait, I’ve got an idea,” he said, slipping the dial off the strap. Springing over to his bookshelf, he opened an old yellow cigar box he’d been using as a bookend. From inside, he drew forth a chain. His air force dog tags dangled from the length.

  Carefully, he threaded the dial onto the chain and strung it around his neck. “Guess I’ll have to get used to wearing these again.”

  “No, uh, no cross?” she asked. She pointed at the chain, feeling as though something, some symbol, should have been resting beside his tags all along.

  His gaze followed her finger. “No, wh—? Oh. You think all Puerto Ricans are Catholic?”

  “Oh, that’s not—”

  He waved it aside cheerfully. “No, it’s fine. Lots of Puerto Ricans are Catholic. This Puerto Rican is agnostic. My parents, they are—were. It’s still hard to say ‘were’—Jehovah’s Witnesses.”

  Weren’t Jehovah’s Witnesses pacifists? “But you were i
n the military?”

  “Yeah. Can’t say they approved.”

  She commiserated. “Yeah, my parents weren’t real big on . . . on the P.U.M.s. Or, rather, me being a part of them. They were worried, about me going into space. Guess I showed them.”

  She cringed as soon as she said it. It was supposed to be a joke, but . . . well, too soon was an understatement. Why did everything come back to the accident? Why couldn’t she keep the chit-chat away from their damn tragedy for more than two sentences?

  Stone secreted the tags and the dial away under his jumpsuit, then put his hands in his pockets awkwardly. They both fell quiet, the momentum of their dialogue dying.

  She tried to think of another topic. Something unrelated to the uncertainty of her condition, or the ambiguity of the convoy’s place in the universe. Something that wasn’t so daunting.

  But all she could think about was her PA, now resting against his chest, warming from his heartbeat instead of hers.

  She wasn’t sure where this left them. What this made the two of them.

  “C?” she said.

  “Yes?” the PA answered, only mildly muffled by Stone’s uniform.

  “I’d like you to start a second user profile, all right? Stone Mendez Perez. He has full access now, all right?”

  “Full access?” C asked. “Including journal entries and—”

  “Okay,” Vanhi said promptly. “Secondary access.”

  “You been writing about me in your diary or something?” Stone asked slyly.

  She shook her head and turned away with a smile, but did not disabuse him of the notion. She thought maybe he’d dismiss her now. But she didn’t want to go. Yes, this ebb and flow of awkwardness was difficult to endure, but saying goodbye for the moment seemed worse.

  But he didn’t show her to the door or offer some excuse about a prior engagement.

  He sat on the bed, off to one side. Clearly leaving space for her. With an internal shrug, she sat next to him. They exchanged soft smiles.