Asimov's SF, October-November 2011 by Dell Magazine Authors Page A
Authors: Dell Magazine Authors
Ads: Link
what she saw was any indication, it was worse, it was worse than the first time.
The first time. She shook her head, struggling not to let the force of memory land on top of everything else. The first time, she had been a graduate student at the most prestigious school in the sector, Mehkeydo Academy, and it had been her favorite professor who'd vanished.
Well, he hadn't vanished, he actually had gone into a malfunctioning stealth tech field to save a post-doctoral student, and he had never come out. Neither of them had. Only that accident had been confined to the room where the experiments were being conducted, and the two of them—professor and student—hadn't instantly vanished. They had shuddered, or their image had, as if it had been on some kind of readout and the readout had skipped. That had gone on for a good ten minutes, and then they had disappeared, and nothing the team had ever done had brought them back.
Modern stealth tech studies had been in their infancy then. Mehkeydo Academy had led the research, thinking it a harmless investigation into ancient technologies. Although the Enterran Empire's military had been around even then, blocking the building, taking over the experiments when it became clear that something had gone wrong.
Rosealma had ignored them, concentrating instead on figuring out what had happened, figuring out whether or not she could at least recover the bodies of Professor Holmes and the post-doc.
She never did, and she had theories as to why, but they got subsumed in the quest for safety measures while studying a viable and possibly life-saving technology.
She had believed in this stuff once, and it had brought her here. To a room with no back where an entire wing of the science lab had just vanished. Or maybe (best case) maybe it had simply been cloaked.
But she doubted it, and she knew she didn't have the ability to figure all of this out on her own.
Hansen did have a point: the more people who came here now, the more people were at risk. But she needed help— they needed help.
She hit the command button that she had insisted be installed in every lab. Her staff joked about it, saying Rosealma wanted instant access to the head of the facility because she didn't feel important enough.
She did want instant access because she needed it in moments like this. Nonessential personnel had to leave the base, and she couldn't make that call. She needed permission to have some staff help her with the crisis. And she needed everything done Right Now.
* * * *
Now
"Where are we going, Rosealma?” Quint asked. He rubbed his face, trying to remove the caked blood.
She sighed, stood up, and got out her medical kit. Time to see how injured he really was.
"I don't know where we're going,” she said as she tugged the small kit out of the storage area near the door. She set the kit on her chair.
"You changed course a while ago,” he said.
She opened the kit, slipped on some gloves, and removed some cleansing strips. “Yeah, I did."
The less she lied to him, the better.
"From where to where?” he asked.
She cupped the cleansing strips in her right hand and walked over to him. “I have no fucking idea. Now hold still."
"What about the rendezvous point?” he asked as she grabbed his chin with her left hand, and it took all of her control not to start in surprise.
"The station's?” she asked.
He nodded and she tightened her hold on his chin. Her fingers were probably causing bruises, and she didn't care. She wrapped the cleansing strip around her index and middle finger and began to wipe off the blood. Scrape it off was a better way to put it.
"I'm not going back,” she said. “I was stupid to go back in the first place. It's as if every time someone messes with stealth tech the accidents get worse. I can't keep involving myself in that."
"Yet you can't stay away, can you?” he asked, the words somewhat mangled from the force of her fingers on his cheeks.
She didn't answer him.
The first time. She shook her head, struggling not to let the force of memory land on top of everything else. The first time, she had been a graduate student at the most prestigious school in the sector, Mehkeydo Academy, and it had been her favorite professor who'd vanished.
Well, he hadn't vanished, he actually had gone into a malfunctioning stealth tech field to save a post-doctoral student, and he had never come out. Neither of them had. Only that accident had been confined to the room where the experiments were being conducted, and the two of them—professor and student—hadn't instantly vanished. They had shuddered, or their image had, as if it had been on some kind of readout and the readout had skipped. That had gone on for a good ten minutes, and then they had disappeared, and nothing the team had ever done had brought them back.
Modern stealth tech studies had been in their infancy then. Mehkeydo Academy had led the research, thinking it a harmless investigation into ancient technologies. Although the Enterran Empire's military had been around even then, blocking the building, taking over the experiments when it became clear that something had gone wrong.
Rosealma had ignored them, concentrating instead on figuring out what had happened, figuring out whether or not she could at least recover the bodies of Professor Holmes and the post-doc.
She never did, and she had theories as to why, but they got subsumed in the quest for safety measures while studying a viable and possibly life-saving technology.
She had believed in this stuff once, and it had brought her here. To a room with no back where an entire wing of the science lab had just vanished. Or maybe (best case) maybe it had simply been cloaked.
But she doubted it, and she knew she didn't have the ability to figure all of this out on her own.
Hansen did have a point: the more people who came here now, the more people were at risk. But she needed help— they needed help.
She hit the command button that she had insisted be installed in every lab. Her staff joked about it, saying Rosealma wanted instant access to the head of the facility because she didn't feel important enough.
She did want instant access because she needed it in moments like this. Nonessential personnel had to leave the base, and she couldn't make that call. She needed permission to have some staff help her with the crisis. And she needed everything done Right Now.
* * * *
Now
"Where are we going, Rosealma?” Quint asked. He rubbed his face, trying to remove the caked blood.
She sighed, stood up, and got out her medical kit. Time to see how injured he really was.
"I don't know where we're going,” she said as she tugged the small kit out of the storage area near the door. She set the kit on her chair.
"You changed course a while ago,” he said.
She opened the kit, slipped on some gloves, and removed some cleansing strips. “Yeah, I did."
The less she lied to him, the better.
"From where to where?” he asked.
She cupped the cleansing strips in her right hand and walked over to him. “I have no fucking idea. Now hold still."
"What about the rendezvous point?” he asked as she grabbed his chin with her left hand, and it took all of her control not to start in surprise.
"The station's?” she asked.
He nodded and she tightened her hold on his chin. Her fingers were probably causing bruises, and she didn't care. She wrapped the cleansing strip around her index and middle finger and began to wipe off the blood. Scrape it off was a better way to put it.
"I'm not going back,” she said. “I was stupid to go back in the first place. It's as if every time someone messes with stealth tech the accidents get worse. I can't keep involving myself in that."
"Yet you can't stay away, can you?” he asked, the words somewhat mangled from the force of her fingers on his cheeks.
She didn't answer him.
Similar Books
