Andrew Morgan - Vessel

‘White hair, broad shoulders—’

‘The guy in the CCTV video.’

Aleks didn’t follow. ‘What video?’

‘Doesn’t matter. Let’s just say that Ryumin was mixed up with some seriously top-level American government shit.’

‘The US Department of Defence, you mean?’

Banin stopped writing notes and raised an eyebrow at Aleks. ‘You know about that?’

‘Yeah. Bales is a Major General.’

‘Shiiiiit,’ Banin muttered, throwing his pencil on the table. ‘This gets better and better.’

‘They’re running a covert cover-up operation, and Ryumin got in the way. Knew too much. That’s why they killed him.’

Banin was shaking his head. ‘What kind of cover-up?’

It was at this point that Aleks was overcome by embarrassment at the ridiculousness of it all. He cleared his throat, readying his mouth to say the words his brain begged him not to.

‘Aliens.’

Sally had been in love once before, or at least she thought she had. She had lied to Mikhail: it was she who had asked John Heisenberg on a date, and it was he who had turned her down. She had loved him from afar, and when she revealed her weakness for him he had brushed her aside as if she were nothing. The days and weeks afterwards were what she remembered the most. If she tried, she could just about remember what it had been like to love him before, when he was pure and untainted, but the feeling of having her soul torn in two stung her heart with vivid tenacity even now. It was a feeling she never wanted to replicate, a feeling even stronger than the one she’d felt at the passing of her parents. She could understand her grief when they died, and accepted it as part of a natural process. But she hadn’t wanted to fall in love with John Heisenberg, and that made the heartache afterwards a confusing and agonising experience. Since then, men and women were merely colleagues, acquaintances. The door to her heart remained tight shut, her emotions sealed away from the weathering intensity of human contact. It had never been so much as ajar — until now.

She watched Mikhail through the open door of his quarters as he slept, as he twitched and frowned. He wasn’t a handsome man, but he had a charm that warmed her, made her smile, and she couldn’t help but bathe herself in it at every opportunity. Unwittingly, he had thrown the door to her heart wide open, leaving the inner workings bare and exposed, and with the tentative caution of a new-born foal, she relished it. Mikhail stirred, blinking himself awake, and when he saw Sally watching him, he grinned.

‘You don’t need to keep watch,’ he said, levering himself from his quarters. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘I don’t want you getting hurt,’ Sally said. And she meant it. She still felt guilty for leaving him to suffer for as long as she did the first time.

‘That’s very kind of you.’

Sally drifted over to him. His dark eyes followed her.

‘Can I get you any breakfast?’ she asked. ‘I can bring it to you here if you like — breakfast in bed.’

Mikhail laughed. ‘Okay — that would be nice, thank you.’

Sally was close to him, daring herself to get closer, feeling every digit of each hand and foot tingling with his proximity. It was a new sensation, and it made her feel more alive than she’d ever felt before. He watched her as she watched him, and she ducked in quick, kissing him on the cheek. She had pulled away before he had time to react, her heart beating like a drum, skin fizzing with anticipation.

‘See you in a minute,’ she said, feeling her face flush with heat.

They shared breakfast together, eating and talking and laughing between mouthfuls of sticky porridge, and she told him the story of how she had come to be interested in science.

‘After my mother died,’ she began, sinking her thoughts back to her cloudy and muddled youth, ‘I began to question life. What was life? What was the point of it? Why did we have to endure it, generation after generation?’

‘Deep thoughts for a six-year-old.’

‘Tell me about it. Anyway, I had come to the conclusion that a deity was just too far-fetched, left too many holes. I couldn’t understand why a god would allow us to live just so that we might suffer for our entire existence before snuffing it.’

Mikhail nodded, watching her as she spoke.

‘But I could see that we weren’t the only ones suffering. I saw a documentary about the plains of Africa, and I remember struggling with the idea that the antelope seemed to exist solely for the lions to eat. I couldn’t fathom why all the animals didn’t just eat vegetables. Of course, back then I didn’t realise that plants were just as much a living cellular structure as the things that ate them, but you can see my train of thought.

‘And then it struck me — for every living thing, there’s another, bigger, smarter and stronger than it. From the smallest plant to the biggest mammal, there was a distinct hierarchy that culminated with us humans.’

She nodded to herself, feeling that her pre-adolescent thoughts were as valid now as when they were free of the corruption of adulthood.

‘I began to understand why people chose to believe in god,’ she continued. ‘With so much that we don’t know, there must be something above us in the hierarchy — something we couldn’t understand, just as the antelope doesn’t understand why the lion eats it. That’s when I decided that I wanted to find that being, trace the hierarchy to the next level, and it’s what I’ve been searching for ever since.’

She looked at Mikhail sitting in front of her, hanging on her every word.

‘And I think that’s what I’ve found.’

Mikhail didn’t say anything, looking down at his half-eaten porridge.

‘You haven’t finished?’ Sally said. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m not really hungry.’

‘How are you feeling?’

Mikhail looked at her, his face hollow, his eyes sad. ‘I’m fine,’ he said, but she knew he was lying.

Sally took his food pouch, set it aside and burrowed in under his arm, and there they floated, not sharing so much as a word with each other for several long, blissful minutes.

‘You’re right, you know,’ Mikhail said out of the blue.

Sally looked up at him from underneath his arm. ‘About what?’

‘About everything. Life, the universe — me.’

‘I wish you could tell me all about it.’

‘I wish I could too, but even if I think of it, it…’ he trailed off, his last words sounding pained.

Sally wrapped her arm around his back and squeezed him. ‘Don’t think about it,’ she said. ‘Don’t.’

‘There will be someone one day who can, someone who can share the secrets of the universe with you.’

Sally smiled. ‘I hope I get to meet them,’ she said.

‘I expect you will.’

‘Hello?’ Sean yelled, his voice hoarse, but still no one came. He had seen shadows flit past the crack of light, but he wasn’t sure if they were people or just plants moving in the wind. He was thirsty — very thirsty — and the stench of urine continued to shamefully remind him that he hadn’t been able to hold on long enough. His wrists were raw from pulling against his bindings, but the pain was almost numb to him now. He was sure they were loosening; he would try again soon. He’d also discovered he could slide up the post into a standing-up position, but for the moment he sat as he yelled for help and tried to wriggle free. No matter what happened, he couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t give up.

‘Hello?’ he yelled again.

Banin drummed the desk with his fingers, shaking his head. ‘Aliens?’