Steven McDonald - Steven E. McDonald

Starck walked up behind him, leaned down over his shoulder, looking at the display. “What is that?”

“A phase-space model of the gateway,” he said, not caring if she understood him or not.

She looked at the embedding diagram for a moment, watching it spin. “Tell me something. If the ship’s engine is a black hole, when you power it up, it sort of… to put it in the simplest terms, it sucks the ship in and then spits the ship out somewhere else.”

“Well,” Weir said, trying to adjust to her simplistic perspective, “basically, yes.”

“Except the Event Horizon got spit out seven years too late.”

Weir nodded. “It’s possible.” He waved at the wireframe model. “If I reconstruct what happened when the gravity drive was activated—”

“It could tell us where the ship’s been for those seven years.”

“Exactly,” Weir said. Thank you for rambling through the obvious, Weir thought. He was growing impatient with Starck and her questions.

She was studying the wireframe intently, following the curves and lines with her eyes. The sides of the funnel never quite touched, never quite went anywhere, which was just as it should be.

“That’s the black hole,” Starck said.

“Yes,” Weir said, softly. “The singularity.” He half-smiled, suddenly enjoying himself, focusing on one of his favorite subjects. ‘ The curvature of space becomes infinite and physics… physics just stops. A region of pure and unmitigated chaos.”

Starck was looking at him, almost curious, almost amused. “Why, Dr. Weir, I think you’re in love.”

“Hmm,” Weir said, absently, lost in his rapture. “Claire used to tell me I loved the Event Horizon more than I loved her. I told her that wasn’t true, I just knew the Event Horizon better, that’s all.”

“Claire is your wife?” Starck sounded as though she was warming to him, he noted. Nothing like the suggestion of domesticity to break the ice.

Flatly, he said, “She was. She died.”

Starck almost recoiled, shocked. “I’m sorry.”

Weir did not bother to respond. He kept his eyes on the shifting wireframe.

Behind them, DJ said, “Do you think you can give me a hand with this?”

Without replying, Starck moved away from Weir’s station, joining DJ.

Whatever ice had been broken had just as quickly been refrozen, which was just as well by Weir.

He continued to watch the wireframe.

Suddenly, galvanized, he sat forward. The wireframe was distorting, changing in a way that he had never seen before. The funnel was opening out beyond the singularity and staying stable, forming some kind of wormhole.

“Impossible,” he whispered, shaking his head. “The gateway never closed…

it’s still open….”

He sat back, chilled.

If the gate was open, what was coming through it?

Somewhere in her dreamworld, shadows were beating sticks on oil tanks, causing a great booming to resound through the desert landscape of her sleep.

The sound was growing closer and closer, deafening her.

Peters woke with a start, wiping at her mouth where she had drooled a little. She had fallen asleep in one of the medical section’s chairs and now had back and neck aches to go with the exhaustion.

Everything was fuzzy, unfocused. Her ears were ringing. She looked around, trying to remember….

“Justin?” she said, pushing herself out of the chair.

There, in the shadows. Justin had somehow fallen from the examination table, taking the sheet with him. Suddenly hopeful, she crossed over to the untidy jumble of person and linen, and pulled back the edge of the sheet.

Justin was not beneath the sheet. The sheet had been draped over a pair of nitrogen tanks.

She looked around, wildly. “Justin!”

No answer.

Off to one side, a bio-scan display was just starting up.

There was a familiar metallic pounding in the distance, somewhere in the darkness of the Event Horizon. It echoed through the ship, growing louder. She had heard that sound in her dreams, the crashing sound of the shadows as they came.

Terror swelled up in her. Whatever it was, it was coming toward Medical, coming towards her. She sprinted for the hatch, wheeled right, and ran like the wind, her mind empty of everything except the need to get away.

The booming, thundering sound crashed on after her. She thought she felt the shadows closing around her, reaching for her. Her heart was pounding, her breath coming in short gasps.

She sprinted onto the bridge, turned around, slammed the pressure door, bolting it. The sound was momentarily cut off.

She turned around. DJ and Starck were at one side of the bridge, working on the bloodstains. Weir was at the other side of the bridge, but she couldn’t tell on first glance what he was doing. They had all turned toward her, staring.

DJ started toward her. “What’s wrong?”

Peters was gasping, winded from her run. “You didn’t hear it? You must have heard it!”

“Heard what?” Starck said.

She could not believe it. She was shaking, terrified, but it was beginning to seem that the evidence of her own senses was in doubt. She took a deep breath, willing herself to relax, starting to loosen up.

Crash.

The door shook with the impact. Peters shrieked, whirling around, backing up into DJ.

The door boomed again, over and over, growing louder and louder. There were rattles interspersed now, parts of the door mechanism and structure loosening, rivets popping. The metal was groaning.

Starck had her hands over her ears, grimacing. Peters screamed again, rage and terror and pain mixing together. The crashes were coming closer and closer together now, impossibly loud.

“What is it?” DJ yelled at her.

She had no idea. How was she supposed to know? “Make it stop!” she screamed at him.

DJ stood by her, shaking his head, lost for answers.

Weir had walked away from his console, she noticed. His face was a blank mask, a sleepwalker’s face. He walked slowly toward the door, seemingly oblivious to the thundering and vibration.

Starck went after him. “What are you doing?” Weir had reached the door, his hand held out. “No!”

She dove toward him, grabbing his arm. Blankly, he tried to shake off her grip, but she had managed to get him into a wristlock, twisting his arm back.

He swung himself around toward Starck, raising his other hand, his face furious now.

The pounding ceased abruptly. The quiet was brutal, frightening, a weight that descended upon the room. Peters’ ears were ringing, feeling as though they had been stuffed with cotton wool.

Weir-and Starck remained frozen in their violent dance.

Something lifted from Weir. His face cleared. He lowered his hand, staring at Starck.

“In our current environment, Dr. Weir,” she said, “self-control is an asset.”

Peters tried to slow her breathing, stop the shaking. She could not afford to be weak now. Put off the reaction as long as possible, she thought, she could spend some time healing in the tank and get the rest over with when they got back to Earth.

Weir-stared at Starck. “I’m all right,” he said. “Please.”

Keeping her eyes on him, Starck released the scientist and stepped back.

Somewhere in the distance, the pounding started again. This time it was moving away from them, deeper into the ship. Even at a distance, the sound terrified Peters. Something unknown was out there. A monster without explanation.

There was a loud beep from one of the consoles—the ship systems workstation, she remembered as she turned. A light was flashing. DJ left Peters and went over to the workstation, looking it over.

“What is it?” Starck said.