The digital clock readout in the bottom right corner of the wall screen said 02:24. Estela was snoring lightly, stretched out on the recliner. Felicia sat between Brad and Nyerere on the sofa. Brad thought she was staring hard enough at the display to bore a hole through Emcee’s bland, maddeningly smiling image.
Nyerere yawned and stretched. “Face it, man: there’s no way around Kosoff.”
“There’s got to be.”
“So where is it? We’ve been going through the operational procedures for more’n three hours now. Every road leads to Kosoff. You can’t try to make contact with an alien species unless you get permission from Kosoff and the executive committee.” Looking up at the wall screen, Nyerere asked, “Isn’t that right, Emcee?”
“That is correct,” said the master computer’s avatar.
Felicia pushed herself up from the sofa. “I’m wiped out. I’m going to sleep.” She headed wearily toward the bedroom.
Brad tried to tell himself he was wide awake, but his eyes felt heavy, gritty.
Nyerere got up and went to the sleeping Estela. Touching her arm lightly, he said softly, “C’mon, kiddo. Time to go home.”
Estela stirred, blinked at him. “I dozed off,” she muttered.
Nyerere helped her to her feet, then turned to Brad. “It’s been an interesting evening.” With a cheerless grin he added, “And night. And morning.”
Brad walked them to the door. “Thanks, Greg.”
“Wish we could’ve found something,” Nyerere said. “Would’ve been fun to twist Kosoff’s tail a little.”
“Yeah. Fun.”
“G’night.”
“Night.”
Brad slid the door shut, then started for the bedroom, hoping he was too tired to dream.
Felicia was already in bed, her clothes strewn across the floor. Brad undressed and slid in beside her, then—instead of calling out to the light control and waking her—he twisted around and touched the switch on the wall that turned off the lights.
He stared up into the darkness, trying to relax. No dreams, he told himself. Just let me sleep without dreams. And he wondered who he was talking to.
The dream, when it came, was different. Brad was out on the floor of Tithonium Chasma, same as always, but this time the canyon wall wasn’t collapsing. This time there were huge octopus-like creatures swimming through the thin Martian air, just as if they were in their ocean.
How can they swim through the air? Brad wondered.
The octopods glided on by him, their tentacles waving gently, their eyes turning to focus on Brad as they passed.
And Brad realized he wasn’t wearing a pressure suit. He was standing outdoors on Mars in nothing more than a tunic and slacks.
No one else was there. Only Brad and the train of octopods gliding past.
“Aren’t you going to say hello?” one of the creatures asked. Its voice was low and melodious. It reminded Brad of his mother’s voice.
“Hello,” he said uncertainly.
“It’s good to talk to you, at last,” said the octopod. “We’ve been waiting for you to say something, you know.”
“I’ve wanted to talk to you,” Brad responded.
“No!” thundered a heavy voice, filled with anger. “I won’t permit it!”
And the sheer rock wall of the canyon began to shake, to reverberate as the voice howled with wordless fury. The octopods disappeared as boulders tumbled from the top of the chasm wall, falling slowly, inexorably onto the flimsy buildings of the human base on the canyon floor.
Brad stood riveted, watching in horror as the rocks smashed into the buildings. The canyon floor was strewn with dead bodies.
The voice roared, “Look what you’ve done! You’ve killed them! You’ve killed them all!”
And Brad was sitting up in bed, soaked with cold sweat. Felicia called out for the lights, then turned to him, her face drawn, troubled. She wrapped her arms around Brad.
“The dream again?”
It took three tries before he could answer. “Yes … no, not exactly the same.”
“It’s all right, dear. It’s only a dream. You’re safe. I’m here with you.”
“Yes. I know.” But he was trembling like a leaf in a windstorm.
And he realized that one of the bodies he’d seen on the canyon floor was Felicia’s, her face bloody, her body broken. And, beside her, his own.