“Anything to drink?”
“Sure.” She threw open a refrigerator door. “Diet Coke?”
“You’re kidding…
“The can design is different, and I’m afraid it’s warm, but it’s Diet Coke, all right.”
“I’m buying stock in that company,” Harry said. “Now that we know it’ll still be there in fifty years.” He read the can. “Official drink of the Star Voyager Expedition.”
“Yeah, it’s a promo,” Beth said.
Harry turned the can around. The other side was printed in Japanese. “Wonder what this means?”
“It means, don’t buy that stock after all,” she said. Norman sipped the Coke with a sense of vague unease. The galley seemed subtly changed from the last time he had seen it. He wasn’t sure-he’d only glanced briefly at the room before-but he usually had a good memory for room layouts, and his wife had always joked that Norman could find his way around any kitchen. “You know,” he said, “I don’t remember a refrigerator in the galley.”
“I never really noticed, myself,” Beth said.
“As a matter of fact,” Norman said, “this whole room looks different to me. It looks bigger, and-I don’t know-different.”
“It’s ‘cause you’re hungry.” Harry grinned.
“Maybe,” Norman said. Harry could actually be right. In the sixties, there had been a number of studies of visual perception which demonstrated that subjects interpreted blurred slides according to their predispositions. Hungry people saw all the slides as food.
But this room really did look different. For instance, he didn’t remember the door to the galley being to the left, as it was now. He remembered it as being in the center of the wall separating the galley from the bunks.
“This way,” Beth said, leading them farther aft. “Actually, the refrigerator was what got me thinking. It’s one thing to store a lot of food on a test ship being sent through a black hole. But to stock a refrigerator-why bother to do that? It made me think, there might be a crew after all.”
They entered a short, glass-walled tunnel. Deep-purple lights glowed down on them. “Ultraviolet,” Beth said. “I don’t know what it’s for.”
“Disinfection?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe it’s to get a suntan,” Harry said. “Vitamin D.” Then they came into a large room unlike anything Norman had ever seen. The floor glowed purple, bathing the room in ultraviolet light from beneath. Mounted on all four walls were a series of wide glass tubes. Inside each tube was a narrow silver mattress. The tubes all appeared empty.
“Over here,” Beth said.
They peered through one glass tube. The naked woman had once been beautiful. It was still possible to see that. Her skin was dark brown and deeply wrinkled, her body withered.
“Mummified?” Harry said.
Beth nodded. “Best I can figure out. I haven’t opened the tube, considering the risk of infection.”
“What was this room?” he said, looking around.
“It must be some kind of hibernation chamber. Each tube is separately connected to a life-support system-power supply, air handlers, heaters, the works-in the next room.”
Harry counted. “Twenty tubes,” he said.
“And twenty bunks,” Norman said.
“So where is everybody else?”
Beth shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“This woman is the only one left?”
“Looks like it. I haven’t found any others.”
“I wonder how they all died,” Harry said.
“Have you been to the sphere?” Norman asked Beth.
“No. Why?”
“Just wondered.”
“You mean, you wondered if the crew died after they picked up the sphere?”
“Basically, yes.”
“I don’t think the sphere is aggressive or dangerous in any sense,” Beth said. “It’s possible that the crew died of natural causes in the course of the journey itself. This woman, for example, is so well preserved it makes you wonder about radiation. Maybe she got a large dose of radiation. There’s tremendous radiation around a black hole.”
“You think the crew died going through the black hole, and the sphere was picked up automatically by the spacecraft later?”
“It’s possible.”
“She’s pretty good-looking,” Harry said, peering through the glass. “Boy, the reporters would go crazy with this, wouldn’t they? Sexy woman from the future found nude and mummified. Film at eleven.”
“She’s tall, too,” Norman said. “She must be over six feet.”
“An Amazon woman,” Harry said. “With great tits.”
“All right,” Beth said.
“What’s wrong-offended on her behalf?” Harry said.
“I don’t think there’s any need for comments of that kind.”
“Actually, Beth,” Harry said, “she looks a little like you.”
Beth frowned.
“I’m serious. Have you looked at her?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Norman peered through the glass, shielding his hand against the reflection of the purple UV tubes in the floor. The mummified woman did indeed look like Beth-younger, taller, stronger, but like Beth, nevertheless. “He’s right,” Norman said.
“Maybe she’s you, from the future,” Harry said.
“No, she’s obviously in her twenties.”
“Maybe she’s your granddaughter.”
“Pretty unlikely,” Beth said.
“You never know,” Harry said. “Does Jennifer look like you?”
“Not really. But she’s at that awkward stage. And she doesn’t look like that woman. And neither do I.”
Norman was struck by the conviction with which Beth denied any resemblance or association to the mummified woman. “Beth,” he said, “what do you suppose happened here? Why is this woman the only one left?”
“I think she was important to the expedition,” Beth said. “Maybe even the captain, or the co-captain. The others were mostly men. And they did something foolish-I don’t know what-something she advised them against-and as a result they all died. She alone remained alive in this spacecraft. And she piloted it home. But there was something wrong with her-something she couldn’t help-and she died.”
“What was wrong with her?”
“I don’t know. Something.”
Fascinating, Norman thought. He’d never really considered it before, but this room-for that matter, this entire spacecraft-was one big Rorschach. Or more accurately, a TAT. The Thematic Apperception Test was a psychological test that consisted of a series of ambiguous pictures. Subjects were supposed to tell what they thought was happening in the pictures. Since no clear story was implied by the pictures, the subjects supplied the stories. And the stories told much more about the storytellers than about the pictures.
Now Beth was telling them her fantasy about this room: that a woman had been in charge of the expedition, the men had failed to listen to her, they had died, and she alone had remained alive, the sole survivor.
It didn’t tell them much about this spaceship. But it told them a lot about Beth.
“I get it,” Harry said. “You mean she’s the one who made the mistake and piloted the ship back too far into the past. Typical woman driver.”
“Do you have to make a joke of everything?”
“Do you have to take everything so seriously?”
“This is serious,” Beth said.
“I’ll tell you a different story,” Harry said. “This woman screwed up. She was supposed to do something, and she forgot to do it, or else she made a mistake. And then she went into hibernation. As a result of her mistake, the rest of the crew died, and she never woke up from the hibernation-never realized what she had done, because she was so unaware of what was really happening.”
“I’m sure you like that story better,” Beth said. “It fits with your typical black-male contempt for women.”
“Easy,” Norman said.
“You resent the power of the female,” Beth said.
“What power? You call lifting weights power? That’s only strength-and it comes out of a feeling of weakness, not power.”
“You skinny little weasel,” Beth said.
“What’re you going to do, beat me up?” Harry said. “Is that your idea of power?”