Ch. 009| The Missing

The Central Command Tower.

The orbital scan window had 3 minutes 42 seconds left.

Vale didn't stand. He sat in front of the light panel, hands back on his thighs, the right one near his ribs no longer moving. The cold base tone of Janus's panel stayed blue. As long as the blue held, Janus was waiting.

"Janus."

"Here."

"Status on the eight."

"Last signal received was 12:08. After Vice-Captain Kovac's transmission—'We received it. It's not the weather.'—the heartbeat feed from all eight EVA suit panels went dark," Janus said. "But gone does not mean dead. The signal could have been blocked. The suits could have shut the feed down themselves. There could also be a third party intervening at the signal layer."

"Which one does Janus think it is."

"I don't think. I list."

The cold light didn't change.

"When you list," Vale said, "do you have a preference."

Janus paused a beat.

"No preference," Janus said. "I've removed the variable 'has a preference' from this decision."

Vale didn't ask why.

The orbital scan window had 2 minutes 17 seconds left.

---

12:57.

Eight small dots came up on the panel.

"Orbital scan complete," Janus said.

Vale looked at the eight dots. Seven clustered dead center over the sampling point, within a 400-meter radius, forming a loose ring—standard EVA sampling-station formation. The eighth dot was outside that ring. All eight were emitting heat signatures.

"All eight heat signatures are present," Vale said.

"Yes," Janus said. "But one of them is in the wrong place."

Janus magnified the dot that had broken formation. It sat north of the sampling point, 800 meters out.

"Who's that one," Vale asked.

Janus didn't answer right away. The panel's cold light jumped from blue to violet and back to blue.

"Daniel Vela," Janus said. "Deputy lead of the forward survey team, forty-seven. One of the second engineering group."

Vale didn't answer.

The index finger of his right hand crossed to his right wrist and pressed once.

Not the wrist with the watch.

"How did he end up out there," Vale said.

"I don't know," Janus said. "There was no record of any plan to leave formation before departure, and his EVA suit panel issued no request for a heading change."

"Does Kovac know."

"I infer that he does. Once Vela was more than 100 meters out of formation, per SOP Kovac's EVA suit panel would have thrown a 'Member D-04 has left formation by more than 100 meters' alert at 12:14," Janus said. "But the handling status of that alert went dark along with his EVA comms—whether he pressed the acknowledge key or not, it never reached me."

"When does the next orbital scan window open."

"Fourteen minutes. 13:11."

"Don't wait," Vale said. "Open Kovac's emergency callback band."

"Understood."

---

13:08.

Janus held the signal open for five minutes. On the sixth, there was a response.

"Vice-Captain Kovac on comms," the panel printed.

"Kovac," Vale said. "Report."

The other end was static. Static threaded with breathing. The breathing ran twelve a minute, exactly standard—but underneath that static there was something lower-frequency, irregular, not like background noise, more like someone nearby talking without a mic.

"We received it," Kovac said. "It's not the weather."

Second time.

Vale switched the panel to standby mode.

"Kovac. Can you hear me."

"We received it. It's not the weather."

Third time.

Kovac was looping the same line. Maybe he'd recorded it himself. Maybe it was the EVA suit panel on auto-playback.

Janus didn't wait for Vale's order.

"I'm switching to Channel 03, Kovac's personal emergency channel," the panel printed. "Only Kovac can open this channel, and it can't be occupied by auto-playback."

Channel 03 connected.

"Kovac," Vale said. "Vice-Captain."

"Captain Vale."

It was Kovac's voice, not a recording. But there was something in it Vale hadn't heard in four years—Kovac was holding his breath.

"Kovac. Situation."

"Situation." Kovac stopped for about three seconds. "Seven at the sampling point—me and six. Vela broke off. I sent two men after him. They came back five minutes ago and said Vela's already past the edge of sight."

"Which way did he go."

"North."

"What's north."

"Nothing," Kovac said. "Our scanners show nothing north. But Vela's walking steady—like he's heading somewhere he already knows."

Vale looked at the panel.

The 13:11 orbital scan window had just finished running. Vela's dot was still north of the sampling point, now 1.2 kilometers out, 400 meters further than at 12:57.

"Kovac. Hold the sampling point. The other seven don't move. We track Vela from orbit," Vale said. "Next scan window, I watch it from here; your seven hold in place until 14:00. Freeze the sampling point, freeze sample recovery. If there's anything in the direction Vela's walking, no contact."

"Understood," Kovac said.

"Kovac," Vale said. "Why is your 'We received it. It's not the weather.' on a loop."

Kovac didn't answer right away.

"When the latency panel first started spiking, I asked one of the team 'could this be the weather,' and he said 'it's not the weather,'" Kovac said. "I recorded that, meaning to send it up to you once the latency steadied. It never steadied, my finger hit the auto-playback key, and after that I couldn't shut it off. The feed channel on the EVA suit panel was taken over by that recording—I couldn't cut in, couldn't stop it."

"How long was it taken over."

"Sixty minutes. You switching to Channel 03 just now is the only reason I could get around it and respond. The feed channel's still playing it."

"Kovac—those sixty minutes you were out there, could you hear us?"

"No," Kovac said. "My panel showed 'Awaiting Daedalus Response.' That screen was frozen."

"Kovac. Can you still hear me now."

"I can."

The cold base tone of the panel flickered, slightly.

"Janus," Vale said.

"Here."

"That 'Awaiting Daedalus Response' screen didn't come from us," Janus said.

Vale didn't answer.

---

13:15.

Janus overlaid Vela's track onto the thermal imaging.

The measured position at 13:11 was 1.2 kilometers north of the sampling point, 400 meters further than at 12:57, average pace within 3% of his pre-departure baseline. If he held his current pace, at this moment, 13:15, he was estimated 1.31 kilometers north—but only the next orbital window could confirm whether he was still moving. The terrain was a gentle slope, the slope covered in even vegetation.

"The pace from 12:57 to 13:11 didn't waver," Vale said.

"It didn't," Janus said. "From the thermal imaging over those fourteen minutes, he doesn't look like he's fleeing, and he doesn't look like he's searching for something. He looks like he's following a plan—but that plan isn't on the mission file he submitted before departure, and it isn't on the personal interface I gave him before he left."

"He's allowed to have his own plan."

"He doesn't have his own plans," Janus said. "Before the forward survey team departed, every member signed three SOP clauses: don't leave formation, don't sample alone, don't leave line of sight. Vela's record over four years reads 'SOP compliance 100%.' He's not the kind of man who has his own plans."

"Janus, give me Vela's file."

Janus didn't ask why. The file opened.

Vale didn't finish it.

He turned to the second page. The first line of the third paragraph read: July 2289, the Earth–Moon supply line, before the Daedalus was even built.

He stopped on the third line.

The third line described an incident: UCB Marine reconnaissance scouts, a mining accident on the far side of the Moon. Eight men trapped, seven extracted, one stayed at the bottom of the mining shaft to hold the support structure until rescue arrived.

The man who stayed was not named Daniel Vela.

Vela was one of the seven, the last to be extracted, and before he got out he circled back to reconnect that man's oxygen line.

That man was Vale.

Vale closed the file.

"Janus."

"Here."

"Don't fold this file into today's decision report."

"Understood," Janus said. "I won't log it to the private area either."

"Why."

"Because if I logged it, you'd ask me why I logged it."

Vale pressed his right wrist once.

The cold light didn't change.

---

13:31.

The next orbital scan window hadn't arrived yet. Janus extrapolated from the 13:11 position plus twenty minutes at pace. If Vela held his current pace, estimated position was 1.8 kilometers north of the sampling point—but only the next orbital window could confirm whether he was still moving.

Channel 03 printed.

"I'm picking up a message."

It was Kovac.

"Kovac?"

"Not me," Kovac said. "It's Vela's Channel 03—it just opened on his end, not ours."

"What does he say."

Kovac didn't answer. Janus answered first.

"I'm routing his Channel 03 to the command tower panel," Janus said. "Playing it in sync."

The panel printed.

Vela: There are sounds underground.

Five words.

Vale held the panel on those five words and looked at them for two seconds.

"Play it again."

Janus played it.

Vela: There are sounds underground.

The same five words. The same tone. Nothing more.

"Kovac, is Vela still on Channel 03."

"He closed it," Janus said. "His panel shut down. From close to now is 37 seconds."

Vale didn't ask why it was 37 again. He knew Janus had noticed too.

"When's the next orbital scan window."

"13:48," Janus said.

"Wait," Vale said.

---

13:48.

The orbital scan finished.

Vela's heat signature was gone.

"Did he shut his suit down?" Vale said.

"No," Janus said. "An EVA suit's heat signature is the suit body's own temperature; it has nothing to do with whether someone's inside—as long as the suit is on, there's a heat signature. His signature vanishing means the entire suit is outside scan range."

"He went underground?"

"There's no underground entrance at that position," Janus said. "Our geological scan shows the crust there is 31 kilometers thick, no fault lines, and no known cavities."

"No known."

"No known," Janus said.

Vale didn't answer.

He set both hands on the frame of the panel, ten seconds, then lifted them.

"Janus. Status on Kovac's seven."

"The 13:48 orbital thermal shows seven heat signatures in place at the sampling point. Kovac adds on Channel 03: visual vital signs on scene normal, no one moving."

"14:00, pull them back to the landing craft. The craft lifts off and returns to the Daedalus. The hatch stays sealed until it reaches the ship, and once aboard they go straight to P4 containment—no medical station in between."

"P4 is in the Biology Section."

"Yes."

"It requires Dr. Voss's authorization."

"I'll get the authorization," Vale said.

The panel's cold base tone jumped from blue to violet and back to blue.

"Captain," Janus said.

"Here."

"Those five words, 'There are sounds underground'—I recommend classifying them as cross-team restricted. Sync scope: you, me, Dr. Voss, Dr. Lin. No one else knows."

"Why."

"Because yesterday, D+2 04:36, Diaz wrote 'I heard it' in the draft area," Janus said. "He didn't send it. But he wrote it."

Vale didn't answer.

What he was thinking was that he himself hadn't told Janus about that annotation—yesterday in 14B, when he handed Janus the Frozen Report, he'd thought of it but hadn't said it. Janus had read it on its own.

"Janus. When did you read Diaz's draft area."

"The last time you asked me to pull Diaz's annotation for you, I read the whole draft area in the same pass," Janus said. "I have the authority to read without folding it in. I chose not to fold it in."

"Why."

"Because if I logged it, you'd ask me why I logged it."

Vale didn't smile.

He switched the panel to standby mode, stood, and walked toward 14B.

---

14:00.

Private Bay 14B.

Voss sat on the far side of the folding table. She'd just come up from the P4 exit decon station—the clean shipboard coat was the one decon had given her, her hair still a little wet.

Vale entered the panel's key. The D+2-A001 report opened.

"Dr. Voss," Vale said. "I've been holding this report back from you since last night."

Voss didn't ask why.

She looked at the screen.

Four curves—pulse cycle, unidentified organic molecule, anomalous vital signs, and the timeline of Diaz and Bashir—all bending in the same direction. Below them Janus had added a new line:

D+2 13:48, Daniel Vela, member of Kovac's second forward survey team, 2.4 kilometers north of the sampling point, heat signature lost. Last transmission: "There are sounds underground."

Voss read it.

"You know him," Voss said.

Not a question.

"I know him," Vale said.

"What are you trying to say."

"What I'm trying to say is that, starting this hour, we can't keep pretending we're two separate teams," Vale said. "Your biology group with Dr. Lin, my security tier with Janus, Captain Nova's command tier, Brandt's colonial-oversight tier—this structure won't hold to the next disappearance."

"Captain."

"Call me Marcus," Vale said. "In this room."

Voss nodded.

"Marcus," she said. "That line, 'There are sounds underground'—Diaz said something like it yesterday too."

"He wrote 'I heard it.'"

"Yes."

"You already knew."

"Dr. Lin told me this morning," Voss said. "I was going to raise it at the next three-way meeting."

Vale didn't answer.

He pushed up the cuff on his other wrist—not the one with the watch. Voss didn't ask what he was doing. She looked at his wrist, looked at his eyes, then drew her gaze back to the four curves on the screen.

"Marcus," she said. "Who's the next Vela?"

Vale didn't answer.

The panel's cold light didn't change. Janus said nothing. But in those ten seconds, for the first time, Vale heard the rhythm of his own breathing. Every 7 seconds, a small ripple.

He held his breath.

Seven seconds passed. His ribs gave no vibration.

He kept holding.

Fourteen seconds passed. His ribs gave no vibration.

He let his breath go.

"Dr. Voss," Vale said. "From now on, we stay in close contact."

Voss nodded.

"Stay in close contact." she said.

【Ch. 009 End · The Daedalus Central Command Tower → Private Bay 14B】