Inhaled Reveries

"Inhaled Reveries"

Written by:

Clint Hall

         Nash's eyes flipped open, his teeth clenched, his fingers dug into the armrests of his seat. He had been startled out of a dream, or the dream had startled him awake. There was a moment of disorientation as he looked around the Interstellar Transport in which he was seated, trying to remember where he was and where he was going.
         It didn't take him long to right himself and recollect the mission at hand. He looked at the condensation around the porthole glass beside him and rubbed it dry with the sleeve of his forearm. There were no longer stars and space out there, but thick, swirling clouds. The winds that blew the clouds tossed around the artificially piloted vessel and rattled Nash around with it.
         He very much hated these long trips, especially since he had rounded the age of fifty. Usually he would use that as an excuse to his Chief, but this time it was personal and he had to strong-arm his boss into letting him investigate. The Chief certainly wasn't keen on him heading to this new world, but when a 'dop' was involved--Nash Ross was the only man for the job. He made it on the first transport out and didn't even wait around for his procrastinating partner to join him. His partner left much to be desired when it came to policing dops, anyway.
And whoever thought dops should exist off-world should be shot. Dops in general should be rounded up and exterminated. People don't need clones of themselves and if they have clones, they are probably using them for something illegal or immoral. Illegal uses of dops was what made Nash want to become a dop-cop in the first place. Now there was another reason.
         The clouds cleared but the winds didn't subdue. Nash's reverie was interrupted with his first glimpse of the structure that made this small moon so special and so important. The structure itself was responsible for the violent winds and budding atmosphere. As the ship edged closer, the jagged rocks parted, allowing the structure to be clearly visible below.
It was more than ten kilometres in circumference, black as night, had a monstrous dimple in the centre of it, which almost seemed to be blowing away air like a churn from which hurricanes sprang.
         There was a landing pad fifty metres away from the black rotunda. He briefly wondered if that hurricane machine was going to interfere with his landing, but assumed the proper precautions had been taken to prepare for his arrival. Just beyond the structure he thought he could see a sea of something green nestled between the oceans of jagged rock, but shrugged it off as a trick his waking eyes were playing.
The ship heaved and yawed with the turbulence; Nash's fingers dug deeper into his seat and he tensed every muscle in his body, waiting anxiously for the soft thump of a successful landing.
         It finally came and he sighed out all his tensions.
         Through the porthole he saw a long, lanky blond man in a transparent breathing apparatus quickly making his way to the transport. His walk was clumsy and his eyes were closely watching his steps amongst the coarse gravel. The two men who followed him wore similar apparatus', but seemed surer of their steps and only watched the blond man.
         Nash frowned at the clear breathers they wore. He was under the impression that he would have to wear a full environment suit anytime he was outside of the rotunda structure. The terraforming must be moving along quicker than expected, he guessed.
         He suited up in full gear anyway and opened the door. The blond man thinly smiled and extended his hand.
         "Detective Ross, I presume?"
         "And you are Doctor Eli Taubner." Nash grabbed his hand and eyed Taubner's first bald escort, then the second. They were identical to each other, but not to Taubner.
         "Are these two of Cooper's dops?"
         Dr Taubner's thin smile curled up a little more in a disgusted way. "Two of many. Dr Cooper is literally solely responsible for everything you see on this moon." He gestured to the rotunda. "And I believe the appropriate term is 'Imprint'."
         It was Nash's turn to show a smile wrought with disgust, which abruptly shifted to a frown when he studied the dops in front of him again.
         "One of the 'Imprints' is bleeding, Doctor."
         He pointed at a thin bead of scarlet rolling down the right's upper lip.

***

         Walking inside the rotunda structure gave Nash the distinct feeling that he was in the heart of a machine. Every wall looked like functioning blocks of machinery; cams, belts, pistons and many other mechanisms that Nash couldn't easily identify. And where there wasn't machinery, there were computer terminals humming and blinking away like busy animals in a dark forest. For such an enormous structure, it looked like there was no wasted space--from the small area he had seen, anyway.
         Nash followed his three-man escort into a room that was about a five minute walk down the whirring, bustling corridor. Within the room was an old man seated in a hoverchair. There wasn't a hair on his head (just like his clones); however, he had decided to maintain thick, bushy white side-whiskers that grew from top of ear to the deep furrows around his mouth. The man must have smiled at one time in his life, but those days seemed long past. On the right side of his face was a pink, protruding scar that went from cheekbone to centre of his side-whiskers.
         Nash extended his hand. "Gilbert Cooper?"
         Cooper scowled at him and chewed on a browning root. He didn't say a word.
         "I'm here because of the ... incident." Nash hated talking first, so he had to pause to think of phrases to elicit a response from the old man. Most of his police work was done through listening and observation. For the first time in his career, Nash missed his rambling partner, but the gregarious fellow wasn't due to arrive for another few days.
         "When someone dies and dops are present, they send me," Nash continued, trying not to show his cards. He could still hear a tremor in his own voice when he spoke.
         Cooper spat out the dark juice from the root and cursed at the detective. "There was no incident here! There was an accident. I told that stupid woman not to go into the cave." The old man looked away from Nash, the muscles in his face twitched, his lower lip quavered. "That's what the Imprints are for, damn it!" The old man grabbed the armrests and shifted in his hoverchair.
         Nash took an extra long pause and continued to watch the old man's mannerisms. He then decided to end the charade. "I want to talk to Gilbert Cooper--the real Gilbert Cooper."
         The old man stared at him a moment, pulled away the fleece blanket on his lap, rose from the hoverchair and miraculously walked to the adjoining room. After a few seconds, the scarred man reappeared pushing an old man seated in a second hoverchair. He was identical in appearance, minus the long scar on the right side of his face.
         The real Dr Gilbert Cooper applauded slowly within his hoverchair, but carried a scowl identical to his dop's; impressed, but not so much as to smile or even grin.
         "How did you know, Detective?" the real Cooper asked.
         "I'm not here to discuss my methods."
         "No. You are here because someone suspects one of my Imprints to be capable of murdering Dr Rebecca Barden." Cooper didn't hide the dissatisfied look he gave to Dr Taubner, who stood immediately behind Nash with the two dops. Upon this accusation, Taubner left the room and the two bald clones accompanied him. "Welcome to project Rudra, Detective." Cooper motioned to a chair.
         Nash sat and tried to avoid his utterance of 'murder'. "Why do you only allow this one to share your appearance? It's been my experience that dop owners prefer their spawn to look different." The clone behind Cooper's chair noticeably tensed when Nash used the word 'dop'.
         "He has earned my appearance through his faithful actions. And because of that faith I have given him his own name. I call him Masterson. He will continue my work when this disease has finished consuming my body. You see that scar on his cheek?"
         Nash nodded without looking at the abomination.
         Cooper looked at Masterson with love and reverence. "He did that to distinguish himself." He paused and looked back at Nash. "Because I told him to." He gave Nash a friendly gesture with an open hand and continued, "He will cooperate with you in any way he deems appropriate. Masterson is my personal assistant and most trusted associate."
         "I will need all dops assembled that were with Dr Barden at the time of her death," Nash said to Masterson.
         Masterson didn't flinch.
Cooper waited a few seconds then slowly raised two fingers in a lethargic manner.
Masterson walked out of the room.
         "Cute trick. I will also need to see your recipes for all your dops--including Masterson."
         Cooper shifted uncomfortably and frowned. "You don't have the--"
         Nash pulled a doc-stick from an inner coat pocket and tossed it in his lap. He got out of his chair and said, "It's a warrant. Should I ask your pet to show me my room?"
         Cooper took an extra long glower at the detective before responding, "Taubner will show you." He gave his attention to the doc-stick and immediately pushed it into a reader beside him.
         Assuming a dop is capable of murder is an automatic incrimination of the owner. And Cooper knew it.

***

         "There is something very strange going on here, Mr Ross." Taubner's eyes stayed on the path to the guest room, but the side of his face showed concern. His constant dop escort had retired to their own rooms moments ago.
         "I've seen dops kill before," Nash said, trying hard to hide his pain.
         "It's nothing to do with your investigation. Or, maybe--I don't know." He looked upward as if he was looking for guidance from a higher power.
         Nash stopped him by grabbing his blue, buttoned shirt. "Listen, Doc, if there's something else you know, you need to tell me right now to avoid compromising any innocence you have in this."
         Taubner looked at a closed door three metres away, again with concern, trying to choose his words carefully.
         "You noticed the Imprint outside had a nose bleed."
Nash nodded at that, watching the doctor's face intently as he spoke.
"That's how it starts. Epistaxis: bleeding from the nose. In a few hours he will end up like this one ..."
         Taubner led Nash to the closed door, swung the long handle to one side and pushed it open. Inside was another bald Cooper dop attached to an IV drip and heart monitor.
         "I've been told to dispose of them when they go comatose like this, but I've been monitoring this one whenever I can break away from my escorts."
         "Some sort of fault in the dop recipe?" Nash suggested.
         "I can find nothing wrong with him. Not physically, not in his codes, nothing. He started bleeding from the nose, then he dropped to the floor. He appears to be dreaming, though." He pointed at the dop's eyes darting about under his lids.
         Nash frowned, pensive. That must be a result of Cooper adjusting his dops' recipe, he decided. A man like Cooper would think himself above hard labour and taking orders--and yet all his dops have seemed very subservient and obedient workers, solely responsible for everything Nash had seen.
         Tampering with the minds and bodies of dops was illegal. Cooper had done it to create a workforce. He's probably sending that warrant to a barrage of lawyers all under his employ and all aware that this day was coming, thought Nash.
         "All this started happening after Ms Barden died in the cave-in," Taubner said.
         "Doctor Barden," Nash corrected. "Have these comas only happened to the dops that accompanied her?"
         "No. Four of the eight have succumbed to them, but there have been another twelve cases since."
         Fifteen disposals, he thought.
         Nash stared at the Cooper dop on the gurney, trying to open his eyes to the connection between them all.
         "I need to see all your logs. And I need to speak to the four remaining dops."

***

         Nash saw his niece playing on a swing. There weren't very many swings left on Earth, but there were none on the moon and none on Mars. He was obviously back on Earth, sitting on a bench in a park surrounded by thick fog. His neice didn't care about the fog, though, only about the simple joy of the wind rushing past her shoulder-length black hair. She adored the way she could kick out her short legs and lean back and go faster. It was Nash who had taught her how to go faster and without uncle's help it was her first taste of independence. Nash smiled watching her.
         His niece stopped kicking out her legs. He saw the swing stop abruptly. Her hands clasped her throat. She gasped for air. He jumped off the park bench. He ran to her, but time slowed. He called to her, but his voice was lost in fog. She looked at him, confused and in pain. He tried to run faster, but was pulled back instead. He reached for her, but she stopped breathing. She turned blue. She was dying! He called again--
         The intercom on his guest room door woke him. His eyes opened.
         "--Detective?" It was Taubner's voice. "I have Imprint 026 in a room for your interrogation. Detective?"
         Nash achingly rolled over on the thin mattress and blinked generously. He slapped at the nightstand on his left as if to turn off an alarm, then realized he should be looking for a button to answer the intercom.
         "Mr Ross?"
         He looked for the button again with swollen eyes. "Yes?" he said toward the door, giving up on the button.
         "Do you need more sleep?" asked Taubner, apparently acknowledging Nash's answer through the door.
         Yes. "No. I'm up."
         Nash was still in the gray button-up shirt, and slacks he had arrived in and was ready to move right away, after he strapped on his shoulder-holster that was lying beside the bed. He rolled out of bed, groggily stumbled to the door and pulled the lever.
         Taubner's face was dark. His eyes looked black and emaciated like he hadn't slept in days. Nash wondered how long his nap had been before Taubner came calling. Wasn't Masterson to look after this? Why was Taubner the only one assisting in this investigation?--He thought.
         They began walking toward the room.
         "Do you have the logs for me?"
         Without looking at Nash, Taubner handed him a doc-stick. Nash grabbed it, but looked at the side of Taubner's face the whole time, trying to read what he was thinking.
         "There's a reader in the interrogation room."
         "I'm assuming you have the dop recipes on here, too?"
         "Weren't available at this time."
         "Your boss does know what a warrant is, right?"
         They stopped in front of the room Nash had seen last night that contained the comatose dop. At this time, Taubner decided to look again into Nash's face. All the darkness and sleeplessness was still there and still perturbing him.
         Taubner waited a moment before answering, like he was thinking up excuses.
         "Dr Cooper is still conferring with his lawyers about the warrant." Taubner opened the door and waited for Nash to step in. Nash stared at him a moment, then looked in. The comatose dop was gone. So was the gurney, the heart monitor and the IV drip. The room had been cleaned out to make room for the interrogation.
Another disposal, Nash guessed.
         In the centre of the room was an identical dop seated at a steel table in one of two steel chairs that were positioned on opposing ends. On the table nearest the empty chair was a doc-stick reader.
         Nash looked cautiously at Taubner, whose face didn't change in the slightest, then walked in carefully. When Taubner closed the door behind him, he studied the dop. He was the same as the rest--Cooper wrinkles, Cooper face, but no hair at all on his head. Not even eyebrows.
         Nash moved over to the chair, touched it, dropped the doc-stick on the table. He grinned and waited for some sort of exposition from the dop, but nothing came. This was where his partner would have been useful. He took his seat and picked up the doc-stick, examining it carefully. He put it in the reader and intently watched the screen. At this point, the dop couldn't handle the silence anymore.
         "What the hell is all this?" he yelled with a scowl, belting out the same ferocity as that Masterson dop.
         Nash studied the creature's reaction, but all he could see was Dr Barden's lifeless face.
         "Tell me about your father."
         The furrows between the dop's brows and eyes deepened at the question.
         "Gilbert?" the dop asked.
         Nash grinned at the response. "Not your creator. Your father."
         The dop groped the chair arms, shifted his weight in his seat and let his right knee dance at the question. It was the first time Nash had seen a Cooper dop so uncomfortable. He must have realized his mistake.
         "I don't know. He was a great man. He wasn't a great father, but he was well respected in his field. What the hell is this? You know I'm an Imprint! Why put me through your Imprint screening?"
         "What happened in the cave the day that Dr Rebecca Barden died?"
         The dop's knee stopped, only to start up again, before he said simply: "Cave-in."
         Nash tried not to sound annoyed. "Did you feel animosity against her because you thought you didn't need a xeno-ecologist to help you unearth water? Did you think you could do everything yourself because you are the great and all-knowing Gilbert Cooper?"
         "I'm not Cooper, damn it!"
         That was a strange response. Nash would've been excited by it if he wasn't so surprised. Dops usually have a hard time admitting they are a separate person from their creator. But dops don't usually consider their creator to be a father.
         "Explain the comatose dops."
         The dop's scowl softened, just slightly, and the dop rose from his chair slowly.
         "This interrogation is over."
         Nash watched the dop move around the table, pull the lever on the door and exit the room. He was surprised to see that Taubner was still on the other side, as if he had been staring at the closed door the whole time like a nervous dog, waiting and listening.
         Taubner asked, "Did you learn anything?"
         "More than you might think. This log, though, is quite interesting." He pulled the doc-stick out of the reader and brandished it at the doctor. "This has been altered. According to Dr Barden's last report, she was about to enter a cave in sector 12--this says she went to sector 5." Nash put on his best inquisitive face. "Now why would she be mistaken about that?"
         Taubner thought about it, his emaciated eyes darted about in that large skull of his. "Edited reports can sometimes take a good deal of time to reach home. The rock formations here all look--" He paused, his face changed from anxiety to concern. "Detective," he said, "Your nose is bleeding."

***

         Nash stormed down the corridor and past the walls that growled with mechanical activity and kicked open the door to Cooper's office. He wiped the blood from his nose and flicked crimson onto Cooper's white desk and white tiled floor.
         "What the hell have you done to me?" Nash yelled, narrowly stopping himself from pulling the cripple out of his hoverchair by the neck.
         Cooper's face changed, his side-whiskers bristled. It was almost a smirk. "I suppose it was only a matter of time before you found out about the comas. To be honest, I didn't think it could happen to us Gens ... I assumed it was only happening to Imprints."
         This time Nash couldn't help grabbing him by the scruff of the neck. "Tell me what you did!"
         Masterson appeared, as if from nowhere, and easily pried Nash's hands off his master's collar. It seemed the addition to his recipe was strength. Nash's eyes cut into the abomination; his fists clenched. He wanted to pummel Masterson just because his constructed hands had touched him.
He reconsidered as Cooper began to speak.
         "I did nothing, Detective." Cooper said. Masterson was still grasping Nash's wrists until Cooper made a lazy motion with his hand allowing him to release. "I don't know exactly what's happening, but I know it has something to do with this planet's flora."
         "Flora?"
         "The vines, Detective. They sprouted from nowhere." He pointed at him, wagging his finger. "You must have seen that field of those green monsters upon your approach to Rudra. It's uncomfortably close to us." He gave Masterson a quick glance and the dop retrieved a bottle of dark liquid and a glass from the cabinet, began pouring. Cooper picked up the glass, brought it close to his mouth, stopped, then said, "I only have one glass.
         "These vines, Detective," he continued after his sip, "slither into your room as you sleep and wriggle up your nasal passage to do heaven-knows-what and the next day you bleed from the nose. Before long, you turn into a vegetable--if you'll forgive the pun. I've seen the security videos myself. Very frightening." He flopped his hand onto the keypad on his desk and inverted the transparent monitor so Nash could watch.
         The events he described were displayed from a corner perspective in Nash's guest room. The vines crept through the room, slithered up the bedpost, under the sheets and gently entered the body of Nash.
         He sat down slowly, shaking and pale. "Did the vines put something inside my head?"
         "Dr Taubner couldn't identify anything unusual in the autopsied Imprints." He took another sip. "When these comas happened to my progeny, the solution was simple. Now that it has happened to a Gen. ... Perhaps you should go back to Earth? The hospitals there are quite superior to our lowly Medbay."
         For a moment, Nash thought he saw concern in Cooper's eyes. But that didn't make sense if this was his way of getting rid of an investigation.
         "No," Nash said. "I will be going to sector 12 to see the cave."
         "Dr Barden died in sector 5." Cooper said, looking nervous now.
         "I don't think she did. I think you've falsified your logs for some reason, and I'm going to find out why before I'm drooling on a gurney." He stood up, ready to leave.
         "Masterson, go with him."
         "No. I'll take Taubner." Nash turned and grabbed the lever to the door.
         "Detective," Cooper wheeled out from around his desk. "I have lived in a hoverchair for the past twenty years because my toes started to go lifeless, then my feet, then my legs, and now my torso is sharing the same fate. My father was the first one ever--EVER in the history of history--to get this degenerative disease and as it turns out, it's hereditary. You know what they call it? 'Cooper's disease'. That is my family's legacy to the galaxy. That will not be my legacy. No. My life has culminated to this singular point--this epoch." He gestured as best he could to the Rudra structure surrounding them. "And I will do anything--anything to protect its' integrity."
         Nash bent over and leant into Cooper's face. "I've been threatened by better men than you." He waited to witness Cooper's angry expression then left the room.

***

         Nash jumped into the transport ship he had arrived in, took a seat in the pilot's chair, waited for Taubner to close the door behind him, then discarded his breathing apparatus. He disengaged the autopilot and fumbled with the start up controls. It had been some time since he had flown a ship of any kind, but as he pressed buttons and slid his finger pads against touch-screens, his memory returned.
         "I'm going to need your knowledge of the sectors, Doc. It doesn't look like I have that information in my nav-screen."
         "Anytime I was being ferried to a location, Masterson was the one in the pilot seat, but I will try my best."
         Once they raised high into the air, Taubner started to recognize familiar rock formations. All of which looked the same to Nash, but Taubner's ability to identify which rock was the start of which sector was uncanny. He compared it to appreciating abstract art--something he was evidently passionate about.
         As they searched, Nash noticed the green field--green fields, in fact. There were dozens of them spread out from here to horizon. Taubner told him they hadn't existed when Rudra was being built.
         "There's the cave there!" Taubner pointed through the glass at a small black patch, furtively hiding in the shadows of its tall, jagged neighbours.
         A reflection on the glass caught Nash's attention. He could see himself, see Taubner, but there was someone else behind him. He shot his head to the side and reached for his sidearm under his shoulder.
         No one.
         He turned back around and the reflection was gone. Nash searched his memory for the image and decided it looked like a small person. A little girl with black hair, maybe.
         He felt under his nose, pulled his hand away and saw fresh blood.
         "Doctor?" Nash looked to his right, but the doctor was gone. The whole ship, in fact, was gone. He was on the park bench in front of the swing set, watching his niece play on a foggy day.
         He smiled as she swung. Immediately he knew this wasn't right. His smile faded and he called to her. She stopped swinging.
         "Who are you?" Nash called to her. She was his niece, but she was also not his niece. He could feel another presence all around in the haze.
         She was confused at first, but looked around the swing set and pointed down to the grass, smiling with a sense of accomplishment. She stopped smiling and started wheezing.
         "No!" He got off the bench, ready to run for her again, but he had to find out what was going on. "Are you intelligent? Are you choking? Is it the air? I can help you! Please help me understand."
         His niece keeled over, hanging in the swing, wheezing much harder.
         "No air. Dreams," she gasped.
         "You can't breathe?"
         "Dreams. Need!"
         "You need our dreams? Why?"
         "Help! No dreams."
         "DETECTIVE!" Taubner yelled at the top of his lungs.
         Nash opened his eyes and saw huge, quickly approaching jagged rock. He veered up and narrowly missed skimming the top of the largest one. Both men panted and looked at each other.
         "You," said Taubner, "are in no condition to fly a ship."
         Nash nodded, his head being filled with new knowledge from an unknown source. "I think I know what's going on. Let's get into that cave."

***

          Nash had a flashlight in one hand and his gun drawn in the other as they walked through the blackness.
         "What exactly do you hope to find in this cave?" Taubner asked through his breather.
         Nash's light danced from the floor, to the walls, to the ceiling.
         "For starters, I just found that there was no cave-in." He pointed his light into Taubner's eyes. "This is the cave where Rebecca Barden died."
         "So, what is going on here, Mr Ross?"
         "They came to me in a dream."
         "'They'?"
         "The vines."
         "You were hallucinating."
         "I don't think so. I'm sure I should be in a coma by now, but I told them I could help." He paused to search the walls of the cave again. "They live in dreams, but this air Cooper is circulating is retarding their ability to dream. That's why they have been coming after us. They can tap into our dreams somehow and exist there for a bit, but they want to dream on their own again."
         "How do they enter our dreams?"
         "Cooper showed me a video of vines connecting with me in my sleep."
         "But you said you talked to them. On the ship, right? There were no vines in the ship."
         For some reason everything made sense to him now. The vines were feeding him information in broad cascades of thought. He had an answer for almost everything. Almost.
"Maybe they only need to touch you once," he explained. "That dop didn't have vines in him while he was comatose. It's some sort of telepathy, but they first need to know what frequency we dream in--like they're tuning in a radio station."
         Taubner's footfalls vanished in the dark. Nash called out for him, but received no response. He pointed his light toward the distant opening, panned the walls, then the floor and saw Taubner lying unconscious a few metres away. A shadow passed on his right, outside the beam. Nash quickly turned his light, gun following closely, but nothing was there. He flipped over to the left and thought he saw another shadow, but everywhere his flashlight stared was empty cave.
         Something hit his hand hard and the flashlight tumbled away and smashed to darkness against the cave wall. He fired twice, and with the last bright blast briefly saw Masterson's punch collide with his cheekbone. He hit the ground in a lump. Masterson found him quickly, jumped on top of him and clasped both hands tightly around his neck.
         This was how it ended. Alone in a cave on another world. He tried to squirm away, tried to punch and kick the physically enhanced dop, but he knew this was it. His face felt hot, the air blowing at him inside his breather was no longer necessary. He guessed that removing his mask wasn't enough to choke him--that breathable air must almost be available. Not that it mattered anymore. I'm sorry, Becky, he thought.
         Masterson suddenly loosened his grip. It actually even sounded like Masterson himself was choking. Had Taubner awakened to save Nash's life? He could breathe again, and he sucked in the breather's air, greedily. Nothing but Masterson's fingertips were touching his throat now, when suddenly, it felt like Masterson was vertically lifted off him.
         Amber light crept into the dark cave and revealed what had happened. Two metres above his head, Masterson was suspended by the neck by a thick green vine. The whole ceiling of the cave had become a network of densely woven greenery that had parted to allow massive yellow, undulating bulbs, about the size of a person, to gently illuminate the darkness.
         Nash looked over at the unconscious doctor, six metres away, then back at the bulbs.
         "I can hear you," he said. "If you can read my thoughts, too, you now know what you need to do." And Nash now knew what he needed to do. He woke Taubner and they went back to the ship.

***

         Nash opened the door to Cooper's office, but didn't enter. He smiled at the expression on Cooper's face.
         "You look surprised to see me." He pulled his gun from under his arm and pointed it at Cooper. "Masterson won't be joining us.
         "They told me, you know. The vines. They told me everything." He lowered his weapon and leaned against the doorway. "Rebecca discovered the bulbs in the network of vines in that cave and knew they were intelligent. The bulbs told her so. The bulbs told everyone in that cave. Unfortunately, that included eight instances of yourself: all who knew that intelligent life that choked on oxygen would end the entire Rudra project here." Nash studied Cooper's creased face and documented each change within it as singular emotions.
Fear.
Nash used the barrel of his gun to scratch the side of his head. He then used it as an incriminating finger with which to point.
         "Your dops," he continued, "don't agree on much, but they did agree that she needed to be silenced." Apprehension. "So you killed Becky--sorry, 'Rebecca'. She doesn't like me calling her Becky anymore. She's a young woman now." He lowered his gun again and stared at the speckled blood on the white floor tiling. His smile grew at the thought of her. His Chief was right. Nash shouldn't have come to the moon where Becky died.
         "Turn on your security video of the landing pad," Nash ordered.
         Cooper carefully turned on his monitor, watching Nash the whole time. The monitor glowed to life and Nash could see the inverted image being shown to Cooper. Vines were clutching the outer walls of Rudra, getting ready to consume her, or to squeeze her into nothing, or both.
         Despair.
         Cooper looked back at Nash. Hate.
         "You told me a story of your legacy," Nash said. "Now let me tell you mine. Years ago, a serial killer was on the loose. I spent all my energy and resources tracking him down and finally arresting him, but he wasn't like the other fugitives I had tracked. He was leading me on two paths, somehow. Long-story-short, he had created a dop and sent him out to confuse me. When his dop found that I was the one who had caught his creator, he found my sister and her husband and slaughtered them both. I was left to raise their little girl as if she was my own. Becky Barden. Rebecca." Fear. "She died so you could live forever."
         He shot Cooper in the face so he didn't have to read his expressions anymore. The gun dropped from his hand, but before it could hit white tile it vanished. Cooper's office vanished. Rudra vanished.
Nash was back in the park.
         The fog was starting to lift now. The swing set in the centre of it wasn't occupied anymore. Becky was standing in the grass, taking deep breaths and smiling. Nash got off the park bench and took a step forward, but before he could say anything or move closer to her, she waved at him and ran off into the haze. Gone, but finally safe.
Nash smiled, sat back down on the bench and watched the fog clear.