fix them. In this place, a broken lock was more than an inconvenience, it could be a matter of life and death.
“I’ve disabled it. Temporarily.” She deftly adjusted something inside the lock panel then fixed the cover back in place. To my relief, the soft glow immediately returned to the screen. “I’ve finally figured out how to reprogram palm readers, but not this one. The technology has sure advanced. Is it programmed with your handprint?”
“Mine and another woman’s who used to live here with me.”
She tilted her head, regarding me with interest. “Where did she go?”
“Disappeared. Shortly after our landing here.”
She stared at me for a bit longer. “You need to tell me everything.”
“WHAT’S YOUR NAME?” Svetlana asked, sitting on one end of the couch in our cabin.
I took two cups of freshly brewed coffee out of the food station compartment. “Nadia.”
“Are you Russian?” she asked, switching from English to Russian.
“My parents were,” I kept speaking Universal.
I hadn’t spoken the language of my parents since they’d passed away. Generally, when talking about work, using Universal was so much easier for me. It didn’t matter what language either of us spoke anyway, since we both had our translator implants.
I handed her the cup, and her dark-brown eyes lit up with delight.
“Mmm.” Through her nose, she drew in some of the steam that was rising from the cup. “Coffee... How I missed you!” She took a small sip then closed her eyes, a blissful expression spreading across her face. “This must be the most amazing invention of the past fifty years—the food replicator.”
“Um...” I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to recall all technological advancements of the past half century. “There have been quite a few more.”
“I’m sure there have.” With a sigh, she swept the cabin with her gaze. “How long did it take you to get here?”
“Two months. Approximately.”
“Fast. It took my team nearly a year.” She took another sip of her coffee.
I tried to imagine what it would feel like for Svetlana to have the world as she knew it gone.
“Did you leave a family behind?” I asked softly. “Friends?”
“Not many.” She heaved a sigh. “Colleagues, mostly. I suppose all of them would be gone by now. Their work surely contributed to the progress of the past fifty years.” She glanced up at me. “That was what mattered most to many of my team—to leave our mark on the scientific world.”
Talking with this woman, who was born many decades before me yet looked just a few years older, made me feel like time travel was possible. Though, it remained unclear who exactly had time travelled in our case. Had Svetlana moved ahead into the future? Or had I slid back into the past.
Probably both. Time hung suspended inside the Dark Anomaly, allowing for the meeting of the future and the past.
I took a seat on the opposite end of the couch.
“Are you with the Earth Space Coalition, too?” she asked, regarding my suit with interest.
The colorful patches of sponsor logos shimmered with a metallic sheen all over my arms, legs, and torso. Compared to the old plain-white Coalition uniforms, my outfit was more decorated than a Nascar driver’s racing suit.
“No.” I fingered one of the patches that had been molded into the fabric on my sleeve. “After your disappearance, the Coalition stopped their exploration of this part of the Galaxy. All countries’ governments refused to finance it. Our expedition was sponsored and outfitted by the private sector.”
She frowned. “Did it have any scientific purpose at all?”
“Mostly commercial,” I admitted.
“Then you are...”
“Not a scientist.” I took a long drink of my coffee. It had cooled off a bit by now, warm enough without scalding. I inhaled the pleasant aroma, savoring it. “My mission was to produce a movie. Except that I haven’t filmed much while being here,” I huffed a short laugh.
There were no regrets in me for not collecting any footage at all other than whatever had been recorded automatically by the onboard cameras of the ship. Most of what I’d seen here so far would be horror-movie worthy. I wouldn’t wish to relive any of it other than the moments with Wyck, and those were too private for others to see.
“A movie?” She gazed at me, confused. “For entertainment?”
“A documentary, of sorts.” More like a reality TV of the past, if I were to be entirely honest with myself. “Something of commercial value for our sponsors.”
“And how were you supposed to get the movie to them?” She