She awoke to the sound of the ventilators in her spacesuit. Where am I? Julie thought. And then she remembered: she was in a cavern on Triton, and she'd just made contact with the alien artifact. But what had she—had she lost consciousness? Distant memories jangled in her mind.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice in her ear. The helmet comm: "Julie—can you hear me? Ron, I can't get a reading on her monitors, but I think she's alive."
Kim. Her supervisor.
Of course I'm alive. Why wouldn't I be?
"Her eyes are open!" Someone bending over her, hands shading her faceplate to cut the reflection. "She's breathing, I think. Julie, can you hear me?"
Can you hear me? The words drifted back, voices in her head:
Mission yet to fulfill . . .require your assistance, Julie Stone . . .
Assistance? What kind of—?
And as consciousness had slipped away, the voices simply moved farther inside . . .
. . .John Bandicut sacrificed everything to protect Earth . . . saved his homeworld . . .rogue comet . . .
"Julie!"
She started, flinching where she lay on her side, the hard casing of her suit digging into her shoulder and hip. "Yes. Yes! I'm okay; help me up."
The looming helmet moved away, and hands were lifting her by the arms, helping her to stand. And then she was on her feet, tottering, surrounded by a knot of her crewmates from exoarchaeology. Triton, yes. She was on Triton, in an underground cavern, bluish ice and a bit of rock, halogen lights shining off everything.
And it talked to me. The artifact talked to me. She struggled to remember . . .
. . .stopped the immediate danger . . .but may be other . . .
. . .other . . .
. . .other . . .
. . .require your assistance . . .
What kind of danger—?
"What happened, Julie?" someone was asking.
She shook her head, the bits of memory unraveling and disappearing. "Not sure. What did you see?"
She couldn't quite focus, didn't know who was talking. It was Kim's voice: "The object glowed. It appeared to be engaged in increased activity. You passed out. The activity continued for about ten seconds, then returned to normal. That's when we got to you."
Increased activity? She remembered the appearance of the artifact: a collection of black and silver spheres, seeming to twirl and move through each other, all balanced like an inverted pyramid. "Did you hear anything?"
Through the reflective faceplates, she couldn't see faces, but she could sense the puzzlement in the voices. "We didn't hear anything," Kim answered. "What did you hear?"
She shook her head. "I don't know." She stepped forward through the knot of spacesuited people—then, on a sudden urge, turned to look back at the object, the alien artifact. It had black and iridescent globes, not silver. The translator; that was what John Bandicut had called it. But she thought maybe it had said so, as well.
"Julie?" said Kim. "Can you tell us what happened?"
"I don't—" her voice caught, and she tried to recapture it. "I don't think so. Not just yet. I think I need some quiet to think about it." She turned to her right and was able finally to peer through the faceplate to see the eyes of her coworker. "Can we leave now?"
Kim's eyebrows arched. "All right," he said. "Let's go, everyone! Let's get Julie back to the rover!"
But as she followed Kim, trying to recapture the memories, the words and images could not be formed; thoughts and voices were whirling together like a storm in her mind, in her dreams, in her subconsciousness. So difficult to remember. Except for one phrase that kept recurring:
. . .something still out there which is trying to destroy your world . . .