Memories and thoughts raced through my mind, then turned into fragmentary colored spots, and I fell asleep without even realizing it.
I woke to the sound of an opening door and rubbed my eyes. Sheila, who had not bothered to knock, was standing at the doorstep.
“It's time,” she said, and walked on.
I put on my shoes, splashed some cold water on my face and went out to the corridor. Everyone was already there. Apart from the expected fatigue, their faces showed discontent. We, astronauts, have never been treated this way. I stole a glance at Werner, it seemed that this whole time not only had he been standing in the same spot, but he’d also remained completely motionless.
“Follow me,” Sheila Hill commanded rather than asked.
We followed her in single file. I looked back and saw Werner trailing us like a shadow. This time we reached the door of a large freight elevator. There were twenty buttons on the elevator panel, the first floor button at the top. This means that we are underground, I concluded. Perhaps a military base? But why would they drag us here? I didn't notice which button Dr. Hill pressed. My attention was focused on my own face in the elevator mirror – it was as gloomy as the other crew members', with black circles under the eyes. I caught Werner's gaze in the mirror.
“Fell in love already?” I quipped. “Sorry, babe, I'm straight through and through.”
My joke fell flat, not a muscle flinched on Werner's face. Only Sheila cast a disapproving glance in my direction. I shrugged. The elevator stopped, and the doors opened.
The corridor in front of us was flooded with light. Its walls and ceiling were covered with decorative panels, most likely made of foam plastic. We proceeded to the left toward glass doors. When Sheila reached the door, she let us go ahead, then entered herself. Werner stayed outside. It was a conference room, somewhat similar to a small lecture hall at a university. Judging by its height, it occupied two floors of the underground facility.
The room housed metal-framed tables arranged in rows.
“Please sit down,” said the man at the lecturer's desk.
There were two people sitting there. The one who spoke and a balding man of about forty-five, who seemed vaguely familiar.
I sat in the second row. Boris took a seat next to me.
“I think terrorists blew up the ship, and we are in prison. They are looking for accomplices among the crew,” he whispered confidentially in my ear.
This was complete nonsense for sure, but I didn't exactly like Werner and his gun. Why was he here? Well, there's no use in guessing, so I just listened.
The first man – in his fifties with gray hair and short gray mustache – got up and began to speak.
“I would like to explain what happened to you, and it will be easier if you refrain from any comments for a while,” the man said, instead of what normally should have been a greeting. “This way I'll be able to tell you everything without getting swamped with premature questions. Okay?”
We all nodded with interest. He isn't going to torture anyone yet, I thought and looked at Boris. Apparently, the peaceful beginning did not convince him at all.