Mary wasn’t skilled at hiding her emotions. Her face grew dark as sadness washed over her. “I’m 17 but not like other teenagers. I can make my own decisions. Besides, if you send me home now, won’t that raise flags with Dad and Esther and the people at Titanius?”
An incoming message alert chimed, but Kate ignored it while she considered Mary’s point. Then, nodding over at the comms panel, she said, “They’ll want an update on the survey data.”
“Yeah, you gonna tell them anything?”
The chime persisted, so Kate pulled herself up and hit the video feed button. Stan’s grey face appeared. “How are things?”
He sounded different, under stress.
Kate put on her professional voice. “Hey Stan, it’s getting there. We’re looking over the new data now and I hope to get you results from other surveys we’re doing tomorrow. Can you wait that long?”
There was an odd echo on the comms link. She heard her voice reflecting back to her. Kerchunk.
Stan typed and peered into another monitor before returning his attention to her. “Well, okay, I suppose there isn’t much choice. But you will have something for us tomorrow, correct?”
“Sure, day after at the latest.”
He stopped typing and leaned in closer to the screen. “God’s teeth, Kate, you’ve got to figure this out fast. The pressure’s on, and the lunarsat’s gonna be checking out your survey area. Folks are skittish as hell ‘cause this has never happened to you before. They think Titanius is deliberately hiding something.”
“I’ll do my best.” A pause. “Stan, there’s one more thing I’d like to ask.” She looked over the comms panel at Mary, sitting wide-eyed, mouth agape, across from her. “Are there any friendly transports nearby?”
He checked another screen and replied, “The Aristobulus is about ten hours away. Why, you need something?”
Mary shook her head once, her eyes pleading.
Kerchunk.
Kate bit her lower lip and closed her eyes. “No, just curious about the traffic. We’re good. I’ll send you data as soon as I can. Promise. Lunar Lab out.” The feed disconnected.
The tomographic image of the anomaly refreshed on the monitor and she saw what Mary had been talking about. The resolution still sucked, in Mary’s words, but compared to the previous survey, it was high definition. After her comms with Stan, Kate realized there would be even more attention on them unless she threw them a bone of some sort.
But this wasn’t it.
“See it now?” Mary circled the area on the screen with her pinky finger. “It’s not a huge object, but the density there is different, much less than the outer shell.”
Kate closed her eyes. “There is a way to determine material composition if we ran another survey even tighter. But I doubt we’d have time.” She looked down at her notes on her indie-comm. “Still, I’m convinced this thing is hollow. At least in this section. Almost like a living area for some oxygen breathing creature, wouldn’t you say?”
Mary scratched her head. “Well, the VLF charts show other anomalies in the vicinity, but they’re much deeper than this, and naturally-occurring. There’s likely mineral potential, but I don’t understand enough about that. Still, I believe this little area is hollow.”
The image flickered and refreshed again as more data became available. The change in density remained in a semi-circular shape, although the lack of resolution affected Kate’s confidence in what they were actually seeing. This was not space trash. The anomaly dimensions suggested that whoever built this thing—this craft—they made it for space travel in vacuum and through atmospheric conditions. Whatever it was, and wherever it came from, the small ship in the Mare Marginis had landed and, for now, lay dormant.
“The heat sig data shows nothing,” Mary said, pulling up a second screen. The craft’s perimeter was a monochromatic deep grey. No EM or radiation of any kind.
Shit.
Kate rubbed her eyes and glanced over at her. “What are you smiling about?”
Mary laughed. “Just that no one back home will believe this!”
“Yeah, well, we’ve got bigger problems like how the hell we’ll keep this info from Titanius or the TSA or anyone else. That’s a ship out there, Mares. An alien ship. And the only aliens encountered so far were the Rossians.”
She stood up and waved an arm at the electronics bench. “Is your antenna functional yet?”
“I have to finish installing the feedline connector.”
Kate sat at the comms panel and pulled up the master screen, the one with the key commands. The radio button with A/V OVERRIDE beside it lit up when she pressed it with her thumb. Now, she’d blocked all incoming and outgoing transmissions.
Unless you operated outside Titanius’s network.
She stared at a real-time image of the Earth’s near side on the global monitor, showing the western hemisphere in full view. “Finish you work. Let’s call your dad.”
Thursday, June 12, 2092
San Francisco, California Congressional Republic
Atteberry
Muted sunlight pierced the cirrostratus cloud cover, bathing Atteberry’s living room and kitchen in an ethereal glow. He sat in a shadowed corner of the breakfast nook, a steaming mug of coffee in front of him, and scratched his beard, missing his daughter in a way that no thought could ever come close to capturing. He smiled at the notion of the English professor at a loss for words.
The modest urban house was too large and too empty with Mary gone. Atteberry understood she’d leave soon enough for university or one of the private training schools, and her internship on Luna this summer forced him to realize how close that day was. His little girl, now 17 . . . where did the time go?
He recalled the morning last March when Esther pinged to discuss the posting with Titanius. At first, he fought it and would never give Mary permission to leave. But after talking it through with her—and no small pressure from Esther—he saw how much she wanted the experience and could not hold her back. Plus, having his good friend Kate there allowed him to sleep better at night.
He picked up his coffee and a book and padded out to the living room. Sunlight streamed in, and Atteberry fell into the safety of his sofa. He opened the book to where he left off, but after reading the same sentence a few times, he knew his mind was elsewhere.
Then he realized why. The soft light melted the edges off the corners in the room, hanging like a veil . . . the same glow he remembered the morning after the Mount Sutro Tower collapsed when he, Esther, Mary and Kate returned to the house.
It was the last time he’d seen Kate Braddock.
After a short breakfast, Mary had gone to bed, leaving Kate, Esther and Atteberry alone at the kitchen table, not saying a word to each other. He and Kate had believed the Rossian ship was on its way to Earth at faster than light velocities. Esther wrestled with the shock of losing a colleague and the inevitable aftermath of her own actions in the affair. She fussed about interviews coming, and disciplinary action being taken. Coverups ordered, no doubt.
But that was then.
He regretted the early romance they shared never developed because of what now seemed a ridiculous reason: a disagreement over the Ross 128 signal and the subsequent events. He believed that everyone’s responsibility was to share all information with the world, and Esther felt the TSA should purge everything connected with the ship from all databases. It became a hell of an ongoing argument. In fact, they’d avoided each other during the investigation until neither called the other, and the relationship withered from opposing views and pride, and at last, neglect. Atteberry felt as if he’d missed an opportunity but hiding the truth about Ross 128 was impossible. Yet, he still had Mary and her health to worry about, and Kate’s support was solid. Or so he thought.
She’d left for her apartment that morning, exhausted, saying something off-hand like I need to go . . . he couldn’t quite recall. And then she disappeared: no note, no letter of resignation at the college,
no forwarding address. Nothing.
Atteberry sipped his coffee, picked up the book again, and read. Before he finished the first paragraph, his indie-comm pinged from the kitchen. Initially, he ignored it, but the signal continued. He closed his book and wandered into the room. The device sat there blinking on his countertop.
“Hello?”
The noise on the comms link was unlike anything he’d heard before on conventional phone networks. Static crashes, the kind produced by solar flares, crackled in the background and the binary tones of teletype sang at some weird offset frequency. It was as if he was listening in on the ham radio HF bands.
“Hello?” he said again. Local interference, perhaps? He hadn’t noticed it before.
Then a weak, distant voice floated in over the noise. It sounded ghost-like and hollow, and he couldn’t tell if the speaker was male or female, or whether the link was for him. He adjusted the signal input.
“Jim . . .? Jim, do you read?”
He strolled back into the living room. “Yes, it’s Atteberry. Who’s calling?”
Static noise.
“This is Atteberry. Is anyone there?”
The indie-comm pinged again. The device had detected a request for encryption mode. Odd, how could . . .?
Then he realized.
The only person he knew who could piggyback a security code on a call outside the normal phone networks was Kate. Something must be wrong. He pushed the ACCEPT button on the indie-comm’s screen.
“Kate is that you?”
“Yes, yes, Jim! Me and Mary.”
The signal strengthened as the static died down under heavy filtering.
“Where are you?”
There was a two second delay before Kate replied, “We’re on the . . . lab . . . there’s a . . . not sure of the origin . . .”
“Kate, you’re in and out. Say again.”
“Jim, can you . . .”
The interference was back, and the noise crashed in Atteberry’s ear. It was impossible to hear anything. After another thirty seconds of static, he picked up an utterance sounding like Mary’s voice.
“A-one . . . A-one . . .”
Atteberry frowned. The only A-one he knew was the transmission mode signifying the old Morse code, or more to the point, the deliberate on-off keying of a continuous wave. The indie-comm had a push-to-talk button on it used for remote applications. He engaged it and tapped out dah-di-dah several times, the letter K signifying “go ahead”.
When radio band conditions were poor, often the only signals to get through were codes because it was possible to miss letters yet understand the gist of a message. Mary knew the Morse code, that ancient, original digital mode of communicating, because he’d taught it to her. They sometimes sat at the dinner table tapping out conversations to each other over salad and spaghetti. She must have realized the difficulty with the voice transmission and taken over from Kate.
He grabbed a pencil and a small notebook he used for grocery lists and waited for Mary to return the signal.
He didn’t have to wait long.
Mary and Kate on Luna. All fb—found something—Kate says a ship—ross 128—ross 128—ross 128—K
Atteberry’s mind raced as he read Mary’s message again. FB meant “fine business”, ham speak for “everything’s good”. That’s a relief. The question bothering him was why the Rossian vessel went to Luna instead of Earth? Why?
He tapped back:
R R—ok Mary—r u sure abt ross ship? in danger? K
Seconds dripped by like minutes as he awaited Mary’s response. His heart raced and beads of cold sweat bloomed on his forehead. Then:
R—fb dad—no danger—no danger—Kate says they r hr—they r hr—on Luna—
Without warning, the signal ended. Atteberry waited several seconds, but there was nothing more, not even static. He tapped back di-di-dah-dah-di-dit, the code for “question mark” but in this context, he was asking if they were still there.
Nothing.
Di-di-dah-dah-di-dit
Pause. Then again.
Di-di-dah-dah-di-dit
The comms link died in a jumble of static.
SEVEN
Katie
Katie sat on the rock-hard bed in her dorm snarling at Gwen, one of the overseers, perched on the chair on the other side of the room. “I don’t care about this program or anyone else. I just want to go home.
The young red-haired woman maintained her smile, but Katie saw the tightness creep around the corners of her lips.
“Katie, this is the most important training school in the country, if not the entire world, and you were picked out of millions of others to attend. Your parents understand how serious this is, and that’s why you’re here. They’re doing this for your future.”
She folded her arms and stuck out a belligerent lip. “Let me call my dad.”
Gwen sighed and leaned forward. “Sorry, honey.” Then she shook her head slowly. “I hate being the one to say this, Katie, but you’ve left me no choice.”
“What is it?”
She hesitated as if searching for the right words. Something about the quiet expression on her face was odd. “When your dad dropped you off for the Aptitudes in September, he made it very clear on the information sheet that he didn’t want you home. Too much trouble, apparently. We even double-checked.” Katie’s eyes widened. “I’ll show you the sheet.”
Katie reeled, like someone kicked her in the stomach. Tears welled up, but she choked them back in an act of defiance. “That can’t be true. You’re a liar.”
“Happens more often than you think. The Center is full of kids whose parents have abandoned them for whatever reason. That’s why we’re a family, why we care after each other and stick together.” She bowed her head. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way, Katie, but your parents won’t ever be coming back for you. Your mom and dad simply don’t want you.”
Kate
“The antenna connection must be shot,” Mary said. “I’ll go check.” She still wore her envirosuit from the Yagi beam installation on the lunar communications tower. On the equipment shelf, her helmet aired out.
“Never mind, contacting your dad was a mistake.” Video of the Mare Marginis recorded by the orbiting lunarsat played on the computer console. The images were several years old but still comprised the most recent high-resolution shots of that limb area. “Ditch the suit, if you wish.”
Mary hesitated, confusion spreading on her face.
Kate grunted. “Let’s check the connector in the morning.”
“Sure.”
She struggled out of the envirosuit, racked and slid it back to the power bar, then joined Kate at the console. She disconnected the indie-comm from the remote cable and shoved it in the recharger.
“Why do you say it was a mistake to tell Dad about the alien ship?”
Kate fidgeted; concern shadowed her face. “Didn’t think it through.” The Mare Marginis video looped around again. “He’ll need to talk to someone, won’t he?”
Mary ran a hand through her hair. “Well, yeah, you know what he’s like. Couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it.”
Kate raised an eyebrow.
Mary laughed. “Okay, that may be an exaggeration, but he shares everything he learns, everything he finds. When it comes to information, he’s an open book.”
“That’s what frightens me.”
Mary glanced over at the comms panel. “Should we unblock it again?”
Kate sighed and scratched her fingernails over her flat chest, her mind wandering off to the time Jim first heard the alien signal and immediately shared it with the astronomical society. Most laughed him down, but not everyone.
“Kate?”
“Yeah, sorry. Bring ‘em online.”
The screen to disengage the A/V OVERRIDE flicked on and Mary hit the switch. “No need to spook Stan, right?”
Kate sat up and paused the video loop. She fussed again about Mary’s well-be
ing and doubted the decision not to send her back on the Aristobulus. It wasn’t too late. But Mary would have none of that, and more importantly, a whole lot of questions would arise about the object on the eastern limb. She reckoned her ops skills were damn solid, but strategically, the question of what to do remained unanswered.
“What’ll he do now that he knows about the Rossians?”
Mary smiled and shrugged. “Not sure. After that night when Janet blew up the tower, he was pretty quiet. Well, more than quiet. Went into some kind of neural depression, but looking back now, it’s clear one of the big reasons he moped around was you taking off.”
“I warned him I’d look after myself first.”
“Doesn’t matter. He said you betrayed him.”
Kate squirmed.
Mary continued. “Yeah, he was in a strange place, trying to have a relationship with Esther but still in love with my mother.”
“I remember.”
She hesitated and looked away. “And then there was you.”
Kate’s heart leapt into her throat and her cheeks flushed. “What are you on about?”
“It’s no secret how well you two got along, is all I’m saying.”
Kate recalled those days on campus at the City College. She and Jim hung around a lot, going for lunch or coffee at the cafeteria, taking extended walks through the grounds . . . but Mary raised something other, something more.
“We’re good friends, that’s all.”
Mary scrutinized her with a disbelieving smile. “I’m no expert on this, but I’d swear Dad was really in love with you, not Esther. Only he didn’t see it.” She smiled. “Neither did I at the time. Oh, you and I talked together about boys, remember? Esther and I did too.”
A wave of panic washed over Kate, and her mouth dried up and stuck closed. Her tongue suddenly felt clumsy, and way too big. She stared at the console without seeing anything, her mind drifting back years ago to that time when Jim worried himself sick over whether he could raise Mary on his own.
Echoes In The Grey Page 5
