"Eagle eight one, this is Hotel Sierra. Over."
"This is Eagle eight one, is that you Chuck?"
"I guess you missed me, eh?"
"Chuck, I always fly with a wing-man I trust."
There came a moment of silence, then, "Thanks, Captain, I'm honored."
"Don't be honored—be good."
"You got it."
"Any news from Mare Orientale?"
"As you know, our people are watching it like a hawk, and as yet, it's all quiet."
"Chuck, have you ever been out here?"
"Never have."
"Remind me to bring you out someday. This view is off the charts."
"I'd like that, sir. Check your navs, I show you deviating from your course by point five-eight."
"How's that, Chuck?"
"Right on the money."
"The damn nav-comp is out of calibration. Who calibrated this last?"
"I don't know, but perhaps you should threaten to take him for a ride."
During the trip out, Cris and Chuck shared stories of their time in the war zone. Nothing heavy, just jokes and stories of good times with buddies. Later, Cris even managed some sleep.
Chuck woke him as he approached the area of operations. Cris sat up, rubbed his face and adjusted his harnesses.
"Chuck, this is Cris, you got me?"
"Roger that."
"Chuck, I'm coming up on Charlie Papa one. I'm switching back to manual—now."
"Roger, I show you on manual. Computer says you'll hit Check Point One in twenty seconds. Do you concur?"
"Roger, fifteen seconds on my mark—mark."
Fifteen seconds later, Cris made his turn, his targeting computer lining up his shot.
"Chuck, T-comp has me lined up and I am making my approach now."
Just as he spoke those words, his targeting computer went down. "Crap—Chuck I just lost my T-comp, I've engaged manual override. Reducing speed, maintaining heading."
"Cris, check your panel, do you have any other failures?"
"No, all other systems seem to be a go. I have released the probe's umbilical, probe's internal power at one hundred percent, system activated—now. Are you receiving telemetry?"
"Roger, reception is a hundred percent."
"Stand by for probe release," Cris removed the safety from the release button, and, watching his central monitor, he waited before he pressed it and announced, "Probe away."
On his reverse angle camera, he watched the probe carefully navigate itself into the crater. He pushed the throttle forward and sped away from the site.
"Launch of probe was successful. I visually saw it enter the crater."
"Roger that, we have it sixty meters down the shaft and in a controlled descent. Come on home, Eagle eight one, well done."
Five minutes into his return trip, Cris's com squawked again. "Cris, we seem to have lost the probe."
"Say what?"
"The data stream from the probe just stopped, we were—wait—ok, we have the data again—uh—let me get back to you. Out."
"What the hell is going on back there?" Cris asked aloud. Several minutes passed in silence when suddenly his T-comp came back on line. Without comment, he switched it off.
In his reverse angle cam, he could see that Mare Orientale was beyond the limb of the Moon now and out of sight. He had just taken his eyes off the rearview monitor when a bright flash erupted from beyond the limb and a beam of gradually widening white light shone upward like a giant searchlight beam.
"Cris, we just lost the satellite feed."
"Chuck, about five seconds ago I witnessed a flash, and now I'm looking at a really bright light emanating from Hohmann. Are you seeing this on your monitor?"
"Roger, we're recording all data your scanners are receiving."
"Outstanding."
"Cris, hold your station as we record the data."
"Roger." Cris stopped and hovered above the lunar surface, he pivoted the Eagle about so he could look in the direction of the light. This bizarre phenomenon lasted another six minutes, then it grew brighter, flashed, and was gone.
"Cris, did you see that?" Chuck asked.
"Oh, yeah, I saw it."
"The lab coats here are all atwitter."
"What's going on out there?" Cris was incredulous.
"Good question."
"Chuck, ask them if they want me to go back, make closer observations," Cris asked.
"Eagle, this is Mother Bird." Major Selina was obviously monitoring the net. "That's a negative, I say again—negative. Return to Hotel Sierra."
Upon his return, Cris made a beeline for the control room. Chuck was there waiting on him, all alone.
"Chuck, where is everyone?"
"They've relocated operations to dome forty in order to monitor the probe's telemetry from the science center, where they have the specialized equipment and computers. I have a jeep waiting for us."
Domes thirty-five through forty-four were part of the science center located on the western extant of the base, and now part of the classified area. This would be Cris's farthest westward journey inside JILL.
The trip out to forty seemed to take forever. The security checkpoints slowed them down even further. But at last, they joined Major Selina in the central data analysis lab.
The place was humming with activity. The lab coats were scurrying about all over the place, and a feeling of electrified excitement filled the air.
Cris walked up to Major Selina. "What's happening, ma'am?"
"It's your probe, Cris. At about one hundred sixty meters into the pit, it reported a rapid power build up all around it, then we lost the signal. When we got it back, just a few minutes later, it was reporting it was a hundred and fifty thousand light years away. Of course, they concluded that the probe must be malfunctioning, but repeated tests failed to identify any problem with the probe or its readings. What they believe now is that a form of singularity is opening and closing inside Hohmann crater and that the probe's signal can indeed reach us, instantly, as long as the wormhole is open. It opened again about fifteen minutes ago. Somehow, they believe the probe is indeed on the other side of the galaxy.
"See this guy coming this way? That's Doctor Hatcher. He's in charge here. Let's just give him a wide berth, he's very frustrated right now, his world just got turned on its head."
Doctor Hatcher was speaking fast with elevated volume, and moving from station to station. "Okay—let's assume this information is correct, I want temperature, humidity, and atmosphere analysis. I want to know the source of that light, and I want a spectral analysis of it. I want that image cleaned up, right now, Frank! This event could terminate at any minute, people; I want you to work like you think this is important!"
Cris leaned in toward Major Selina and softly said, "Interesting leadership technique."
The doctor, some three meters away, spun around on his heels, "Soldier, my hearing is extremely acute."
"I'm an Air Force officer, sir."
"Well, General, your comments and your presence are unsolicited and unnecessary."
"I'm sorry if my opinion offended you, sir. In future, I will ensure I am out of earshot."
"Just who the hell are you?"
"Doctor Hatcher," Major Selina intervened, "this is Captain Salazar, the young man who volunteered to go out there and launch your probe."
"Oh, well—thank you for that, seems the absolutely extraordinary has been discovered, thanks to you."
"What have you learned Doctor?" Cris asked.
"Captain, as you can see, we are deep in it just now. Once we have correlated some data, I'll brief the military. Now, if you'll excuse me." He bounded away toward a woman manning a computer console, shouting, "No, no, no, Denise, I need that in the infrared!"
Cris turned to Major Selina and said, saluting, "Ma'am, as I am both unsolicited and unnecessary, I think I'll go get a bite to eat."
"I'll call you, Cris, if there's news," she said, returning the sal
ute.
Cris then turned to MSG Allister, "Chuck, I'm going to go get some chow. You gonna stay?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"Just stay out of Hatcher's way," Cris said with a smile, and departed.
Cris activated his COMde and paged Specialist Thibodaux. Instantly, he got the response "Oscar Mike," meaning Ives was On the Move.
Ten minutes later, Ives pulled up, hopped out of his jeep and threw Cris a smart salute.
"That was fast," Cris commented, returning the salute.
"Sir, don't forget I am instantly aware of the traffic patterns and the fastest routes to any location within JILL. I'm a walking GPS."
"Just take me to the dining facility."
"Sir, closer than that is the Cafe sur la Lune, a four-star establishment. A bit pricey, but the food is—"
"Ives, I didn't bring my tux up here with me."
"Good point, sir. I believe you would have to be better attired to patronize the Cafe sur la Lune."
"The dining facility Ives, if you please."
On their way, Ives passed a large, public dining facility.
"Hey, Ives, I think you passed it."
"No, sir, that's one of the public cafeterias scattered about JILL. That one is reserved for civilian use only.”
"Really?"
"Yes, sir, it seems many civilians are uncomfortable around the military."
"Probably because we're doing the job they won't, and they know they depend on us, and they don't like that."
"If I may be so bold sir, it would seem you hold little respect for civilians."
"Each person is owed the respect they earn. I may be biased, but I think those few people who put their lives on the line for all the billions of those who won't are owed just a little bit more."
"Sir, I'm sure a person who disagrees with you could give you a good argument, but I am not that person."
The military's dining facility was a far cry from The Crater House, but still, it had to be better than eating those mission rations he'd had for his last few meals.
Inside, he was greeted by the soldier on head count duty. The soldier's E-pad read Cris's COMde and got his meal authorization number. The soldier then looked up. "Captain Salazar?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Sir, I heard about you saving those suits and your probe mission. You got some balls—er, sir."
"Well, thanks, Specialist," Cris said with a smile. He picked up a tray and moved through the chow line. A cook sporting E-8 rank came forward from a back room. "Captain Salazar?"
Cris looked up.
"Pleasure to see you again, sir. I was with the one-thirty-eighth at Tan Son Nhat. You like your eggs over medium."
Cris laughed, "Sergeant Washmen. Well, I'll be damned. As I recall, you fixed 'em over light, regardless." Both men laughed. "So you're an E-8 now. Congratulations."
"Yes, sir, despite the eggs."
Cris got his meal and sat down in a vacant booth. The food was great, the coffee top notch. He glanced up and noticed a lot of people looking at him. He checked the front of his uniform, thinking he had made a mess of himself, and then wiped his mouth with his napkin.
He was starting to feel self-conscious when a corporal walked up. "Excuse me, sir—everyone is looking at you because you're sitting in the enlisted section. The officers sit over there," he pointed to a section of the facility with larger tables covered with cloths and dining room-style chairs. There was no one in that section.
"I see," Cris said, "you guys want me to move?"
"No, sir, I just thought—"
"I'll bet this chow tastes the same here as over there, don't you, Corporal?"
"Yes, sir. Mind if I join you?"
"It's a free country—er—Moon. Have a seat."
Soon, he was sharing his booth with three other soldiers, laughing, and swapping stories.
Before he knew it, two hours had passed.
"—and as the Colonel stepped away from his Raptor, the nose gear collapsed—not surprising, because the nose had been shot off the aircraft." There was general laughter at Cris's story when his COMde alerted. The soldiers fell silent as Cris answered it. "Captain Salazar. Yes, ma'am." Cris tapped his temple, wiped his mouth, and said, "I gotta run, fellas."
Cris slid out and reached down to pick up his tray. The corporal stopped him. "I'll take care of it, sir."
"Thanks, Billy."
"Sir, you be careful."
"You too—all of you."
Ives got him back to dome forty at 23:37 hours. Inside, Cris was directed to a briefing room on the second level. When he entered, he noticed Lieutenant Colonel Bruckner, who was talking with a full colonel, no doubt Colonel Amar, the Group Commander. Major Selina was with a group of seven other officers. Cris presumed these to be the other squadron commanders. Present also were a couple of dozen lab coats, and of course Doctor Hatcher, who, upon seeing Cris enter, announced, "I see our star pilot is here. Can we begin now?"
Everyone took a seat. Major Selina indicated that Cris was to sit next to her at the long, oval table. Colonel Amar sat at one end and Doctor Hatcher stood at the other. The lights dimmed, and a huge holographic projection appeared behind the doctor. It was the Moon, and as they watched, their perspective was flown to a position directly over the Mare Orientale. They could see the rings of mountains Montes Cordillera and Montes Rook. Clear to be seen were the three large craters on the northern edge of the Mare, Lowell, Maunder, and Kopff. And there, just south of Maunder was Hohmann, now a dark, black hole.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Doctor Hatcher began, "what I am about to show you is computer generated, based on the telemetry our probe provided. This may stretch credulity, but it is, nevertheless, the data the probe provided.
"At 17:22 Lunar this evening, our own Captain Salazar, here, manually launched a probe into what we are now referring to as Hohmann's Well. The descent was flawless, then at one hundred fifty-eight meters, it began to detect a rapid buildup of energy coming from the very walls of the tunnel; the source of this power was generated at a depth of 1,971 meters. At this point, we lost contact with the probe. Captain Salazar observed a bright flash and recorded this." The video Cris shot now appeared. "You can see clearly the funnel of white light reaching up to an altitude of at least 2,000 meters.
"Thirty-seven seconds later, the probe re-established contact with us. None of us were surprised that the signal was emanating from the well. The shocker came with our reading of where the probe was telling us it was located, relative to JILL. The probe believes it is one hundred fifty thousand light years from here. Ladies and gentlemen, that's halfway across the galaxy. Images began to be received. We could not make heads or tails of them, but the computer was able to enhance a few." The images appeared on the monitor behind the doctor. "It's hard to see, but that appears to be a blue-green world with two satellites in orbit."
"Satellites?" Colonel Amar asked.
"By that, I mean moons. We estimate the diameter of that planet at about twelve thousand kilometers. In circumference, it's about forty thousand kilometers. Moreover, its mass is about six sextillion metric tons. The probe, somehow acting on its own, then circumnavigated the planet at an altitude of about fifteen hundred kilometers. The images sent back were too poor to be useful. This circumnavigation took just twenty-two minutes. Then the probe landed—softly."
As the doctor spoke this last word, he leaned forward and lifted an eyebrow. Not receiving the reaction he expected, he added, "This is extremely unusual, ladies and gentlemen. You see the probe was not designed for powered flight, reentry, or landing." This caused everyone to exchange glances. Though still a more subdued reaction than the doctor was hoping for, it was better than the blank stares he was getting. "The probe set down at about forty degrees of north latitude. It then transmitted this image."
The monitor now showed an incredible sight, a little blurred, but they were all looking at a lovely pastoral scene, what looked like trees, grass, blue sky, and small, white,
fluffy clouds.
"The probe's analysis of the atmosphere showed it to be seventy-eight percent nitrogen, twenty-one percent oxygen, zero point zero-three percent carbon dioxide—in short: air. This distant planet possesses a breathable atmosphere!
"In this next image, let me draw your attention to the upper right corner."
All could see some object, silver in color, but indistinguishable.
"Our computers enlarged and enhanced the object, observe."
The enhancement showed a sphere with a cone attached to it in the direction of travel, and two delta-shaped wings extending from the rear. The entire thing was silver in color.
"Then there was this," Doctor Hatcher spoke slowly with awe in his voice. The next image clearly showed a pair of hairy legs and bare feet, apparently humanoid.
"That was the last image; the probe went dead. It appears our probe, in a matter of minutes, crossed the galaxy to land on an Earth-like planet which seems to support a bi-pedal life form and a civilization advanced enough to build aircraft."
"Doctor," Cris spoke up, "can't we assume that the civilization put this wormhole here, and purposefully brought the probe there for some reason? Perhaps they wish to establish contact?"
"That's a bit of a stretch, don't you think, Captain?"
"Stretch? After what I've just seen and heard? Doc, look at that picture."
"The captain is right," Colonel Amar said. "Given this evidence, I believe it would be a mistake to underestimate this threat."
"Threat?" Doctor Hatcher was shocked at the use of this word. "Colonel, we have no reason to think—"
"Doctor, that last image appeared to be some creature attacking the probe."
"All the image showed was two hairy legs, no weapon and no attack," the doctor insisted.
Across a Sea of Stars Page 6
