Jessica and Celeste’s plane was landing in an hour. “Where’s my phone?” Ben demanded for the tenth time.
“Half an hour, maximum,” Müller whispered back.
Ben glanced at the CNN and MSNBC reporters, everyone’s eyes glued to the screens. Ben convinced Müller to let them in. Transparency builds trust, he’d said.
“We have images,” the woman from the front yelled out.
A star field popped onto the first screen. An automated computer software tool highlighted each of the specks of light, one by one, in blue for known objects. A few popped up in red, eliciting excited whispers, but each time a human astronomer checked the item off into blue. Nothing that looked like Nomad was in the first frame. The other screens filled with new star field images.
Again and again, the wall screens filled with images at higher and higher magnifications. Nothing. The same result. There was nothing in the images that shouldn’t be there.
Nothing but empty, black space where Nomad should be.
Nothing at all.
14
ROME, ITALY
“WE DON’T REALLY know what’s going on,” Jess’s father, Ben, said on the TV screen. “We don’t even really know if anything is there yet.”
Jess stuck her bottom lip out. “That’s not what he said to me.”
She arranged pillows around her on Angela’s couch. Her friend’s apartment was one long room with a kitchen area and dining table at one end, and a white L-shaped couch and flat screen television at the other. Four windows, looking down onto the alleyway below, lined the wall behind the television, and over the couch hung a large original artwork—an impressionist’s version of Phoenix rising done in yellow oil over white canvas. A small hallway between the living and dining area led into the bedroom and bathroom.
“Maybe the situation changed,” Celeste said from the kitchen area. She opened the refrigerator door. “Maybe that’s why he went to Germany.”
Jess flipped through channels: BBC, CNN, and MSNBC in English, then through the Italian channels. Sitcoms and soaps on many stations, but half covered the “event,” and more than half of those featured hysterical ranting.
“Doesn’t explain why he hasn’t called us yet.” Jess flipped back to BBC to catch the end of her father talking.
Celeste closed the refrigerator then opened the cupboards beside it. “Your friend doesn’t cook much.”
“She mostly uses this as a vacation rental,” Jess explained. “We’ll go downstairs to the market in a second.” A Breaking News headline appeared on the TV. “Something’s happening, come here!”
“We go live to the European Space Operations Center, where images from the Gaia orbiting observatory are now coming in,” the BBC anchor said. Images filled the screen behind him, of star fields. A box opened on-screen with a reporter’s face. “So far, researchers at ESOC have reported finding nothing at all in the vicinity of the supposed Nomad object…”
“You see?” Celeste walked over to Jess and put a hand on her shoulder. “Maybe it’s a false alarm.”
The commentators on-screen began arguing the same thing, one of them describing other ways to explain the reported discrepancy in Neptune’s orbit.
“Just because they can’t see it doesn’t mean anything.” Jess logged her laptop into Angela’s wireless, and checked her email again. Still nothing. She looked out the window. Getting dark. “Come on, if we’re going to hole up here, we need some food.”
Closing her laptop, Jess grabbed the keys and her phone, and they left the apartment. Outside, the alleyway was eerily calm, the warm night air pungent from garbage piled at the corner. The small market across the street—where Jess remembered going to buy wine on more than one ocassion at Angela’s—was closed. A bigger supermarket was a few blocks away, so they walked toward it, the street opening up onto the Piazza Navona, one of Rome’s most famous squares.
“Wow.” Jess and her mother stopped at the edge of the piazza.
She wasn’t sure what to expect. They entered the square from the center of the west side, in front of a large fountain topped with an Egyptian obelisk. Crowds filled the cafes and restaurants lining the piazza, candlelight glittering, tableware and plates clinking between the murmurs of conversation echoing off the five-story buildings lining the square. People walked by in groups, some pushing baby strollers. As if nothing unusual was happening.
And nothing had happened.
Not yet.
“Over there.” Jess pointed at a lit sign in an alley on the other side of the square, Desparo. “That’s the store.” It looked open.
They crossed the square, past the fountain’s splashing and bubbling water. Street vendors tried to sell them plastic replicas of the fountain’s obelisk, glow-in-the-dark Pantheons, and wind-up helicopters with LED lights that winked and flashed as they spun into the sky. Squealing children chased the helicopters across the cobblestones. A sense of unreality flooded Jess; she felt like she floated across the square.
Reaching the store ahead of Jess, Celeste grabbed a basket by the entrance. “What do you feel like getting…?”
“Whatever we can.” Jess pointed at the shelves inside. Empty.
The man at the checkout, balding and wearing a black apron, shrugged.
But not quite empty, Jess discovered as she walked inside. The refrigerated and freezer aisles were still half-full, and cans of tinned vegetables remained at the backs of shelves.
“We’ll make do.” Celeste filled her basket. “Look, here’s some pasta, sun-dried tomatoes…”
“Cash only, yes?” said the black-aproned checkout man behind them.
Jess turned. “Why? I’ve used credit cards here before—”
“The boss told me, cash only.” The man shrugged. “And the cash machine”—he pointed at an ATM at the corner of the shop—“it’s empty.”
Jess’s faced flushed. What stupid kind of…“How the hell are we supposed to—”
“I’ve got some money,” Celeste said quietly, holding Jess’s arm. “It’s okay.”
“Idiots,” Jess muttered under her breath. She returned to scavenging the shelves.
They paid, the checkout man withering under Jess’s glare, and walked back across the piazza.
As they passed a restaurant terrace filled with people, a man got up, swearing, and fell over, crashing into the table next to him. Clams and pasta flew into the air, followed by the shattering of glass and plates. Instead of apologizing, the man got up and swore at people whose table he wrecked. The man he shouted at stood and punched him square in the mouth.
Jess watched two waiters join the patio brawl. She grabbed her mother’s hand and urged her on. “Come on, let’s move.”
Some patrons scattered, screaming, but others watched and laughed. Jess looked closer at the faces of people she passed, at the strain in their eyes, the white knuckles of the woman pushing a baby stroller next to her. A man sitting on the fountain wobbled, drunk past his senses. Barely past eight p.m., but half of the restaurants now looked closed. Beneath the veneer of normality, a quiet desperation filled the eyes of people she passed.
She checked her phone. Still no messages. Dammit. Why hadn’t her father called yet? She quickened her step, pushing out irrational thoughts. Why had she cancelled the flight? They’d be in New York by now. Hurrying down their alleyway on the other side of the square, she fumbled with the keys and then opened the huge metal front door of Angela’s apartment building.
“Slow down, Jess,” Celeste said as she followed Jess inside. They climbed the stairs. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
The overhead light was out on their landing. Almost pitch black in front of their door. Jess swore under her breath and pulled her phone out to use its light to find the keyhole. Pushing the door open, she let her mother in first and stepped in behind her, reaching to turn the light switch on. She tried to shut the door.
It wouldn’t close.
Clicking the interio
r lights on, Jess grabbed the door handle to open and shut it again, wondering what was wrong, when she saw a foot jammed in the bottom of the door. What the…?
The door flew back into her. She wobbled on her prosthetic leg, almost falling. Her mother grabbed her. Two men in long coats and hoodies filled the open door, the sour tang of alcohol wafting in ahead of them.
“The apartment’s not for rent,” Jess said, thinking maybe they were looking for somewhere to stay. People sometimes came knocking. The place was listed on a few websites.
But they didn’t look like tourists.
Her martial arts training kicked in automatically. She stood, using one arm to push her mother behind her, placing her good leg back and prosthetic forward in a fighting stance.
“We no want to stay,” the taller of the two men said in broken English. He smiled a mouthful of yellow teeth and pulled down his hood, revealing greasy black hair. Something came from his pocket. It snicked open. A cruel blade glittered.
“Take...take whatever you want,” Celeste stuttered from behind Jess.
The tall man laughed and nodded at the man behind him, who stepped into the apartment, unfolding a large carryall. In it he tossed Jess’s backpack and laptop from the couch, and Celeste’s carryon from in front of the TV. He disappeared into the bedroom.
“What do you want?” Jess stood defiant as the tall man advanced on them.
At least twice her body weight, and strong, judging from the size of his shoulders. Still, she could drop him; duck down and one shot into his groin, then an uppercut into the throat. She eyed the glittering blade, gritted her teeth.
“Jess, don’t…” her mother whispered.
“No trouble.” The tall man held his knife wide. “Okay?”
Her skin crawling, Jess tensed. The tall man came close and used his free hand to pat her down. He took her cell phone, keys, purse, then did the same to Celeste. He backed up.
Thuds from the bedroom as the smaller man rifled through it, then he went into the kitchen area, piling things in his arms. He did a quick sweep, and not finding much, returned to deposit what he had into the carryall. He zipped the bag up and shouldered it.
The tall man backed up two more paces, the smaller man exiting the apartment behind him. “See? No trouble.” He turned to leave.
Their cell phones, their wallets, her laptop—they took everything. They’d be stranded. Red flashed before Jess’s eyes, and without thinking she jumped forward three steps and grabbed the man’s hand holding the knife, twisting the wrist at a savage angle. The knife fell from his hand, clattered to the ground. The man dropped to his knees and cried out.
Jess swung around him, jamming the door shut, twisting his arm further.
Something snapped.
The man screamed.
“Mom! Lock the door!” Jess yelled as she twisted further.
Roaring, the man grabbed Jess with his other hand and tossed her against the wall. She cracked her head, the impact knocking the wind out of her. He was too strong. There was no way she could control him. He threw her back on the couch, while the smaller man shoved his way back in through the door, a knife now in his hand.
The tall man advanced on Jess. She kicked at him, and he grabbed her leg and pulled.
Jess felt a suctioning pop, and her prosthetic leg came free. The man stumbled back, shocked, looking at the leg in his hand. He waved it in the air, looked back at Jess, and then smiled. Tucking her leg under one arm, he stooped to collect his knife with his good hand. “Now we have everything, yes?”
“No!” Jess screamed. “Give me my leg back!”
The man laughed and pushed his partner out the door ahead of him.
Jess jumped up from the couch and hopped to the door on one leg. “No, please,” she pleaded. “You don’t need that.”
The men disappeared down the stairs, and Jess jumped after them, using her hand to steady herself on the walls. She screamed, begged them to give it back. Celeste followed behind Jess, imploring her to stop.
Reaching the bottom floor, Jess hopped to the front door, exiting just in time to see the men getting into a car. “Stop!” she yelled. “Someone, help!”
She blinked and looked at the man driving the car. Pork pie hat, and was that a mole on his cheek?
Enzo?
The car pulled off.
Celeste ran behind Jess, steadied her as she balanced on one leg. It had started to rain, making the cobblestones slick. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”
“Why did he take my leg?” Jess cried, tears coming, mixing with the rain running down her face. Who would do something like that?
Behind them, the apartment door swung shut. Realizing too late, Celeste let go of Jess and jumped to try and catch it, but it banged closed. She tried to open it, but it was locked.
“It doesn’t matter.” Jess shivered in the rain, balancing unsteadily. “The door upstairs locks by itself, too.” A putrid river flowed from the pile of garbage to the drain by the one foot she stood on. They had no money, no phones, and no shelter.
Her mother came back to help her, and Jess put one arm around Celeste’s shoulder.
She looked down, bile in the back of her throat.
They stole my leg.
15
DARMSTADT, GERMANY
BEN ROLLINS STARED at the six wall-mounted displays in the ESOC control room, image after image of star fields appearing and then disappearing. Nothing. Absolutely nothing where Nomad should be. After three hours, the room had nearly emptied out. Ben sat beside Roger and Dr. Müller, in the front row of chairs on the raised viewing platform behind the operations teams. A skeleton team of media remained on the chance something might appear.
But it didn’t.
And neither did Ben’s laptop or cell phone.
“If it’s a black hole, wouldn’t we see gravitational lensing?” Dr. Müller mused.
In theory, a black hole’s gravity should bend light passing close, like a cosmic bead of water lensing starlight around it. The black hole itself would be invisible, but there would be a telltale shift of starlight if it were there.
“Yes and no,” Ben replied. “A black hole of ten solar masses has a Schwarzschild radius of thirty kilometers.” The Schwarzschild radius was the famed “event horizon” of a black hole, where the escape velocity exceeded the speed of light. Beyond that boundary, all of our physics and knowledge became useless, so this boundary became the commonly accepted “size.”
“From twenty billion kilometers,” Roger added, “too small to see.”
Dr. Müller looked at Ben. “So it’s smaller than we thought. We should update the media.”
Ben gritted his teeth, his patience far since worn out. “If you want another word out of me...” Jess and Celeste had been on the ground in New York for two hours already. They must have seen his face on TV by now and know that he wasn’t on the airplane behind them.
Dr. Müller nodded. “Let me check again.” He stood. “Sorry, the network security team was overwhelmed today.”
Ben clenched his jaw and watched Dr. Müller wind his way out of the room.
“He does have a point.” Roger nudged Ben, pointed at the star fields on the screen. “Something that big, even at this distance, with Gaia’s instruments we should be seeing microlensing. That’s what you asked me to look for around Gliese 445, right?”
Ben nodded. Microlensing meant a tiny shift of intensity in the light coming from a star. A small black hole—small relative to the millions-of-solar-mass ones at the centers of galaxies—wouldn’t be big enough create a fish-eye kind of lensing. It would only shift some of the light away from the observer, making a star it passed in front of appear to twinkle. Teams around the world were processing Gaia’s images, looking for this signature, but it was maddening work. Every star had some small variability.
The door to the control room opened. Dr. Müller’s face appeared. He motioned for Ben to come to the door. “I have your equipment.”
> Ben looked at Roger and shook his head. “Finally.” They stood and walked to the door, exited into the hallway.
“Here you go. There are instructions for logging into our imaging network” Dr. Müller gave them a folded sheet of paper along with their laptops and cell phones. He pointed down the hall. “I’ve reserved room 304 for your use.” He looked at Ben and pursed his lips. “Your emails and calls will be monitored. It’s the best I can do.”
“Great.” Ben grabbed his stuff and stalked off without looking back. He opened the door to room 304. Not more than twelve-foot square—two cubicles with workstations, and a gray couch next to the entrance with a flat screen TV on the wall beside it.
Ben turned on the TV and tuned it to CNN, while Roger opened his laptop to log into ESOC.
“You getting the feed?” Ben asked.
Roger held up one finger, waiting for the connection, then nodded. The newest images from Gaia loaded up, and bright pinpoints of starlight spread across his screen. They were linked into the satellite data feed from Gaia, as well as a dozen other ground-based and orbiting observatories connected to Darmstadt.
“Perfect.” Ben sat at the workstation to Roger’s right and opened his own laptop.
Roger looked over his shoulder at the news feed on CNN. “The riots stopped in LA. Maybe you helped. Maybe Müller knows what he’s doing.” He pointed at a headline scrolling across the TV’s display.
Ben glanced at it, then returned to logging into the ESOC wireless network. “Doubt it. People are in shock, acting emotionally. Random outbursts. To be expected.”
“Expected? You think this was expected?” Roger cocked his head and stared at Ben.
“Not Nomad, that’s not what I mean.” Ben typed in the password taped to his laptop. “I mean, through the magic of modern media, we’ve just told seven billion people that they have months left to live. Like we’ve told everyone on the planet they have terminal cancer. Classic seven stages of grief, starting with shock and emotional acting out.”
Nomad Page 9
