ARIA

by Geoff Nelder

  Ryder was surprised at the speed the technician was handling and manipulating the case. It struck him that the idiot was either an exasperated maverick or being paid by an outside agency to get a quick result. He had to wake Teresa. If anything was going to happen, it would happen soon.

  “This had better be worth it,” she said.

  They both returned in time to see the technician remove his gloves.

  “No. The idiot,” Teresa said.

  “It had to happen sooner or later,” said Ryder, excited and defensive at the same time.

  Teresa banged the table. “But there could be contaminants.”

  “All the tests have been done. Anyway, there might have been a time limit of some sort. What’s he saying?”

  “There is a vibration when I stroke my finger on the case. It feels warmer yet we know the temperature is the same as the air in here.”

  Teresa’s hand covered her mouth. “My God, he’s handling it with no gloves.”

  “I’m curious about the vibration, so I’m putting the movement sensor back on the case. No...Like before, it’s not picking up anything even though I can sense it with my hand. What does that mean, guys?”

  “Who’s he talking to, Ryder?”

  “Other techies, I suppose. Do you think the vibration is generated somehow in his hand because he’s organic unlike the movement sensor?”

  “What? Ryder, he’s going to pass his hand through the logo. Ah, that did it. A seam has appeared in a red colour.”

  “Shush.”

  “The vibrations have increased and a dark orange medial line has appeared around the sides of the case. I’m going to lift my hand. Yes, the line disappears. I’m putting it back. Yes, the line has reappeared. I’m putting my fingers on either side of the case to see if it will lift—hey!”

  And so, at last, the case split. It appeared to be animated, opening as if triggered and now under its own volition.

  The mouths of Teresa and Ryder opened in time with the case.

  The technician had taken his hand away and stepped back, but the case continued to open. The screen opened another window displaying digital readouts, but none of them indicated any emissions from the case.

  The technician manoeuvred. “There are solid blocks...green-lilac colour...Trying to remember where I’ve seen a colour like it. I know, it’s like the supernumerary rainbow colours you sometimes get inside a primary bow. I’m going to pass the mobile sensor array over them.”

  “At least the idiot’s not going to grab them with his bare hands,” said Teresa, clenching her fist.

  “Give him another minute and he will,” said Ryder, alarmed but pleased that the quarantine period had been circumvented.

  “No reaction,” reported the technician. It wasn’t quite accurate: a suited security man appeared on-screen and manhandled him away.

  Teresa slumped back in a chair. “Well, that’s that.”

  “The case is still open. Ah.”

  The security man reappeared then closed the case.

  After another hour, the screen went blank.

  Saturday 18 April 2015:

  London.

  MANUEL’S ID SHOWED ON RYDER’S SCREEN.”Are we connected again, buddy?”

  “So relieved to be in touch, Manny. What happened?” Ryder tweaked to transmute the screen snow to a meaningful image.

  “You weren’t the only one watching our renegade techie unwrapping the present.”

  “Stop teasing. I guessed he wasn’t doing it just out of scientific curiosity.”

  “The man, Second Engineer Tipless, had a supplementary income from The New Fortean Times, and he’s still being debriefed.”

  “I bet he is. I’m not getting a picture, Manuel.”

  “Well, this Tipless guy infringed a billion procedural regs–”

  “I mean I’m getting voice—no images.”

  “—so, no info is supposed to get out at all, Ryder, buddy. I’m doing a spot of infringing with this audio uplink.”

  “I get it, Manny. No visuals for fear of getting your neck stretched. Tipless opened the case and breached containment forty-eight hours ago. Where’s the case now?”

  “The incident sent shivers down NASA’s straight backs, so it’s been shifted, by jet, to Goddard. It’s in a more secure lab. Say, Ryder, isn’t your sister big at Goddard.”

  “You know how to pick your words. I blame your damn American donuts.”

  “Ha. What I meant was that the pressure’s off me to sneak these feeds to you.”

  “And I’m hellish grateful. Before you go, Manny, what’s going to happen to Tipless? Besides interrogation?”

  “Went with the case to Goddard.”

  “Changing tack, are you and Sheila back on an even keel?”

  “Sheila ran off to her mother’s. Two witches in one cauldron. Signing off, Ryder, before I change my mind and let her back in.”

  “Sorry to hear you’ve split up, Manny. Take care.”

  Eager to see what Goddard Space Flight Centre was doing with the case, Ryder buzzed his sister, even though she’d deny knowing anything, except what the space crew was eating.

  “I’m really busy, Ryder.”

  “Custard gone lumpy?”

  “It’s the best way in space or as a gel. Is that it?”

  “I wondered if you could get me patched through to the alien-case investigation, Karen, dear sister.”

  “On your bike, Ryder. You’re always trying to get me sacked.”

  “It’s about time you had a holiday.”

  “The directorate is remarkably relaxed about that case. Tipless is still in detention. One of my staff has seen him to fill out a diet-need e-form.”

  Ryder smiled. “Do you mean a menu?”

  “He was bewildered.”

  “As in couldn’t decide between mash and fries or didn’t know his name?”

  “He knew his name, job, history all right, but he had no idea why he’s in custody. He even thought he was still at the Dryden labs in Edwards and expected to return to his own lab-bench routine this morning.”

  “Shock does strange things,” Ryder said.

  “True. Maybe he’s blocked the recent truth to keep his sanity.”

  “Or, if I was a cynical copper, Karen, I’d suggest he’s playing dumb to protect someone else.”

  “His entire motive was greed; his bank account overflows with newspaper money. But he might’ve flipped. Gotta go, bro. Love to Teresa.”

  “Yep, and to yours, Karen.”

  RYDER FLICKED THROUGH recent NASA photographs while he waited for the web-cam window to leap into life. Teresa had wanted them to go for a pub dinner but, because Ryder wouldn’t leave, had to cook instead. He’d hoped she’d have been understanding, but the cacophony from the kitchen denied it.

  He never doubted that Karen would try to get him patched in. But as time drifted, he worried that the pre-emptive activity of Tipless, instead of precipitating the investigation, would fudge it. Politicians might get involved. He groaned. He’d met Caroline Diazem, the President, at a rally. Her arrogance was such that nothing about the case would be released to the public unless the aliens gave her a glorious endorsement.

  The waiting reminded him of his childhood weekends. Ryder’s father was a teacher in order to spend long holidays trekking. Friends were impressed knowing that Ryder had been the world over, peering over the planet from mountain tops every weekend. But the reality was a distant mother, who preferred her Surbiton wine circle to base camp. Rock scrambling over the Peak District scarp slopes was brilliant, but waiting your turn in the cold drizzle at the bottom of a near-vertical cliff drained all Ryder’s enthusiasm for the sport. On the other hand, it gave him time to listen to his digi-media player; music and Hitch Hikers’ Guide to the Galaxy.

  Ryder’s childhood recollections disorientated his concentration; his shoulders drooped, then jolted back when the web-cam window burst into bright light.

  “Teresa, we’re in.” But
she’d gone to bed, leaving him a plate of sausage sandwiches for dinner.

  He called Derek O’Connor at his Imax TV studio again and got the answering machine. “Derek, even if you’re not interested in this piece of history taking place, I’d like the studio to record my link, so don’t erase it, yeah?” This would give Ryder a back-up beyond his own equipment at home. He could put it on the web, but he might find himself incarcerated in the public interest.

  A sudden movement on screen caught Ryder’s eye. A technician had ambled in front of the case. He wore a white lab coat but no biohazard suit.

  Ryder’s pulse raced when he realized the sound was off. Oops, too loud. The speaker filled his room with laughter. Not just an embarrassed, I-shouldn’t-be-here giggle, but raucous belly busting.

  Another voice joined in. “What about the one I want to die like my grandfather, happy and in my sleep, not in terror and screaming like his passengers.” Both technicians fell about in derision as if there was no mystery case in there with them. To Ryder’s amazement, the off-screen joker walked in, straight up to the case and waved his hand over the logo. His eyes widened when it opened.

  For the first time, Ryder had a clear view of the strange-coloured blocks inside.

  Ryder was hoarse shouting to Teresa, who strolled in rubbing her eyes.

  “Bloody hell.”

  “Exactly.”

  Teresa slumped in an armchair. “Security’s bound to charge in at any moment.”

  Ryder stood with excitement. “He’s trying to lift one of the blocks.”

  “They’ve already tested for toxic emissions, yes?”

  “Not finished. There’s no radiation or gases, though their temperature is a degree above ambient.”

  “So something’s happening in there.”

  “Producing laughing-gas, apparently.” Ryder turned his head toward the faint buzzing from the next room. “Is that my mobile?”

  Teresa couldn’t take her eyes off the screen. “You left it in the bedroom.”

  Ryder ran before it rang off. “Hey, Manuel, exciting stuff.”

  “Yeah, we’re about to test a prototype data-gatherer into the sun’s corona.”

  “Why’s that, Manuel? Did the one last week fail?”

  “Sorry, Ryder, what are you talking about? I can never tell when you’re teasing. Anyway I assume you want a pass?”

  “Manny, I was there for the Corona Discovery launch, but NASA sent me back to the UK when the case arrived. Remember?”

  “What case, Ryder? Oh, never mind, everything’s going nuts around here. Head’s killing me. I’m desperate for some sleep. Sheila kept me up all night—you can guess, eh? See ya, Ryder.”

  Mystified, Ryder sat hard on a chair. It was unlike Manuel Gomez to get so confused. It was his extraordinary organisational abilities that kept him in his job at Edwards. Perhaps he’d had a few too many. But then what was that about his fiancée, Sheila? He’d split up with her last time they talked.

  Teresa’s excited voice broke through. “Ryder, come and see this.”

  There were so many technicians and security people milling around in the lab, the case couldn’t be seen.

  Ryder contacted Karen at her home in Washington.

  “Hi, Ryder. Hurry up, Brother, dear. I’ve to get some mince for our tea.”

  “Good God, Karen, never mind the shopping, what’s happening in the lab?”

  “Which lab, Ryder?”

  “The one with the case from Dryden—there’s unprotected people all over it.”

  “Really? What case? How’s Teresa?”

  “I’ll get back to you, Karen. Bye, and take care.”

  He wished he could’ve seen her, but she must have been using her wristwatch-phone.

  “I wish I’d talked to her instead,” Teresa said.

  “Why? She’s obviously been infected with something relating to the case. Just because you talk about kids and clothes…”

  “Idiot. It could be her confusion is just tiredness.”

  “There’s the ultra-rational biologist coming out in you, Teresa. Been on any psycho courses lately?”

  “Don’t need to. I live with a real, live nutter, don’t I?”

  “I suppose the crowd of people in the room was a mass-hysteria effect?”

  “You don’t know what decisions had been made higher up, do you? They might’ve determined there’s no back-contamination issues, no putative organisms floating around and so withdrew the access restrictions.”

  “How likely is that?” Ryder raked his fingers through his hair as if it helped nearby brain cells.

  “Fair enough. I would keep it secure for a month. So would you, but we’re not there. Perhaps you’d better try Derek again to see if his contacts can be alerted to the situation.” Her hand went to the plate. “Hey, you ate my sandwiches. Right, I’m throwing together a spag-bol.”

  RYDER RANG DEREK. “It’s about the situation at Goddard and maybe at Dryden.”

  “That’s where you and Manuel Gomez had a freebie trip wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, Derek, but there’s a developing problem.”

  “In what way, Ryder?”

  “The case that the astronauts sent back from the ISS appears to be affecting technicians who have been up close to it.”

  “Who exactly?”

  “Manuel, Tipless—the technician who opened the case–”

  “That’s two, who else?”

  “My sister Karen. She works at Goddard, and the worrying thing is that she’s not been near the case but mixed with staff who have.”

  “And what’s the developing problem with these three individuals, Ryder?”

  Ryder paused, tapped his fingers on his desk as if it was a miniature piano. Distraction therapy to calm himself down in case Derek thinks he’s losing it. “They’re acting strange and forgetful.”

  “Like someone not a million miles from here. Ryder, you’d be worried about your sister. Maybe your creative imagination is getting the better of you.”

  “Derek, just allow the possibility of something going awry because of the artefact found on the space station.”

  “Go on.”

  Ryder knew he could appeal to Derek’s self-importance. “You’ve met NASA’s chief administrator, Robert Keefo.”

  “So?”

  “Could you get on to him? Let him know there appear to be problems with staff conn—”

  “No way, Ryder; three reasons. One: don’t you think he would know already if there were problems with his staff? Two: he wouldn’t thank us for interfering in what’s just your warped mind. Three: you’re not supposed to be spying for us. Brief me with an update tomorrow.”

  Ryder had to leave the call empty-handed. At least he wasn’t told to abandon what he considered to be the biggest news item ever—even if he was the only one to think so. It could be that Manuel, Karen, and the techies were just overtired, confused, or intoxicated with excitement. If it was more than that, then it would be more developed at Edwards, maybe with the technicians who handled the case. Ryder banged his fist on his desk, making his cup rattle as he realized it was too late to ask Manuel for their phone numbers.

  Wednesday 15 April 2015:

  The day of the arrival of the case at Dryden Laboratories, Edwards Air Force Base.

  IT WASN’T EVERY DAY Jack Balin was told to put an alien suitcase onto the lab-specimen table. Even though he wore the anonymity of a biohazard suit, he beamed at the privilege. He couldn’t wait to tell his wife, Irene. Payback after all her carping on about his low technician’s pay. It would be sweeter still when he gathered his stepchildren to tell them. Eddie, who at thirteen, absorbed and magnified any snippet of space news. Debbie, a hardnosed cynic at nine years old would say, “boring,” but her eyes would deny it. Of course, he shouldn’t tell them anything, but it was too hard not enriching their evening mealtimes with sneaked information when the fireman next door filled his kids with incinerating awe every day.

  He couldn’
t leave the lab area until reporting the slight leak in his biohazard suit to his shift super. Nothing unusual, and it would be patched for the next time, again. He nattered to the evening cleaning crew as he jotted perfunctory answers on a clipboard. In his outside clothes, he sauntered down the corridor where the smell of fresh coffee drew him into the staff room.

  “Hey, Jack,” called Ken Hardman, from a corner table. “Bring your coffee over here.”

  “Can’t stop, Ben, bus leaves for Rosamond in ten.”

  “Well, between slurps, Jack, how heavy was that case? Tony here reckons it must be full of Russian stash.”

  Jack joined in the laughter. “Too heavy for any of you guys.” They knew he mustn’t talk about it, even though he was going to at home. Maybe it was a tinge of guilt making his head buzz.

  He drained the coffee and nodded at the dozen colleagues before heading on down the corridor. Hurried footsteps made him turn to see his supervisor.

  “Jack, glad I’ve caught you. Come in two hours earlier tomorrow, can you? Overtime rate?”

  “Sure.”

  Jack reached the exit and he chatted to a guard for a minute as he signed out.

  With his shirt sticking to his back in the Mojave Desert heat, Jack caught the bus to his hometown of Rosamund. By the time he disembarked, his head hurt real bad, and he’d no idea what he’d done that morning. He kinda knew he should have been celebrating something. Heck, it was damned hot.

  Shaking his head and stirring his legs into action, he convinced himself he’d be all right with a drink and a lie down at home.

  Just in time he remembered it was his turn to provide the family meal, obliging him to call in at a KFC. The queue shuffled amiably enough. The wallpaper music masked the fuzziness in his head.

  He was dizzy by the time he tumbled the paper bucket full of battered chicken and fries onto his kitchen table. He grabbed a glass and wouldn’t talk until he’d filled it with water and swallowed it. Through the distorted bottom of the glass, he saw his wife Irene holding a salad ladle up.