“Fair enough,” Dante said. “But if we can’t use the thrusters, we can’t control the direction of the fleet.”
“If we leave RCS on autopilot, you’re right,” Amato said. “But what if we manually operate the thrusters? Nudge the UMOs in the direction we want to fly instead of fighting them.”
“That might work close to Earth, but not in deep space. The comms delay will make it impossible to make quick course adjustments,” Dante said.
Amato rose from the table. “Well, I, for one, am not giving up. If we lose the fleet, so be it. We’ll build another one and try again in a few months.”
“Are you sure?” Dante asked.
“I’m sure. Go ahead and reactivate CUBE-1’s RCS, but set it on manual. Use the thrusters to guide it back to the Alpha orbit, but don’t power up the VLF engine yet. I want to have a little chat with our NASA guests before we risk another run-in with the UMOs.”
Conference Room B
A3rospace Industries Command and Control Center
Mayaguana Island, The Bahamas
After making calls to alert controllers at the Johnson Space Center and Goddard Space Flight Center, Pritchard and Brock discussed CUBE-1’s encounter with the UMOs while waiting for an update from Amato.
“What’s your opinion?” Pritchard asked as he paced the room.
“I don’t know where to begin,” Brock said. “I’ve never seen UMOs behave like that.”
“Me neither,” Pritchard said. “What do you think attracted them so quickly?”
Brock, seated at the conference table, shook her head from side to side. “Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is Amato said the probe didn’t have any X-ray instruments onboard.”
“Not only that,” Pritchard said, “CUBE-1 was too low in the ionosphere. The UMOs wouldn’t have noticed any active X-ray instruments at that altitude.”
Over decades of run-ins with UMOs, NASA had learned the beings were sensitive to high-frequency electromagnetic radiation, most notably X-rays, and in some cases, gamma rays. Unfortunately, NASA had learned this lesson the hard way. The UMOs had swarmed and destroyed several deep space probes outfitted with X-ray spectrometers and X-ray generators that were in use when the attacks occurred.
Yet, with one exception, there had never been a UMO attack on a spacecraft with active X-ray equipment in Earth’s orbit. And that exception occurred high in Earth’s magnetosphere, tens of thousands of kilometers above CUBE-1’s position.
The reigning theory for the disparity in behaviors centered around ion concentration. In environments where ions were abundant, such as in Earth’s ionosphere, the UMOs exhibited a markedly lower sensitivity to X-rays. But, in environments with low ion concentration, the reverse was true. Thus, CUBE-1 should not have attracted more than a smattering of curious UMOs in the ionosphere.
“Could they have been attracted by Amato’s propulsion system?” Pritchard asked. “After all, the UMOs gathered quickly after the engine was turned on, and they disappeared just as fast when the engine turned off.”
Rolling a ballpoint pen between her fingers, Brock said, “It seems the obvious link, but without knowing how the engine works, I can’t explain why it would have lured so many, so fast.”
“They called it a VLF engine,” Pritchard said. “VLF as in very-low-frequency radio waves?”
“Could be,” she said. “But VLF waves are very prevalent in the ionosphere. I can’t see why an engine that somehow uses VLF waves would stand out to the UMOs. If Amato will let us talk with Kiera, maybe something will jump out.”
Pritchard sat down at the table. He stared off into space while Brock continued to speak.
“But maybe it had nothing to do with the engine. Might be related to other instrumentation or their comms. Although, Amato said they used S band,” Brock said.
Brock’s point was related to another research finding on NASA’s part. The space agency had discovered the UMOs were drawn to X-band antennas on spacecraft, antennas that transmitted and received super-high-frequency radio waves. This finding had led to a series of experiments whereby NASA broadcast SHF waves back and forth between satellites outfitted with X-band antennas. Through these tests, NASA had learned they could gather large groups of UMOs, but again, the broadcasts only produced the effect in Earth’s magnetosphere or beyond, not in the ionosphere.
“What we need,” Brock said, “is access to Amato’s data…and the specs for his propulsion system…or a talk with Kiera.”
Pritchard continued to stare into space.
“Dennis?”
“Huh?”
“I was saying we need to get Amato’s data.”
“Oh, right,” he said in a near-mumble.
“What’s wrong, Dennis? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Brock said.
An apt observation, Pritchard thought. “Sorry, I was thinking about the VLF engine.”
“What about it?”
“For some reason, it made me recall the last message we received from Cetus Prime. The mention of a VLF antenna.”
“Yeah. So?”
Approximately eleven weeks after communication was lost with Cetus Prime, a garbled message had been received by NASA’s satellite tracking network. It took weeks to recover a portion of the transmission, an eight-second splice in which Mission Specialist Christine Baker had said the words, “VLF antenna…don’t know…taking us.”
At the time, the Cetus Mission Control team interpreted the antenna reference to mean the crew had fashioned a VLF antenna as an alternative method to communicate with NASA. But Pritchard now wondered whether Christine was saying something else entirely.
Pritchard reminded Brock of another bizarre feature of that final message. Its point of transmission had been over two hundred million miles from Cetus Prime’s last known position. Putting two and two together, Pritchard said, “I was thinking of the kick in speed the UMOs gave CUBE-1, how they took control over its direction…”
Brock frowned at Pritchard, but then her mouth fell open. “Oh my, I see what you mean. But is that possible?”
“I don’t know, but it sure puts a premium on getting access to Amato’s engine specs, wouldn’t you agree?” Pritchard sighed. “Sadly, I doubt he’ll part with the specs without an exchange of information.”
“About the UMOs?”
“Exactly.”
“So, what are we going to do?” Brock asked.
“Sidestep it as best we can. See what he’ll reveal without crossing the—”
Pritchard’s comment was interrupted by a knock on the conference room door.
When Amato entered, he first apologized to Pritchard and Brock for the runaway CUBE-1 and told them his team was preparing to redirect the spacecraft out of harm’s way.
“Appreciate the update, Augie,” Pritchard said. “I think we’re okay. Houston has eyes on it now, though it took a while for them to find it given how fast it’s moving. From what they tell me, it doesn’t appear to be a threat to anything we have in orbit, thankfully.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Amato said, sliding into a chair next to Pritchard. He retrieved a handkerchief from his suit pocket and dabbed his forehead. “We’re fortunate it wasn’t worse.”
“Is the probe salvageable?” Brock asked.
“We think so, but we won’t know for sure until we turn the engine back on. It’s possible it was damaged,” Amato said. “Which raises the elephant in the room.”
“Oh?” Pritchard said.
“Yes,” Amato said. He folded the handkerchief and placed it on the table. “UMOs. We haven’t discussed them in a very long time, Dennis, but if we’re going to help each other, we need to talk about them.”
Pritchard removed his eyeglasses and examined the lenses for smudges. “Unfortunately, we can’t.”
The answer didn’t surprise Amato, although Pritchard hadn’t delivered the answer with a great deal of conviction. He seemed almost apologetic. “That’s disappointing to hear, Dennis. It will
make things tougher for the both of us.”
“What we can talk about is bees,” Pritchard said, guiding his eyeglasses back into place on his face. “Honeybees, to be precise.”
“Okay,” Amato said. “Have either of you seen honeybees behave like that before?”
“Helen?” Pritchard said.
“Um, no,” she said.
“All right. Do you know what caused the honeybees to swarm?” Amato asked.
“They didn’t swarm,” Brock said.
“Excuse me?”
“That wasn’t a swarm. If it had been, your, um, CubeSat would no longer exist.”
“Then what the hell would you call it?” Amato asked.
“I don’t know,” Brock said. “It’s a first. May I ask a question in return?”
“Yes, of course,” Amato said.
“I’m not privy to the intricacies of your CubeSat engine design, I know it’s proprietary, but I heard the acronym VLF used several times today,” Brock said. “Is that VLF as in very-low-frequency radio waves?”
“Yes. Why?”
“What can you tell us about the engine? How does it work?” Pritchard asked. “It might help us understand why the honeybees were attracted to CUBE-1.”
The questions were not unreasonable, Amato thought, but he was reluctant to engage in a one-sided conversation. “If I tell you about the engine, will you share your thoughts on what precipitated the UMOs, excuse me, honeybees to go after my CUBE?”
“I don’t mean to be rude, Augie,” Pritchard said, “but I really can’t get into specifics. The honeybees are classified. But you could do us a huge favor, help us solve a decades-old mystery, if you’d tell us about the engine. Does it produce VLF waves using a VLF antenna?”
After a fruitless parry and thrust in which Amato tried a few more approaches to elicit insights from Pritchard and Brock, and the NASA executives tried to probe Amato about the VLF propulsion system, Amato offered a compromise. “Why don’t we do this. Why don’t you send me a list of specific questions when you get back to D.C. I’ll review the questions with the team and get back to you within a week or two with answers. If there are questions I’m uncomfortable answering, I’ll tell you so up front. In return, I’ll send you a list of questions we have. You consult the powers that be about declassifying your answers where possible. Same drill up front regarding questions that are off the table.”
“Hmm…I don’t think that’ll pass muster with the Pentagon,” Pritchard said. “Let me think on it.”
With an impasse reached, the meeting ended. Amato used the conference room phone to arrange for one of his security personnel to drive Pritchard and Brock to the airport and then he escorted his guests out of the command center.
As they stood outside the waiting car, Pritchard said, “I’m sorry your launch didn’t go as planned, Augie. For what it’s worth, I think your Mission Control team did a fantastic job. I’m sure they’re disappointed the probe failed, but it wasn’t their fault.”
“Thank you, Dennis,” Amato said, shaking Pritchard’s hand, and then Brock’s. “I will share your praise with them. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”
“By the way,” Pritchard said, “what do you plan to tell your team about the honeybees?”
“Why, the truth, of course,” Amato said. “I’m not one to bury my head in the sand.”
Pritchard frowned. “I’d advise against that, Augie. Strongly. Could stir up a lot of trouble for you.”
Amato thought of the Callisto radio signals and replied, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
7: FLY ME TO THE MOON
A3rospace Industries Command and Control Center
Mayaguana Island, The Bahamas
July 21, 2018
The Mission Control team stood in a ring around Dante, their faces bearing a mix of expressions. He turned around in a circle to gaze at his colleagues. Behind them were others with blank stares. To Dante, they seemed caught in an impenetrable fog. And there were a few, including Ajay, standing back from the main group, with frowns dripping with skepticism.
The scene brought back memories of Dante’s brief stint as a high school football player. His team was awful, and by halftime of any given game they were losing by double digits. And every time, they’d gather in the locker room for a pep talk from the coach before heading out for the second half. Some players were into it, growling and howling as the coach dished out cliché after cliché. Others bowed their heads, towels draped around their necks, examining the grass stains on their uniforms with vacant eyes. And there always seemed to be at least one person rolling his eyes, smirk on his face, throughout the coach’s cheesy rah-rah speech. Most of the time, that person was Dante.
As he finished his turn, he thought, what goes around comes around.
“So, I know you guys want to talk about yesterday,” Dante said. “About the lights, about what happened, about where things stand.”
The inner circle nodded with enthusiasm. The second-tier zombies remained locked in trances. Ajay smirked and crossed his arms atop his scrawny chest.
“Well, we’re going to talk about all of it. A little now, more later,” Dante said. “So, first things first, the lights.”
Ajay unfolded his arms and pointed at Dante. With bulged eyes and a paranoid tremor in his voice, he said, “Don’t church us, bro. They ain’t lights, they’s aliens.”
Dante had fully expected an outburst from Ajay at some point. He’d done nothing for the past twelve hours but corner anyone who would listen to him and proclaim the balls of lights as aliens, or so Kiera had told Dante.
Whether intended or not, Ajay’s cringy urban slang broke the tension among the group. Laughter spread, stirring the zombie contingent awake. Kiera joked, “Somebody go get his crown, Elroy’s in the houuuse!”
Even Dante laughed. He waved Ajay to step into the circle with him. He put his arm around him and said, “Yes, Elroy, you’re right. They’s aliens.”
More laughter ensued as Ajay raised his fists high above his head and danced. “I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!”
Dante watched the group chatter among themselves, occasionally stopping to tease Ajay or egg him on. One by one, they began to settle down, wiping away tears of laughter, smiles on their faces. When the last of them fell silent, Dante said, “They’re called unidentified magnetic objects, or UMOs.”
Eyes blinked. Smiles vanished.
“They’re an electromagnetic life-form, I’m told. They eat ions. They were attracted to CUBE-1’s engine…”
For the next ten minutes, the team listened with rapt attention as Dante described the UMOs, including his and Kiera’s theories of how and why they took control over CUBE-1. He avoided all mention of Cetus Prime, lost Martian probes and Callisto. When he finished, all eyes and ears remained locked on him.
“That’s pretty much all I know,” he said. “Other than this: Mr. Amato is determined to go forward with the fleet test, which means we’re going to run into the UMOs again. Which also means we’re going to have to learn how to deal with them, coexist with them, if we want the fleet test to succeed. I don’t know about you, but I feel up for the challenge.”
The final comment produced a smattering of nodding heads. Dante asked, “Any questions?”
The instruments and control officer, Norris Preston, asked, “Are they intelligent?”
“I’ve been told they behave like bees,” Dante said. “I don’t know if you’d consider bees intelligent or not, but as we saw, the UMOs are capable of coordinated activity, so they obviously have a way to communicate with each other. How much of that is instinctual versus intelligence is anyone’s guess.”
“Has one ever been caught? Are there pictures of what they look like up close?” asked Lila Tang, the flight dynamics officer.
“No, not that I’m aware of,” Dante said.
“How do you know all of this?” Ajay asked.
“Mr. Amato,” Dante said.
“And how does he know?�
� Ajay followed up, paranoia creeping into his voice again.
“I believe he intends to address that over a team dinner tonight aboard Rorschach. You’ll have to wait ’til then for an answer,” Dante said. He turned away from Ajay and addressed the full group. “Which reminds me. All of this is one hundred percent, lockdown confidential. Mr. Amato’s counting on us to keep this a secret. He’s already reminded me of my confidentiality agreement; I’m sure he’ll do the same with each of you.”
“Where is Mr. Amato?” Kiera asked.
“He had other business to attend to this morning,” Dante said.
“The NASA people didn’t seem surprised by the UMOs, so they obviously know about them,” Ajay said.
“Yes, they do,” Dante said.
“But they’re covering it up,” Ajay said. “Just like Roswell. Just like Callisto.”
Dante couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Any more questions?”
When none were offered, Dante said, “All right, then. Job one today is to find out where we’re at with CUBE-1. Now that we’ve got it back to rally point orbit, we need to find out what kind of shape the engine’s in, which means turning it back on.
“Assuming it’s operational, we’re going to run real slow at first, a whisper above idle, and observe what happens. If the UMOs show up, and I’d count on that, we’ll try different experiments to see if we can maintain control over CUBE-1. RCS autopilot will be disabled; thruster control will be manual.
“So, I need everyone on their A game. Eyes open, heads clear. If you spot anything squirrely in your data feeds, and I mean anything, pipe up right away. If all goes well, Kiera will post a new launch schedule for the rest of the fleet later this afternoon.”
Ajay chimed in. “And if it doesn’t go well?”
“Then we’ll all get drunk over dinner tonight and start over again tomorrow,” Dante said. He turned to look each team member in the eye and then commanded them to take their stations. “Time is now 0832. Countdown for CUBE-1 VLF MES begins at 0900.”
As the countdown clock on the main screen neared one minute, Dante spoke into his headset microphone, “FAO, at T minus ten seconds, count us down.”
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