Skywave

by K Patrick Donoghue

  “I understand, but there could be an explanation for that,” Amato said.

  “Enlighten me, because I don’t see one.”

  Amato looked away. “Never mind. It’s not worth fighting over. If you can track down the people you need, I’ll consider it.”

  “No. Hold on a minute, Augie. Don’t give me the brush-off. I want to hear the explanation.”

  “The crew, Paul. If they survived until they landed on Callisto, they are long dead, and once they landed they would have known they were going to die. They set up the beacon in the hopes the ship might one day be discovered. They probably stripped out the ham radio, wired it directly into the batteries, insulated the hell out of both and cut the connections to everything else. It was eventually covered in ice, but something happened within the last couple of years to shake the ice free. An asteroid strike. Tectonic activity. Who knows? But enough shook free to allow the solar panels to collect enough power to recharge the batteries.”

  “Well, let’s find out if you’re right. I don’t see the harm in trying,” Morgan said.

  “No, you don’t, but I do,” Amato said.

  “Where? Where’s the harm?”

  “I don’t like the delay it might cause for CUBE-2’s mission,” Amato said. “Every second we’re in orbit risks a UMO encounter with the fleet, and I don’t want to lose the chance to get as much data as we can as quickly as we can.”

  “Okay, fine,” Morgan said. “A compromise — let me try to round them up. If I can’t get them here in time, or if we can’t make a connection before CUBE-2’s ready to jump off, we’ll try Cetus Prime afterwards.”

  Amato looked at the clock on his computer’s menu bar. CUBE-2 was set to begin its spiral in eight hours. “When do you think Hector will be here?”

  “Realistically, twelve to fifteen hours,” Morgan said.

  “And how long do you think it will take your team to find out if a connection is possible?”

  “Given the comms delay back and forth, a few hours. Our options are limited assuming they didn’t repair or replace their other antennas…which I think is unlikely. But we’ll try all bands anyway. You never know. Once they landed, they might have tried to fix the other antennas.”

  “Which means pushing back CUBE-2 a full day,” Amato said.

  “That sounds right.”

  “And even if you get in, it may take days after that to pull out any data.”

  “Hopefully not, but that’s certainly a possibility.”

  “In that case, CUBE-2 goes in as planned,” Amato said. “But go ahead and assemble your team. We’ll try connecting with Cetus Prime after we analyze CUBE-2’s data.”

  Two hours later, Morgan was en route to Orlando to pick up Bobby Davenport and Don Chu. Meanwhile, Hector Jimenez had just arrived at the San Diego International Airport to catch a chartered plane to Mayaguana. In Mission Control, Dante, Kiera and the other members of the SatFleet team were in the process of maneuvering the fleet, save CUBE-2, out into geosynchronous orbit directly above Nuada.

  The countdown clock on the Mission Control wall screen showed five hours, thirty-six minutes until CUBE-2’s onboard computer would trigger Dante’s spiral flight plan down into the crater. About halfway into its descent, the probe’s infrared spectrometer would activate and begin scanning. While Amato was concerned about the UMO risk in authorizing the use of the spectrometer given the fleet’s odd encounter in the asteroid belt, he wanted as much data as he could get about the topography of the crater, the alien structure and Cetus Prime.

  Throughout the descent, the still and video cameras would capture images. As it neared Nuada’s walls, CUBE-2’s flight program would expend a final blast of the thrusters in the hopes of slowing the probe enough to get ten to fifteen seconds’ worth of quality video of the inside of the crater before it crashed.

  Restless with anticipation, Amato paced the length of Rorschach’s hangar bay. Inside the ship, Ajay sat in the commander’s seat, watching Amato walk back and forth in between his daydreams of Jupiter.

  Outside, out of earshot of anyone inside Amato’s command and control center, the drone of a distant airplane could be heard above the sound of ocean waves. As black dots began to fall through dusk’s gray clouds, large trucks rumbled toward the compound’s gates.

  Minutes later, an alarmed voice flowed through the headsets of all in Mission Control. “Flight, INCO. We just lost signal with A3I-TDRS.” Within seconds, the room went pitch dark.

  18: FIGHTING IONS WITH IONS

  A3rospace Industries Command and Control Center

  Mayaguana Island, The Bahamas

  November 1, 2018

  As soon as the backup generator restored power, Amato headed for the hangar elevator with Ajay following close behind. Mark appeared on the catwalk above Rorschach and yelled, “Mr. Amato! There are soldiers outside! They’ve surrounded the building.”

  “What?” Amato said, stepping back from the elevator to look up at his assistant.

  Mark held up a walkie-talkie. “Security just told me they fired shots!”

  “Good God,” Amato said. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted up, “Get Dante. Have him meet me in my office. Find the security chief on duty, too.”

  “Got it.” Mark ran back into Amato’s office, walkie-talkie pressed to his ear.

  As Amato and Ajay boarded the elevator, Ajay asked, “What’s going on, Mr. Amato?”

  Reaching into his suit jacket pocket for his cell phone, Amato said, “I’d say someone has caught wind of our discovery. Damn!”

  By the time Amato reached his office, Dante was already there. So were Mark and the nighttime security chief, Tavon Eller. The news was grim. All communications, including satellites, cell service and landlines, were out. Security personnel had tried to go outside to check on the antennas only to be met by a hail of gunfire. Eller had tried to exit the main entrance to check on the guards posted at the front-gate security hut and ran into a force of uniformed soldiers in the parking lot who yelled at him to get back inside or get shot.

  “There were six of them and one of me. I didn’t have a choice, Mr. Amato; I came back inside. I’m sorry,” Eller said.

  “Don’t be, Tavon. I would have done the same thing. Are all your people safe?” Amato asked.

  The security chief, sweating profusely, said, “All but the men at the front gate. I don’t know what happened to them.”

  “Has anyone tried to break in?” Dante asked.

  “No, sir. Not that we can tell. We’ve activated the hurricane lockdown procedures. Unless they try heavy explosives, they’re not getting in now,” Eller said.

  “Excellent. Good thinking,” Amato said.

  Mayaguana is positioned along the northern ridge of Hurricane Alley’s approach to Florida and the Gulf of Mexico. As such, Amato had special features built into his command and control center, such as an underground generator and secondary blast doors at all entrances, including the hangar bays.

  “This is nuts,” Dante said. “What are we going to do?”

  “There are only two things we can do,” Amato said. “You get working on a solution to get us back in touch with our fleet and see if you can find a way to reach Paul.”

  “Kiera’s already working on it,” Dante said.

  “Good. I’m going to find out who the hell is responsible for this insanity!” Amato said.

  “Don’t do it, sir,” Eller said. “Those boys out there aren’t playing around.”

  Amato turned to Dante and Mark. “If anything happens to me, broadcast the message I drafted before going to see Cully. Send out the Nuada image along with it.”

  He didn’t wait for an acknowledgment before storming out of the office. Eller chased after him, calling for additional backup via his handheld radio. When they reached the main entrance, Amato barked at Eller to open the blast door and unlock the front doors. Eller tried once more to dissuade Amato from going outside, but the billionaire wouldn’t yield. />
  After pushing through the front doors, Amato was blinded by floodlights. A voice amplified by a megaphone instructed him to halt. Amato roared back, “I will not! Who’s in command of this junta?”

  He continued forward, down the steps to the parking lot. “Don’t take another step!”

  Amato, short of breath, shook his head from side to side as he walked toward the sound of the megaphone. “I am unarmed. I want to speak to your commanding officer!”

  Machine-gun fire pierced the air. Amato veered to the right, covering his head as he bent forward. “This…is…outrag…”

  Onto the ground he toppled, clutching at his chest.

  The glass front doors swung open and out came Eller, two other security guards and Mark. As the four ran toward Amato, Mark shielded his eyes from the floodlights and screamed at the soldiers, “Leave him alone! You bastards!”

  Another blurt of pops from a machine gun swallowed Mark’s protest. Eller raised his sidearm and popped off four shots, all at the floodlights. Two hit, dousing the glare in their faces. From behind, a SEAL on the roof of the building dropped Eller with one shot.

  From behind the safety of a truck, the man with the megaphone said, “Holy fuck! Cease fire! Cease fire! Medic, medic…men down, men down.”

  In the Mission Control conference room, Dante stared down at the table while Kiera spoke. Try as he might to focus on the task at hand, he was too angry to concentrate. They’d done nothing wrong! They were explorers, not criminals!

  Kiera nudged his shoulder. “Hey, you’re not listening.”

  “I’m sorry.” He sighed while rubbing his head. “I’m just really pissed.”

  Kiera gripped his forearm. “I understand. We all are. But let’s win this thing, okay. Let’s not let them beat us.”

  Dante nodded and took a deep breath. “Right. What have you got?”

  “I’ve come up with three options so far,” Kiera said.

  “Okay, give them to me,” he said, looking at his watch. Five hours remained until CUBE-2’s plunge.

  “All right, option one is the quickest and safest but the least likely to work: the HF antenna I put up for Radio JOVE is working.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. It’s in a sand dune on the far side of the launch apron. I had to set it up in a place where there wasn’t interference from all our other comms gear. I guess the soldiers didn’t see it. Only problem is, it’s not a directional antenna. We’ll have to broadcast messages on different frequencies and hope our signals bounce off the ionosphere and connect with a ham operator somewhere who can relay a message to corporate headquarters in Orlando.”

  “Sounds iffy, but I guess it’s better than nothing,” Dante said. “What’s option two?”

  “Rorschach,” she said. “Its comms are live. We can use its VHF radio to contact the air traffic controllers at the airport and have them contact the pilots on Amato’s plane and get a message to Morgan, but to get a good signal we’ll have to open the hangar doors.”

  “Ooh, that’s a problem. We need to keep the doors shut. We don’t want them getting in.” Dante paused for a moment, then said, “What about pulling the radio and antenna out of Rorschach? We could try to sneak somebody outside to use it.”

  “I thought about that, but if we’re willing to risk sneaking someone outside, I’ve got a better idea,” Kiera said. “But two people would need to go, and you’d have to be one of them.”

  “Okay, let’s hear it.”

  “We have CUBE components in the lab. We can slap together a Ku-band radio and try to contact Ascension or HQ over the Internet,” Kiera said.

  To pull it off, she explained, they would mount a Ku-band satellite dish onto the shell of a CubeSat. Inside the probe, they’d install Ku-band radio, then connect the radio to a nickel-cadmium battery pack, just as they would when constructing a CUBE to send into space. But instead of connecting the radio to the CUBE’s internal computer, they’d snake a cable from the radio to a laptop outside the CUBE.

  In effect, Kiera told Dante, they’d be creating a portable version of the setup used to provide Internet service for the Mayaguana complex. With the CUBE’s satellite dish pointed at one of A3rospace Industries’ global communications satellites, they could log into the company’s private network and contact Amato’s backup command center on Ascension Island and corporate headquarters. While Dante wouldn’t be able to directly interact with the fleet, Kiera explained, he would be able to pass along the necessary security commands to transfer management of the CUBEs over to the Ascension facility’s mission control center. Through this connection, Dante could also reach headquarters and get a message to Morgan through Amato’s pilots. So long as the connection stayed active, Dante would have two-way communications with both parties.

  “It’s the most effective option I’ve come up with, but it’s also the riskiest. And to carry the CUBE, you’ll need two people,” Kiera said. “Even though it should be pretty light without all the other components inside, it’ll be awkward to carry across the sand alone and you don’t want to drop it. You can put the laptop in a backpack until you find a spot to set up the CUBE, then it’s just a matter of hooking up the laptop to the CUBE and, voilà, you’re in business,” Kiera said.

  “That all sounds great, but how are you and I going to sneak out without being noticed?” Dante asked.

  “Whoa, time-out,” Kiera said. “Who said anything about me going?”

  “Your idea. You get to go.” Dante smiled.

  “No way. You’re gonna need me to stay here to create the diversion so you can sneak out.”

  “Diversion? What kind of diversion?”

  As Kiera readied her answer, Mark burst into the conference room. Disheveled and bloodied, he collapsed on his knees. Through labored breaths, he tried to speak but no words would come.

  “Mark, what’s wrong?” Dante asked, sliding off his seat to assist Mark into a chair.

  “They…they…shot…them!”

  Situation Room, The White House

  Washington, D.C.

  Sitting alone in the Situation Room, Brett Shaw watched a live feed of the Mayaguana siege. He was also patched into the crisis center’s audio feed of radio conversations between the Marines surrounding the compound and the SEALs who had parachuted in ahead of them.

  For the first fifteen minutes of the operation, Shaw was pleased with the military’s performance. The Marines and SEALs had coordinated the timing of their actions and accomplished their objectives with precision. But as soon as he heard the first sounds of gunfire, Shaw’s admiration turned to anger.

  He immediately called the secretary of defense to demand an end to the shooting, but he was told Zimmer was “unavailable.” After a heated phone call with Zimmer’s top aide, Shaw called the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. As the two men jawed at each other over the phone, more gunfire could be heard in the background. Lowering the phone receiver, Shaw turned to see Amato fall to the ground and then the return shots by a security guard. When a solitary flash appeared from the top of the building, the guard stumbled and disappeared from the camera’s view.

  Radio chatter erupted over the Situation Room’s speakers. Calls for cease-fires and medics were relayed as three others who had emerged from Amato’s command center were restrained by soldiers. Mark was one of them. He showered the men trying to corral him with flailing punches and kicks. He broke free and took off, headed back toward the building. As two soldiers gave chase, another of Amato’s security guards appeared from the main entrance. In his hands, he held a rifle. Two pops echoed and the soldiers chasing Mark tumbled to the ground. Mark did as well, but he regained his feet and continued his sprint to the building. The security guard with the rifle waved him onward as he raced up the steps.

  Shaw closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable cracks of machine-gun fire from the Marines. Above more calls for medics, he heard a deep, commanding voice over the radio feed. “This is Vanguard. Stand dow
n, I repeat, all forces stand down.”

  Opening his eyes, Shaw blinked as the flurry of activity on the screen changed from confrontation to triage of the injured. Then the video and audio feeds were cut. Shaw dropped the phone and ran for the door. Throwing it open, he spotted the CIA duty officer. “Get the president! Now!”

  Within minutes, the president arrived in the Situation Room. Dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt bearing his college alma mater’s name, Jennings had been eating dinner in the private residence with his family when summoned.

  “What the fuck’s happened?” he roared.

  Shaw was back on the phone with the Joint Chiefs’ chairman. He cupped his hand over the receiver. “Zimmer’s troops fired on Amato and his people. Firefight ensued. Amato’s hurt. At least three others. Don’t know how badly. No one at the Pentagon will give me an update.” He held out the phone for the president. “General Oxley.”

  Jennings snatched the phone. “Oxley? Find Zimmer and get your asses to the White House immediately! And tell your people at Mayaguana to stand down, right now!”

  The president’s face twitched as he listened to the general on the other end of the line. “Don’t feed me that shit, General! You have your orders. Now get a move on!”

  Hangar No. 2

  A3rospace Industries Command and Control Center

  Mayaguana Island, The Bahamas

  Dante looked around at the hundred and twelve frightened faces standing before him. In the front row was Mark, still bearing the bloody scrapes and cuts from his earlier confrontation. Of the gathered A3I employees, only twenty-six were Mission Control staff. The rest were completely in the blind with regard to UMOs and Cetus Prime. Even among the Mission Control team, only a handful were privy to the search for Cetus Prime. The rest had been told the purpose of the mission to Callisto was to locate the source of unidentified radio signals, presumably emanating from a lost NASA probe.