“We think Paul is concerned with radiation once they exit the asteroid belt. Without the Shields, the crew and ship will be vulnerable to Jupiter’s magnetic field,” Pritchard said.
“Okay. That makes sense. But if Julia can communicate with them, why not just tell them the radiation is harmful?” Amato said.
Dante reminded him of the difficulties Nick Reed had encountered in communicating with the UMOs that led Cetus Prime to Callisto. “From Colonel Morgan’s ending comment, it seems they’re running into the same issue.”
“I suppose that’s likely. He’s probably also concerned about the possibility of another gamma burst.”
Dante shook his head. “Skywalker may be concerned, but we’re not. We don’t think another one is going to happen.”
“Why not?”
“The Saturn flashes.”
“Explain.”
“About an hour before we received Paul’s message, Helen Brock called,” Pritchard said. “We had a long conversation about the flashes. Her JPL team has made a couple of significant discoveries. Augie, whatever caused those flashes had mass…and was traveling a tick under the speed of light.”
The two men caught Amato up on the work of the JPL team. JPL had examined data from several observatories that had recorded the flash events. At first blush, the data appeared to show spontaneous explosions, as if an asteroid or comet had broken up and its debris had collided with a previously undetected mass between Iapetus and Titan. A shock wave was evident with each flash, and a trail of radiation waves afterward was suggestive of ejected mass.
But on closer examination, the radiation trails revealed shifts in their spectral lines that implied the ejected masses were traveling close to the speed of light — way too fast to be comet or asteroid debris.
Further, the velocity of each radiation trail was nearly identical. If a collection of debris had collided with an asteroid, the debris would have struck the asteroid at different times and in different spots. Some would have been glancing blows, others direct hits. Given these variabilities, it was effectively impossible that the trails of ejected mass would all follow the same path at the same speed.
“You’re suggesting the ejected masses were spacecraft,” Amato concluded. “The Callistons returning to our solar system.”
“Or…a second alien life-form,” said Pritchard. “UMOs can maneuver more nimbly than our spacecraft; who’s to say another being can’t do the same? And how do we know the new aliens mentioned by Morgan weren’t in a spacecraft?”
“And keep in mind the masses turned toward Saturn instead of heading toward Callisto,” Dante said. “Another factor suggesting these are not the Callistons.”
“But Saturn is a billion kilometers from Jupiter. And Rorschach is yet another 350 million kilometers away.”
“If they’re capable of light speed, they could make the trip to the asteroid belt from Saturn in under two hours,” Pritchard said.
“You see how Skywalker’s mention of the other aliens messes with the possibility the Callistons have returned?” Dante said. “Another example: Did the UMOs depart Callisto to meet the arriving Calliston ships? Or did the UMOs flee Callisto because they detected the other aliens coming? Perhaps the gamma burst that took out Juno signaled their approach, or maybe there was another one after that.”
“Why would you say that?” Amato asked.
“There were heavy concentrations of X-rays and gamma rays in the radiation trails after the flashes,” Pritchard said. “Helen said the concentrations are similar to what one observes near the tail end of afterglows from pulsar and magnetar beams.”
Amato reached for his coffee as he absorbed this information. He sipped the bitter concoction and cringed. Putting it back on the table, he said, “In either case, Callistons or some other aliens, you haven’t explained the connection with Rorschach. Why are the BLUMOs involved? Why have they hunted the ship? Why are they taking it to Callisto?”
“We don’t know, plain and simple,” Dante said. “But if Skywalker was able to escape, even if just for an hour, we may have a chance to find out. If our uplink gets through, Antonio Wallace gave us an idea for a workaround that might keep us connected with Rorschach.” Dante smiled. “A bit of tech trickery.”
To overcome the radio interference created by the BLUMOs, Antonio had suggested pinging his drone-landers. The landers’ computers included anti-jamming hardware and software that Antonio’s firm had initially developed for stealth military drones. This meant the landers were capable of detecting and countering enemy instruments attempting to interfere with their communications. As no one had foreseen the potential for intentional efforts to block communications with the drone-landers aboard Rorschach, Antonio’s software hadn’t been activated prior to launch, but it could be activated remotely.
“The ping we sent was followed by an uplink instructing the landers to power up and toggle on the anti-jamming software,” Dante said. “If it’s effective, we’ll be able to track Rorschach. If we’re lucky, and the crew notices the landers are active, we can use them to send and receive messages.”
Office of the Chief Administrator
NASA Headquarters
Washington, D.C.
Helen sat at her desk with coffee cup in hand. In her other hand, she held a printout of a news article skewering Augustus Amato and Dante Fulton. From the moment the media published the leaked messages between Rorschach and Mayaguana, the two men had shouldered dual burdens: the need to find the ship and restore communications, and the need to temper speculation regarding the crew’s fate. And through it all, they faced unrelenting criticism from every direction.
The reporter who wrote the article Brock now scanned had tried to draw NASA into the cesspool of second-guessers pummeling Amato and Dante, but Brock had refused to add to Rorschach’s and Mayaguana’s burdens. The reporter was successful, however, in extracting a handful of biting quotes from anonymous NASA officials who apparently had scores to settle with Amato. Thankfully, the anonymous cowards were in the minority. For although many of the space agency’s employees had been bruised by the public animosity directed at NASA in the aftermath of Amato’s Cetus Prime and UMO revelations, few blamed the billionaire. Most, including Brock, considered Amato and his team heroes. If that hadn’t been evident to the outside world before, it surely was now.
In Houston, Greenbelt, Pasadena and places in between, Brock had seen her NASA colleagues rally to assist Mayaguana in rescuing Rorschach from whatever plight had befallen the ship. Project managers from across the agency had volunteered to form crisis teams, and there was no shortage of others willing to join up and pitch in. And as much as Brock would have liked to take credit for the groundswell of support, she knew it had been a grassroots campaign — perhaps bolstered by a social media post from Dennis Pritchard after Amato confirmed the leaked messages were authentic: They risked all for our brothers and sister on Cetus Prime. Will we give all to aid them now? #Bgood21another
Pritchard’s hashtag reference to Nick Reed’s final words before departing Cetus Prime had deeply touched people not only within the agency but around the world. So many people had followed Rorschach’s mission and had come to know the crew as humans, not just astronauts. The same had been true for Cetus Prime’s crew.
Within a day of Pritchard’s post, the families of the two ships’ crews galvanized the Bgood21another movement. They appeared on television wearing photo badges they’d created to honor all eight astronauts. It was styled after the badge Paul Morgan had commissioned to commemorate the Cetus Prime crew twenty-five years ago, and was emblazoned with Bgood21another across its midsection. These badges spread like wildfire, and within a day they were attached to the clothing of NASA employees and everyday citizens alike.
Brock turned back toward her desk and spied her own badge beside her laptop. What a difference those families’ single symbolic act had made. Overnight, the drumbeat of hope and determination had begun to rise.
She
picked up the badge and thought of her friends aboard Rorschach and those working the problems in Mayaguana. She prayed NASA’s extra help and the world’s positive energy would be enough to save them.
“Dr. Brock?”
She looked up from the photo badge to see her assistant, Mary Evans, standing in the doorway, her own badge pinned to her blouse. Brock could tell from the woman’s expression that something was amiss. “Yes, Mary, what is it?”
“Dr. Desai is on hold. She says it’s urgent.”
Reshma Desai was the project manager for NASA’s reconstituted Cetus Prime mission team at Goddard Space Flight Center. Desai’s team, in conjunction with Ed Chen’s former Juno team at JPL, was engaged in studies of the ship’s systems to determine if certain functionality could be restored or additional data extracted.
“Okay, put her through.” Moments later, Brock pressed the blinking light on her handset. “Hello, Reshma. What’s up?”
“Are you alone?” Desai asked.
“Yes. Why?”
“Can you call me back on Director Toomey’s secure line?”
“Yeah. Why? What’s the problem?”
“Just call me back. I’m in his office sitting by the phone.”
After Desai’s abrupt hang-up, Brock scooted her chair along the length of the credenza behind her desk to reach the handset linked to NASA’s encrypted phone network. She dialed the extension for the Goddard Center’s director, and Desai answered.
“Director Toomey is here with me,” she said.
“Hello, Bob,” said Brock.
“Hi, Helen, sorry for the cloak and dagger, but we didn’t want to risk another leak,” Toomey said.
“I understand. What’s happened?”
“We’ve lost communication with Cetus Prime,” Desai said.
“Okay. Do we know why?”
There was a pause before Desai replied. “We do.”
“Is it a temporary issue or something more?”
Another pause. This time, Toomey answered. “From what Reshma showed me, I’d say we won’t be hearing from Cetus Prime again.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“We confirmed it with Ed Chen at JPL,” Desai said. “It’s LOS.”
“Another gamma burst?”
“Oh, it got struck by something all right, but it wasn’t a gamma burst,” Toomey said.
“I’ve just now emailed you two encrypted files,” Desai said. “Let me know when you’ve opened the email and I’ll read you the cipher code.”
Brock hoisted the handset base and swiveled her chair to place it on her desk. Cupping the handset against her ear with her shoulder, she pulled up her email and clicked on the first file. After entering the cipher provided by Desai, the file opened.
It was a grainy and blurred photograph of a section of the alien spaceport snapped by one of Cetus Prime’s cameras. Brock tried to make sense of it. “Are those lights or a reflection of the Sun?”
“Callisto’s on the dark side of Jupiter right now. It’s not the Sun,” Desai said.
“And the shadow?”
“It’s never been in any of the photos before.”
“When was this taken?”
“It was in Cetus Prime’s second-to-last downlink before we lost comms.”
Between the section of the spaceport framed in the photograph and Cetus Prime, a distance of almost three kilometers, a massive shadow covered most of the crater floor. Around it, the rock-ice debris inside Nuada sparkled. In the visible section of the spaceport, one area glowed as if someone was inside with a flashlight or lantern.
“Speculate,” Brock said. “Interpret the photo.”
The only sound from the other end of the line was the creaking of a chair. Then Desai spoke, her voice as soft as a child’s. “Open the other file. It’s from the panoramic camera.”
“Cipher?”
Desai read off the new code, and Brock opened the file.
She pushed back in her chair and whispered, “Oh my God.”
Mission Control
A3rospace Industries Command and Control Center
Mayaguana Island, The Bahamas
Helen Brock’s first call was to Dante Fulton’s cell phone. When he didn’t answer, she called Dennis Pritchard. He tracked down Amato and Dante, and together they engaged Brock in an encrypted satellite video conference from the Mission Control briefing room where they had just finished discussing Morgan’s message.
When Brock shared the two photographs, the three men approached the wall-mounted monitor and gaped at the pictures. “I’ve asked JPL for enhanced images,” she said, “but I don’t think you really need them to figure out what these show.”
In the panoramic photo, a black spaceship rested on the crater floor between the spaceport and Cetus Prime.
“That is not one of the Calliston ships the Cetus crew took,” Dante said. “That thing must be at least four hundred meters long and just as tall.”
Amato turned from the monitor and paced with his hands clasped behind his back. “More puzzles.”
“Helen,” Pritchard said, “you mentioned Cetus Prime is LOS. Could it be radio interference created by the ship, intentionally or inadvertently?”
“No. Unequivocally not.”
“How can you be sure?”
“You all might want to sit down for this,” Brock said. Amato ceased pacing and faced the feed of Brock sitting in her conference room. Dante and Pritchard slid into seats at the briefing room table. “I’m not joking, Augie. You should sit.”
“Very well, Helen. I can see you’re serious.” Amato pulled out a chair and lowered himself into it.
“There were several data files downlinked after these photos were transmitted. Whatever aliens landed in that ship breached Cetus Prime. I don’t mean they cranked open an airlock and tiptoed in. I mean they blew open the main cabin near the pallet. It triggered structural failure alarms. Then they moved into the ship and began disabling systems. I don’t know if they just pulled power connections or bludgeoned the equipment, but the systems didn’t cycle through their shutdown routines. They were hard cut. I don’t know what happened after they disabled comms, but I’m certain we’re never going to hear from Cetus Prime again.”
“Jesus. Rorschach is being led right to them,” Amato murmured.
“What? You’ve heard from the crew?” Brock asked.
Dante paraphrased the message sent by Morgan and summarized their efforts to reestablish an active comms link. “We haven’t received a return ping yet. It’s overdue.”
“I see.” Brock sighed. “Augie, I don’t mean to throw fuel on the fire, but…before the aliens blew open the main cabin, they took something.”
Pritchard gasped and rose from his chair. “You said they entered by the pallet.”
“That’s right.”
“Oh, Lord, don’t tell me. They took Perseus.”
Brock wiped a tear from her cheek and nodded.
Perseus, a drone armed with EMP grenades, had been the catalyst of the series of events that left Cetus Prime crippled near Mars. The military, anxious to test out EMPs as a deterrent to UMOs in Earth’s orbit, had commandeered control of the ship from a DoD station in Mission Control at the Goddard Space Flight Center. They ordered the ship’s computers to launch two other probes docked on Cetus Prime’s pallet, CPO and Andromeda, to lure the UMOs into a kill zone with the intention of firing Perseus’ weapons at the aliens. The quick thinking of the ship’s commander, Avery Lockett, had averted that outcome by deactivating the ship’s power before Perseus cut loose the EMPs.
Avery’s action hadn’t saved the crew, however. The UMOs, stirred up by radiation emitted by the “bait” probes, destroyed CPO and Andromeda and zeroed in on Cetus Prime thereafter. The UMOs destroyed the ship’s engines and left it dead in space. If not for the surprise awakening of Nick two days later, along with his sudden ability to communicate with the UMOs, he, Avery and Christine Baker would have perished.
“W
hat would aliens want with Perseus?” Amato said.
CHAPTER 15: SYNC UP
Flight deck — the Rorschach Explorer
Flying through the asteroid belt
September 5, 2019
Ajay reached for his throbbing head and rubbed the achy spot above the bridge of his nose. Why did it hurt so much?
He cracked open his eyelids and shut them just as quickly. The light from his station monitors was too strong. Focusing on the sounds around him, he heard the drone of engines, random beeps and someone snoring.
What was going on?
He searched his memory for answers, but found it difficult to concentrate. Strange images kept blocking his attempts at recall.
Lowering his hands to his lap, he felt the fabric of his flight suit. He smoothed his hands over his thighs, then raised them to pat his torso. When he felt the straps of his safety harness, a snippet of a memory popped into his mind. “Hold on tight.”
He reached out, and his fingers brushed up against his station keyboard. Another memory wedged its way through the images. “Here we go. Ajay, you ready?”
“Roger dodger,” Ajay mumbled.
More snippets streamed through gaps between images.
Ajay’s eyelids snapped open. “BLUMOs!”
Though the light worsened his headache, he scanned the flight deck for the blue aliens. There were none to be seen. Even through the flight deck windows, the sea of blue that had dominated the view before was gone.
The others were passed out. Morgan and Carillo were slumped over at their stations, and as Ajay swung his head to the left — a motion that brought on a wave of nausea — he saw Kiera’s head curled over her armrest, her arms dangling above her head as if she were a ghost trying to scare a haunted house visitor. She was the one snoring.
He turned to study his bank of computer monitors. A quick review provided several insights, none of them good. The comms dashboard on his center screen displayed static patterns for the ship’s radio bands. Data below the patterns indicated zero uplinks from Mayaguana had been received. On the screen to the right of the comms display, the ship’s radar system showed a large ball-shaped mass behind the ship. Left of center, the last monitor provided data related to Rorschach’s flight status. The ship was still headed toward Callisto, and five hours had elapsed since Morgan’s attempt to break away from the BLUMOs.
Magwave (The Rorschach Explorer Missions Book 2) Page 20
