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Forbidden The Stars

by Valmore Daniels

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An accident in the asteroid belt has left two surveyors dead, the asteroid completely missing. Their son survives, but develops alarming side-effects. The first mission to Pluto, led by the youngest female astronaut in NASA history, discovers an alien marker. We are not alone! From a criminal base on Luna, an expatriate launches an offensive. The secret to faster-than-light speed is up for grabs, and race for interstellar space is on!

Forbidden The Stars

by Valmore Daniels

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This is purely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This book may not be re-sold or given away without permission in writing from the author. No part of this book may be reproduced, coped, or distributed in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means past, present or future.

Copyright © 2010 Valmore Daniels. All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-9866593-2-4

Cover Art: Innovari

Visit the Author at ValmoreDaniels.com

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THE END

Copan :

Honduras :

Central American Conglomeration :

My ancestors tell us that on a calm, still night, if we listen hard enough, we can hear the planets move. They call it the Music of the Spheres, and its song is a tale of the return of the gods. I have heard this song.

But I am just an old man. What do I know?

My grandson comes up to me to ask permission to play with his friends. I ask him, “Do you want me to tell you the story of the end of the world?”

I know he has already heard me tell this tale, and he does not believe. He would rather play with his friends.

Maybe if I tell him a few more times, he will come to believe.

I can only hope; but what do I know?

I tell him of Hunab Ku, the god of gods, the creator of the Maya. I tell him that Hunab Ku rebuilt the world three times after three deluges, which poured from the mouth of a sky serpent—some say from the mouth of Kukulkan, god of the sun, the oceans, the earth, and the sky.

I tell my young grandson, who grows bored at my tales, that Kukulkan built the first world and the second world. He did this so that the third world would be ready for the People of the Earth, the Maya.

I tell him of the folly of the Maya, of their arrogance, of the decadent ways and human sacrifices, and the foretelling of the white man. I tell him of the end of the third world, of the destruction of our ancestors.

My grandson smiles. He believes I am just a lonely old man who tells grand tales.

I know the truth, and I know the future. I tell him that the fourth world belongs to the white man; but the fourth world is not going to be here for much longer.

The ancient gods decreed this.

The fourth world must suffer under a deluge to make way for the New World. If the white men do not accept the changes, Kukulkan will destroy them.

Above all things, the gods will build the New World.

The gods will return from the stars, and they will need a better world in which to make their homes.

The time is coming soon.

“How soon?” my grandson asks patiently, humoring his old grandfather.

“You will see the end of the fourth world in your lifetime,” I tell him. “And you will see the coming of the fifth world. I do not know if I will see it. I am getting too old.”

“Not so old, grandfather,” he says to me.

I smile at him, knowing that, at heart, he is a good boy; but he glances out of the corner of his eyes at his friends, and longs to play.

“Now go to your friends,” I tell him. “But remember what I have told you.”

“Yes, Grandfather. I will remember what you have said.”

He runs off, and I know that he will remember. But will he believe?

Or does he think I am just a silly old man?

__________

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

NASA Press Release

Re: Orcus Mission

Barring the Oort Cloud and any wandering asteroids or comets orbiting Sol, Pluto is the last celestial body on the outermost perimeter of the Solar System’s family of planets. Pluto is a signpost signifying the boundary of Sol, and the beginning of interstellar space.

Now, for the first time, NASA is sending a team to explore the farthest planetary body in our system. The flight crew has not yet been announced, but a spokesperson indicated they were close to finalizing the shortlist. Whomever they assign to this envious mission will need to endure a six-month trip to Pluto, followed by another six months on the return trip. With an additional seven months on Pluto until the planet comes back into optimal orbit for the return launch, the crew of the Orcus Mission will be away from home for almost two full years.

Scientists have many questions about Pluto, and hope that this mission will provide them with the knowledge they have sought for over a century. One senior researcher at NASA indicated the possibility that information about the small planet may provide insight into interstellar travel.

Countless unmanned ships and probes have gone to Pluto on exploration missions in the past fifty years. The Orcus represents the first manned mission.

###

Scientific Addendum:

Pluto orbits Sol at a plodding 17,064 kilometers per hour, taking 248 years to make the round trip. It is by far the most aberrant of planets, following an eccentric elliptical orbit at 17.148 degrees inclination above and below the ecliptic.

Preliminary readings confirm the makeup of the planet to be methane and nitrogen based, with trace elements of hydrogen, helium, silicon and a number of other elements.

The sun itself is no more than a bright star in the distant sky, about four times the apparent brightness of Polaris, the North Star, from Earth. Illumination during Pluto’s daytime is less than that of a full moon during Earth’s night, and gives the sky a dark purplish hue—quite exotic, and more than a little mysterious.

The stars themselves are visible through the thin layer of nitrous-methane atmosphere throughout Pluto’s 6-day rotation period, but they are easier to see at night, with no icy fog to obscure them.

2,320 kilometers in diameter, Pluto has a gravity of 0.04 Earth standard.

In 1905, the astronomer Percival Lowell predicted the existence of a ninth planet, but died before seeing Pluto—and in fact, the coordinates he had predicted were wrong. Still, in honor of Lowell, the planet is named using the letters of his initials, P.L. — Pluto.

The honor of first sight of Pluto fell to Clyde Tombaugh in 1930. A student of Lowell’s, Tombaugh photographed three images of that small planet from the Lowell Observatory. The analysis of their findings, however, did not support Lowell’s figures for the mass necessary to affect the orbit of Neptune. That left the possibility another celestial-body existed near Pluto.

It was not until 1979 when James Christy discovered that Pluto had a smaller twin, Charon…

__________

Macklin’s Rock :

SMD Mine Number 568 :

Sol System :

Asteroid Belt :

The sound of the emergency klaxon filled his septaphonic earmask.

<Pirates on telemetry-reader; three engine signatures confirmed.> Hucs, the computer personality, spoke to him in succinct tones as images passed through Alex’s field of vision via his ocular caps.

In the background, the Ronge Nebula glowed, dark green in large swirls against a magnificent star field. Small pulses of light identified the incoming war-class fighters flown by the pirates infecting this sector of the galaxy. There were three of them.

Captain Alex Manez cursed his backup wingmen who had broke away to chase down a SID—Ship-In-Distress. Obviously, a false trail designed to split their forces.

With his first-gen thought-patch secured to his temple, Alex had no need to relay his commands verbally. It was second nature to do so, however.

“Hucs, key in an emergency call for wing-men Grande and Makato. Tell them to get their butts back here, flank!”

<Message confirmed. Transmitted,> the computer said aloud, as the words scrolled along the bottom of the DMR casement.

“Give me a scan of their defense system, and all possible ordnance arrays,” he ordered. There was time for a computer reconnaissance; it would take the pirates three minutes to pass within firing range.

When the assessment came in, Alex pondered it, and made a quick decision.

“I want foreshields at max., tap the aft, fifty percent on laterals. Charge two long-distance mantas, and key up maser cannon for close prox. Confirm!”

<Orders confirmed.>

The chronometer signaled the pirates would be in range in one minute, forty-one seconds. An indicator light on the DMR casement flashed.

<Mantas are prepped and hot. Enemy trajectories steady.>

“Give me a zero-minus thirty projection of their position,” Alex told Hucs. “I want to preempt their attack, see how they react. Target wing men only, leave the leader for maser cannon.”

<Orders confirmed,> the computer replied.

A nanosecond later, targeting coordinates appeared on the DMR. Alex knew that the computer never took into account the human reaction to being under fire; the parameters were too great. That was why the ships had to have human pilots.

Once the pirates’ scanners detected two deadly manta warheads approaching, they would split and try to separate the mantas; the ship not targeted would then try to disable the mantas with its own ordnance. In the case of the Ronge Pirates, they used standard laser repeaters; not as deadly as maser cannon, but ultimately quicker on the draw. Alex had something in store for them after that; a surprise he had been working over in his mind since his last melee.

“Hucs, alter coordinates for manta 1 to 118.12.335; manta 2 to 136.53.799. Confirm and launch.”

<Orders confirmed. Mantas away.>

Before the mantas were halfway to their destination, a message icon flashed in the upper corner of the DMR screen, and Hucs’ redundancy told him:

<Incoming directive.>

Expecting it to be his wing men reporting back and informing him they would be joining the fray, Alex was surprised when the voice that came over the septaphonics was female; he recognized the voice immediately.

“Alex,” his mother said, “We’re ready to go outside. Come say good-bye.”

“Hucs: Pause; Save,” Alex told the program, and his game stopped play in mid-attack. He would have to continue the game later.

He took off his thought-link and ocular caps, as well as the septaphonic earmask that his mother made him use when his parents were in the TAHU. He left his personal cubicle in search of his mother and father, and sauntered into the communal area of the Temporary Asteroidal Habitation Unit.

There was a great show of nonchalance in his demeanor and his stride. He was trying hard not to care that he was once again going to be left alone for hours on end with, by his estimation, nothing to do. He gave a casual flick of his head, whipping his long hair back.

His parents granted him certain privileges on his last birthday. To test the limitations of his new responsibilities, they gave him the choice of how to keep his hair. He decided to grow it long and forestall a hair cut from the programmed valet servochine. Proud of the length of his hair, he took great pains to perfect the toss of his head to the side. The maneuver kept his bangs out of his eyes, and elicited a disapproving frown from his parents. He liked to remind them that it had been his decision to boycott the traditional cut.

His mother knew his equanimity was a facade. He knew his mother knew it was a facade. He still acted as if he did not care that both of his parents had to leave again for the day to go to the site. Inside, he hated when they left him alone in the small TAHU with only his uplink to the EarthMesh as company.

They had been on Macklin’s Rock two months, and his parents worked at least six out of every seven days. That did not leave much time for Alex.

Macklin’s Rock, one of the larger natural satellites in Sol System’s asteroid belt, resembled a cylinder with tapered ends, an egg stretched out to the extreme. A cross-section of its length would cover an area larger than metropolitan New York, but Macklin’s Rock was still just a large, unexciting rock.

Back home on Canada Station Three, the SF holovid rentals showed Sol System’s asteroid belt to be a crowded ring of rocks and debris circling the sun between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter. In the vids, the asteroid belt was usually home to refugees from a Terran global government gone bad, or for expatriates who had to hide from military sweepers trying to weed out the deserters; the ever-present danger of an asteroid collision kept the drama high in these pot-boiler stories.

The truth was a little different. From Macklin’s Rock, looking out the view ports of the TAHU, Alex could not see any other asteroid without the aid of a telescope. If there were any danger of collision, Hucs’ proximity sensors would alarm the TAHU inhabitants an hour in advance, then fire a deflecting shot with a laser. Rarely did a particle get through the computer defenses. It was all quite boring.

The sun was nothing more than a tiny glowing marble, giving as little light to the inhabitants of the belt as could be seen on a foggy day in London, England, but without the romantic atmosphere of that old city.

The other planets in the system were nothing more than tiny specks through a telescope. Earth, at its closest approach to Macklin’s Rock, was over a thousand times farther than the moon from the Earth. It seemed like a greater isolation than all that to a ten-year old without any friends close at hand.

Even Jupiter, more than eleven times the diameter of Earth, was nothing more than a tiny, steady star that could be seen from Macklin’s Rock by the naked eye for three-and-a-half months every two years; the rest of the time, it was obscured through normal telescopes by the glare of the omnipresent sun.

Hucs could filter the image out; enhance it to a magnification of 200 times to give it the apparent size of Luna as seen from Earth. Alex had seen more than his share of reproductions of all the system’s planets through telescopes; it was no different from the belt.

Standing on the surface of Macklin’s Rock and looking in all directions, one could get the impression of living on a desolate, dark, deserted island floating through the solar system.

It was all quite boring to Alex; all too mundane.

Not that Alex was lacking in chores. There were lessons to be integrated, and a biosyn analysis he had to make up from the day before when he had played hooky from the lessons given by Hucs, the Home-Unit Computer System; instead, opting to play the latest version of “Nova Pirates” he had downloaded from the Thai Multimedia Society.

But by and large, Alex was bored.

He sent audio-visual EPS messages to his friends on Canada Station Three, one of the dozens of the various country corporations’ inhabited orbitals positioned at the Lagrange point behind Earth’s orbit, trailing after their home world like goslings after Mother Goose.

The communication EPSes were more out of duty and obligation than desire; news of home made him miss it all that much more. The seven-minute delay between transmissions made for lengthy but shallow dialogue, even on the chat pages.

Alex watched his mother prepping for her excursion.

“Mom, can’t you stay home today?” he asked.

Alex’s mother turned from pulling on her bio-eco suitshield and gave her son a gentle smile.

“I’m sorry, Alex, but we’ve got to verify the new readings. Hucs reported an anomaly in the elemental percentage readout of the Nelson II at site 14. If it is what we are looking for, we can be off this asteroid within the week and leave it to Canada Corp.’s miners. Won’t you like going home to CS-3 and playing with your friends again?”

“Yeah,” Alex said reluctantly. “But that’s too long. Hucs is boring. All he wants to do is teach me Fulman algorithms and astral stellography. I want to interface with a real face, you know?”

“I know, Alex,” said his father as he stepped into the communal area from the airlock, having finished re-checking the pressure gauges and atmospheric capacitors.

Gabriel Manez was shorter than his wife, his skin a permanent tan in contrast to her pale white flesh, his hair jet black where Margaret’s was blonde. Alex had inherited his father’s Mayan looks.

His was the voice of authority.

“Just remember that you agreed that it would be best to come with us on this dig. You had the choice to remain on CS-3; the company would have assigned an Andy to chaperone you.”

“Yeah. Maybe next time I think I will stay home, if it’s all right; it’s boring up here.” The Manez’s went on at least one survey every year. The previous years, Alex had stayed on the station, but this year he had not wanted to be separated from his parents. Considering his current predicament, he regretted his decision.

His father smiled. “Well, you can put in a tight beam to some of your friends after your lessons. I think we can afford the real-time charges. And we just might be home sooner than you think.”

Gabriel turned to his wife. “Especially if those readings are accurate, Mags. This could be the find we’ve been looking for. The bonus the Corp. offers on new strikes will be enough for us to retire on; we can buy a share in the Floating Isle Station like we dreamed.”

She playfully batted at him, ignoring his enthusiasm. “You know I hate that name: Mags,” she scolded her husband, mock annoyance on her face as she initiated the vacuum seal on her suit torso. “Gabe!” she said to him, purposely making a face.

He shot her a dirty look right back. “All right . Margaret.”

“Thank you, Gabriel.”

“I prefer, ‘love of my life.’ “

“And I much prefer…” Margaret leaned over before her husband pulled on his artificial atmospheric replicator helmet and kissed him soundly on the lips.

“Yuch!” Alex declared and wandered over to the Digital Mock-Reality hologram screen on the prefab wall opposite the console desk, and set the thought-link patch over his temples.

Using Hucs for the EPS engine, since he did not have a bus generator like the one in their apartment on Canada Station Three, he logged in to the global operating system of the EarthMesh and waited the seven minutes for his personal settings to manifest and his modified cyberscape to be uploaded.

“This thing takes so long!” he said, even as he once again congratulated himself for his inventiveness in design.

His personal cyberscape was based on one of his favorite novels, Homer’s The Odyssey. He called it Odysscape.

As Odysseus, he had to sail his ship to different lands to access the various programs, utilities and games in his cyberscape. He would change the cyberscape whenever he read a novel that took his fancy, basing his desktop on his latest favorite. Previous desktops included worlds from Lewis Carrol, C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, and Robert E. Howard.

“It takes me forever just to boot the system,” he complained, though he had no choice in using the EarthMesh virtual drive. Hucs’ LAN did not allocate even a quarter of the memory needed for Alex to run Odysscape. The drives were dedicated to the technical aspects of his parent’s work and for the bio systems of the TAHU.

On the Odysscape casement, the tall Greek figure of Odysseus stood on the shore of Calypso’s Island, making a raft to try to sail home to Ithaca. The casement showed Hermes, messenger of the gods, floating in the sky off to one corner after just delivering his message to Calypso, telling her that she should let Odysseus free. That signaled the startup of his desktop.

The CGI character was laboriously slow in binding the logs of his raft together, and Alex harrumphed with impatience. Hucs’ P-Generator just was not powerful enough.

“Don’t forget, it takes a little while for the Electronic Pulse Signal to reach Earth and bounce back. We haven’t quite mastered faster-than-light…yet,” Gabriel joked, and pulled on his helmet. Alex’s mother pulled on her own helmet, and each checked the other’s suit for seal breeches, passing a vacuity loss detector over the seams and bodice of their suits. The contained ecosystem computer signaled that their suits were leak-free and surface-ready.

His mother’s voice came over the septaphonic speakers in the TAHU, losing little of its tone in the digital translation.

“We’ll see you in ten hours, Alex. You be good, and do your homework. Hucs will report to us if you don’t.”

The warning came after the lecture of the night before, and Alex dropped his chin to his chest, looking abashed.

“I know, I know!” he replied. The moment they had returned from work and asked for a report on Alex’s activities, HUQS informed them he had spent six hours playing Nova Pirates instead of concentrating at his studies. Hucs was nothing if not deadly accurate in his recital.

“Hucs is a tattle-tale,” he declared sullenly.

“No,” Alex’s mother corrected. “A tattle-tale is someone who tells on someone just to get them in trouble. Hucs reports to us for your own good, Alex. It’s his program.”

“I know, I know.” But the timbre of his voice suggested he found the whole idea unfair in any event.

“We’ll see you soon, Alex. Be good.”

“I will.”

Alex’s parents stepped through the airlock. With a deep, audible click, the door sealed shut. The vacuum notification light glowed on the control panel to the right of the door at eye level as a chime sounded to indicate pressure equalization was beginning.

There was a low humming sound as the pumps sucked the air out of the lock, and the gravity replicator magnetics slowly dropped its gain, matching the negligible Gees on the asteroid’s surface.

His parents performed a few light exercises to get their muscles used to the near-zero gravity, and their own relative body weights of less than a gram.

Erected under the surface of the asteroid, the TAHU provided ideal protection for a survey team. The Construction-Engineering team had used pulse charges to create an artificial cavity ten meters into the surface, forming a rectangular box fifteen meters on a side, and four meters in height. AI mechbots constructed the TAHU itself.

With two personal cubicles, a communal area, lavatory, dining cubicle, computer laboratory, and airlock, it was the perfect size for a two-person survey team. If the surveyors were a couple, a third person, such as an offspring, could be attached to the mission, and not put any real strain on the TAHU resources.

There was enough food for six months, and solar wind particle converters kept the batteries charged to full.

They built a gravity convection magneto into the floor of the TAHU, magnifying the asteroids natural magnetic field inside the construct by a factor of 85.91, enough to simulate near-Earth gravity. The energy requirements were enormous, but the Sun, four hundred gigs away, provided an unlimited source of energy.

Constructed on the surface of the asteroid, the ATV bay held the ATV itself, as well as a small two-person floater in case of emergency. The floater had enough power to escape the gravity of any celestial object smaller than Luna, after which it would emit an alert beacon.

Each personal cubicle inside the TAHU held a security receptacle, which converted to a one-person floater. Safety first.

Alex turned to the DMR.

“Hucs,” he said aloud, even though the computer would follow every command he thought at it. “Bring up a VR casement for ATV camera: ATV interface.”

For the moment, he ignored his Odysscape, preferring to use Hucs’ much faster CPU engine for the local task. He shut down his link with the EarthMesh. After all, he was supposed to be working on his biosyn. Hucs had enough lesson plans uploaded into his Vdrive to last another month.

A connection with EarthMesh was not needed, but Alex felt better knowing that contact with Canada Station Three or Earth was seven minutes away.

Hucs spoke:

<ATV view on-holo, Alex. Please don VR ocular cap.>

Alex picked up the optics but waited before pressing them over his eye cavities.

The interface camera on the dash of the ATV powered up. It would make a visual and audio log of his parent’s progress to each of the Nelson II sites, recording their reports and theories, failures and finds, and automatically EPS it to Canada Corp.’s mainframes in Ottawa on Earth.

The DMR casement in front of Alex showed a 2D image of the camera’s current field of vision. Alex slipped on the ocular cap of the thought-link patch, pressing the cup-shaped caps to his eyes as they form-fitted themselves to the contours of his eye cavity.

Abruptly, he saw everything in the ATV bay from the dashboard, as if he were there, sitting on the hood.

Approaching the ATV, his parents were guiding themselves by a system of guy wires attached to the ATV and the bay. With the minimalistic gravity of the asteroid, a strong jump could send a person flying off the asteroid and into space.

The ATV itself used a version of the gravitational magnetos, combined with a reversed polarity magneto to repel itself against the asteroid’s surface so that it could float two meters above the surface.

His parents both strapped themselves into their seats inside the vehicle and fired the power cells before his mother saw the green camera light indicating “image-transmit” as well as “image-record.”

“Hello, Alex,” she said, smiling through the transparent faceplate of the helmet, guessing correctly that it was he who had slaved his VR to the camera. The clear septaphonic voice came over the TAHU speakers.

“Hi, Mom.”

“What is it, Son?” Gabriel asked after a moment, fastening his seat restrictors.

“I don’t know. I just wanted to let you know that I miss you.”

“We miss you, too. Love you, Alex.”

“I love you, too.” He wasn’t yet too old to say that; at least, not in private. If they were back on Canada Station Three, he might feel uncomfortable about telling his parents he loved them in front of his friends.

“All right, then get your lessons completed this morning, pass that biosyn test…and when we get back, maybe you can show me just exactly how that ‘Nova Pirates’ game works,” his father said to him, his grin filling the width of the helmet’s face plate.

“Alright!” Alex exclaimed, suddenly excited. “See you later, Dad!”

He disconnected the VR link with a thought, and turned his attention to the review of the biosyn material that Hucs had presented in a secondary DMR casement whose borders were flashing an urgent red.

<Lesson Thirty-Seven Review—Biosyn>

Hucs was as accommodating as ever.

The computer droned on in a childlike voice with the review, but hard as Alex tried to concentrate, he found his attention soon wandering to the suspended “Nova Pirates” game, and within an hour of his parents leaving, he minimized the lesson casement against the warnings of Hucs.

He maximized the game casement in VR.

Seconds later, he was blasting pirates out of the Ronge Nebula.

__________

Geological Report :

Macklin’s Rock :

filed by Gabriel Manez :

Belt Segment: 14568

SMD Mine Number: 928-3

Name: Macklin’s Rock

Age: 237.89 million years (Earth Standard)

Type: Metallic/Carbonaceous Chondrite (C-Type)

Distance from Sun: 425.92 gigameters (mean)

Closest Earth Approach: 276.33 gigameters

Dimensions: 148.11 kilometers longest diameter / 35.08 kilometers

widest diameter.

Surface Temperature: -103.5 °C average

Mass (estimated): 10,020.5 teratons

Surface Gravity: 0.0000002373 G

Atmospheric Pressure: None

Escape Velocity: 0.009568 km per hour

Mineral Content: aluminum, calcium, carbon, cobalt, copper, helium, iron, magnesium, nickel, silicon, sodium, sulfur, titantium

Potential Value: $14 Trillion (Can) over 50 years.

__________

USA, Inc. Exploration Site :

Mission Orcus 1 :

Pluto :

Dark, cold, silent, inhospitable.

Wonderful.

Captain Justine Turner stood on the edge of the solar system. As captain of the Orcus 1, the historic honor fell to her.

It was another in a series of firsts for her; youngest female astronaut in NASA history; youngest person to get a captaincy of a space vessel; first human to set foot on the icy surface of Pluto.

She tried to think of something notable to say for the benefit of those on Earth who tracked their progress. Overcome with the tide of emotion, Justine could not think properly. The stale recycled air in her suit did not help clear her mind.

“Pluto,” she finally declared into her microphone. Swiveling her head to face the sun, a tiny glowing pinprick in the low horizon, she imagined she was speaking for the benefit of posterity.

“It’s been a two-hundred year journey to get here, since the dark planet’s existence was first theorized. Now, that dream is a reality. This occasion is a milestone in human history. From here, all that’s left is to conquer the stars.”

She took a breath before continuing her speech, but a digitized voice filled her helmet.

“Captain!” called Helen Buchanan over the comlink. On loan from the Canadian Space Exploration Department, Helen had more than proven her competence in administration in her position as second-in-command. Still, she had a tendency for dramatics.

Irritated by the interruption, Justine growled, “What is it, Helen?”

“The science team reports all spectroanalyses are normal. Ekwan again requests permission to venture out on the surface.” The first mate lowered her voice to match the captain’s tone. “Justine, if he doesn’t get his way soon, he’s going to drive us all off the end of the planet, you know.”

There was always one bad apple in every bushel. Unfortunately, NASA had had no say for whom the Japanese included in the mission. They had to accept Ekwan along with the fifteen billion in research money the Japanese Space Administration had invested.

Six months in space with that overblown, opinionated jackass, however, was enough to test the patience of a saint.

I should deny his request, just out of spite. That would be petty, and a blatant misuse of her authority. Besides, it was not a generous attitude to take with any member of the civilian science team.

Looking around, she could barely see twenty meters beyond the landing lights of the Orcus 1. Willing to ignore the petty politics of Earth’s corporate countries, she had accepted this mission—ecstatic and full of passion—for the chance to touch the heart of Pluto for herself.

Now I am here! She reveled in the fact.

The surface of Pluto was barren and unforgiving. The achievement of reaching it would spur Earth to invest more resources in space exploration. The mantle of that responsibility rested squarely on her slight shoulders, and she dare not let anything untoward happen on this mission. She knew she should make the other members of the eight-person crew wait an hour after her exposure to the surface of the planet, in the event there were microbes eating into her suit, or some other fantastical possibility thought up by the NASA scientists. But if letting Ekwan go would shut the seismologist’s loud mouth up for just five minutes…

“Permission granted, Helen. But make sure he follows regulations. I’m coming back in. Seen all I need to see for now. I’ve got enough pics to keep NASA’s publicity department busy for a year.”

“Very good, Captain.” She could hear the relief in the First Mate’s voice.

Justine made her way up the lander’s ceramic ladder and entered the belly of the Orcus 1. It took a minute to cycle through the airlock.

*

Inside, she faced an unorganized mob. In an orchestra of confusion, four crewmembers circled about their unbidden conductor, all shouting in a cacophony of anger.

“Ekwan! Slow down,” Justine commanded, getting their attention. “We’re here for seven months. You’ll get all the surface time you need.” She stared into his vesuvian face. So much anxiety in such a little man.

“It’s these stupid belts, Captain! There are too many, and they’re getting in the way. And she—” He jerked his head at First Mate Helen Buchanan. “—won’t let me go out until she has me trussed up like a prisoner.”

“Ekwan. Just do it. Would you rather waste time arguing, or get your suit on properly and get out on the surface that much sooner?”

Clearly unhappy, the seismologist allowed Helen to finish strapping his suit together. With comic exaggeration, he stomped into the airlock.

“And wait for the rest of us!” Helen shouted through the intercom. “We’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

Ekwan’s reply was unintelligible, but there was no misunderstanding the frustration on his face.

In a way, Justine could understand him. Even in modern Japan, the need to excel and surpass everyone else drove their economic and social order. In a small country with such a high population density, it was no wonder people were frantic and short-tempered in their race to get ahead of the pack.

The others in the locker room slowly fumbled their way into their suits.

Justine nodded at Johan Belcher, the European Space Agency’s geologist. The handsome Austrian was there to run detailed tests on the makeup of Pluto’s icy surface, including depths, densities, and percentages.

If not for her captaincy, she would have encouraged his smooth-tongued advances. She had to keep herself set apart from the others, however; to do otherwise would undermine her authority. It was imperative she keep her command and authority for the duration of the twenty-month mission.

Johan returned the nod with a calculated smile as he helped Dale Powers, the NASA astrogator, into his suit.

Two other NASA members struggled to get ready. Henrietta Maria and George Eastmain. Justine suspected the two had become lovers on the long voyage. They giggled at each other like schoolchildren when they thought no one was looking, and whispered in each other’s ears frequently.

“Where’s Sakami?” she asked the group. The single representative from the People’s Republic of China, Sakami Chin was clearly an outsider. He refused to dine with the others, and made no effort at casual conversation. Surly and abrupt, Sakami made no qualms about his aversion to space travel.

Justine turned her head at the sound of boots striking the metal plate that divided the locker room from the rest of the ship.

Sakami pushed his way through the crowd to his suit, and paid no attention to the cries of outrage from the others.

Justine glanced at her First Mate. “I’m heading to the bridge, if you’ve got everything under control here.”

“Sure do, Captain. Take a nap. I’ll alert you if Ekwan falls down a crater,” she joked.

“Belay that. Only alert me if he kills himself.”

She forced a smile, and made her way through the spacecraft.

*

With the Orcus 1 empty, Justine made a detour to the galley and helped herself to a squeeze tube of cold tea. She congratulated herself on achieving the most important goal of her life.

Stories of Planet X had filled Justine’s young mind and fed her imagination, and as a teenager, she studied every book she could download on the subject.

She made it her lifelong passion, reading everything she could find about the planet, scouring two centuries worth of data. With every probe that went past the dark world, she made certain to download all relevant data.

After she graduated from her Arizona State’s Astronomy Department with honors, the Lowell Observatory took a shine to her, and sponsored her into the NASA training program. Justine had worked hard over her short career. She clawed her way up through the ranks, just for the opportunity of fulfilling her dream. Her ultimate goal: the Orcus 1 mission. It was hers, though it had cost her a marriage along the way.

Brian, her ex-husband, had decided he did not want to play second runner up to Justine’s career. Her single regret was that she never made room in her schedule to have a child. The sense of loss and regret over her decision to put career ahead of family might have sent her into a deep depression that might have gotten the best of her, had not the Orcus Mission become a strong possibility.

Duty beckoned. Someone had to staff the bridge. With squeeze tube in hand, she picked her way through the ship.

She reached her command chair just as a klaxon sounded.

Scanning the monitors to no avail, Justine pitched her voice to get the computer to acknowledge her command. “Com: on.” The ship’s computer beeped, and Justine asked, “Captain, here. What is it?”

The replying voice came across filled with a high-pitched whistle of static.

“Captain! We’ve got something strange out here, you know! Something you just have to see!” There was no mistaking Helen’s Canadian accent when she was excited, and the woman tended to get overexcited about even the little things. Justine sighed.

“If it’s a patch of ice with pink and purple streaks through it, I’m not going to be impressed.”

“You want impressed?” Helen’s digitized voice asked. “Well, I guarantee you won’t be disappointed. Get out here and see for yourself!”

“What is—”

The computer beeped, indicating that Helen had cut off communications.

With a grudging effort, Justine lifted herself out of the chair and made her way to the lockers to suit up and go outside.

She grumbled all the while. “Crazy Canucks. Always with those cliffhangers. She probably loves the weather up here, while I freeze my nethers.”

Justine, who weighed 59.8 kilograms on earth, was finding it difficult to maneuver with her Plutonian weight of 2.4 kilograms once outside the Orcus 1’s artificial gravity simulator. She weighed about as much as a large bag of salt. A strong leap could send her dozens of meters in any direction. That kind of activity, she admonished herself, was against regulations, and unsafe.

With its surface a slick sheet of methane ice and dunes of frost, any small misstep on Pluto could send her sliding hundreds of meters away. There would be little time to use the ice hooks built into the sleeves of her suit-shields to slow her down. Her boots were equipped with vacuum-suckers to keep them stable on the ice. Even so, a fall into one of the kilometers-deep craters that pocked the surface could mean a chilly death.

NASA publicity department wanted lots of commentary on the trip, and Justine decided to get it out of the way while she could. She spoke into her microphone, and pointed a small mini-cam toward the largest object in Pluto’s sky.

“The moon, Charon, whose surface is more water-based without traces of methane, is a dark blue orb filling the sky.”

Shifting to get out of the glare from the Orcus 1’s landing lights, she skittered across an expanse of ice, and caught herself. With a deep breath of relief, she faced upward again.

“Although it is 1,270 kilometers in diameter, a third the diameter of Luna, Charon is more than five times the size of Luna from the Earth because of its proximity to Pluto, 12,640 km away.”

Justine got into an ATV and set it to follow Helen’s homing beacon.

She babbled while the vehicle rolled over the icy glacier that made up most of the surface of the planet.

“The primary mission of the Orcus 1 is to examine the possibilities of methane-based life forms existing on Pluto. Nitrogen is a necessity of life, making up about 78 per cent of Earth’s air by volume. It makes up a vital part of protein molecules. As with the Mars microbes a century ago, NASA is hoping to find some evidence of life on Pluto.”

The beacon indicated she was within a kilometer of the group.

She struggled to think of something to say that might interest an Earth audience.

“Pluto is named after the Roman god of the dead and the underworld. To continue the allusion to Greek Mythology, they named Pluto’s smaller twin ‘Charon’ for the old boatman who ferries souls across the River Styx. In following this tradition, NASA decided to name the first manned mission to Pluto as Orcus 1 after the—”

As she came over a rise, she shut her mouth tight with a clack that echoed insider her helmet. Below her, the science team and Helen gathered like acolytes around a divine statue.

Her eyes beheld a sight beyond anything she had ever imagined possible.

In a place where no human had ever before set foot, against the cold darkness of Pluto’s skyline, there was a monument the size of an aircraft hangar. The bulk of the structure resembled the nucleus of a complex atom.

Orbiting that nucleus, a number of spherical objects formed what looked like an electron cloud, hovering in the space around the monument without any visible tethers or supports.

An alien chill walked icy fingers up Justine’s spine.

Humankind was not alone in the universe…

__________

St. Lawrence Charity Hall :

Ottawa :

Canada Corp. :

Michael Sanderson, vice-president of Canada Corp.’s Space Mining Division had his best smile on for Stall Henderson, the Mayor of Ottawa, and Ian Pocatello, the National Minister of Finance.

Sharing innate pleasantries over triangular glasses of champagne at the St. Lawrence Charity Hall, Michael groaned inwardly at the need for such a cosmetic facade.

Michael had lost track of how many of these functions he had attended over the past thirty-two years of his career, both in and out of the corporate government. Since his appointment to the VP of SMD five years previous, his attendance to these functions had tripled. They wore thin on him.

His smile, however, never faded.

“I don’t usually drink, but after tasting this excellent champagne, I’m considering changing my views.” He took a sip to punctuate his opinion.

“My wife spends hundreds of hours finding and sampling new labels, and buys it by the case when she finds one she likes. I’ll tell her to send you and Melanie a bottle for Christmas,” offered Stall Henderson.

“Wonderful. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Mayor Stall Henderson was an open, jovial man, well suited to public office. Short in stature, he had a balding pate and an expanding waistline; a sign of the good times he had brought to the city. Everybody’s friend, he had a quick mind, but suffered from a dry sense of humor, which some people found condescending.

Michael genuinely liked him for his personality, and for his integrity and political acumen. He was a politician’s politician.

“So how is the asteroid business?” Stall segued not so casually. He kept his eyes from glancing at the Minister of Finance. Stall Henderson was well into his sixties, and had been mayor of the country’s capital city for twenty years.

In the past century, Ottawa had grown from merely the legislative capital of Canada to a major international city that attracted investors and researchers from all over the globe. Canada Corp. had resisted the worldwide corporate trend of diversification, and had located all its divisional headquarters in Ottawa and its environs; a major stroke of good fortune for Stall’s political repute.

Michael smiled and set his empty glass on a tray carried by a servochine, exchanging it for a full one.

“Oh, we’re doing about as well as can be expected,” Michael said equivocally. “We have a few more prospects in development, as you’ve no doubt read in yesterday’s press release. If the preliminary surveys are correct, I can see a day in the future when Earth’s natural resources will no longer be extirpated. All mining for the globe will be done off-planet. It’s quite exciting.”

“Fascinating, I would hasten to add,” the mayor said. “Anything to do with outer space has my interest piqued. I have a son in post-grad studying the geothermal anomalies of Mars.”

“Sted Henderson.” Michael searched his mind, and was pleased with his recall. “Yes, I read his graduate thesis on it; published in Sol Weekly’s last issue, I believe. Since finding those microbes last century, experts have been arguing about life having once existed on Mars. Sted’s thesis points out that the evidence might suggest, instead, that life will exist one day in the future on Mars, that the planet is preparing itself for some kind of evolutionary burst. A boon for the naturalist movement. There was talk of degrading orbits or something along those lines. Increased temperatures and so forth.”

“Yes! He’ll be delighted to hear you’ve taken an interest.”

Ian piped in. “I caught that issue as well, though I had bought it more for the cover story about the Orcus mission to Pluto.”

Ian Pocatello was an unknown quantity to Michael, and that night’s focus. Younger than both Stall and Michael by at least twenty years, Ian had won a seat in the House of Ministers in the last round of proxy elections with a resounding majority decision; it had been his first time campaigning, which served to show he was a dangerous political opponent.

Researching Ian’s background, Michael learned the man had spent the early part of his life as a successful financial advisor. Upon his election to the legislature, Ian had been appointed to the cabinet as “Minister of Finance” by Canada Corp.’s long-time CEO, Pierre Dolbeau.

The first two budgets under Pocatello’s administration had brought sweeping cuts to every department of the corporate government of Canada. Warning of a trend of global economical collapse—China, Ltd., Australia Company, India Limited, and Spain Corporation being the first countries to declare bankruptcy and be taken over by neighboring economic powers—Ian had forewarned of a day when Canada Corp. would be the victim of a hostile takeover from the much more fiscally powerful USA, Inc.

Three years into his Five-Year Plan, he turned around Canada Corp.’s financial outlook, and although the budget was still constricting, Canada Corp.’s debt had dropped by eighty percent, and forecasts indicated a possibility of a surplus within the next six quarters.

Ian Pocatello’s straight-faced, quiet approach to functions was daunting, however, and it took all Michael had in him to keep the conversation going, trying to find a soft spot in the Minister’s defenses.

“I didn’t know you were a space buff.”

Ian shook his head. “I’m not. Progress in space industry bears watching, though. If it’s profitable, I’m interested.”

Around the three men, dignitaries and functionaries in all levels of government—national, provincial, and municipal—as well as lobbyists from differing private corporations and minority groups, swirled in a cacophonic dance of political maneuvers. Behind those smiles and polite nods were feral plans and ambitious agendas.

Ostensibly, they were all there at the dinner to help fund-raise for Child-Find Canada, and it was more than a success at ten-thousand dollars a plate and a full house, but that was an excuse for the participants to lobby other politicians for support in whatever individual goals they had come to the Hall to achieve.

Michael’s agenda was straightforward, but he had to play his hand close to the vest, or others would dismiss his motives as a smoke screen for some private objective. If he did not portray himself as a political barracuda, he would lose standing and reputation. The mining effort would suffer, and, ultimately, he believed, the rest of the sub-corporation.

The SMD needed funds to bolster their research efforts. At present, they had thirteen class 2 nickel mines to show for the $140 billion the Corp. and private stakeholders had invested in the Space Mining Division. Forty-two of their projected asteroidal mines had showed, after additional surveys, to have impure lodes of ore and minerals; in a cost versus product schematic, they were not worth the trouble at present.

Michael Sanderson believed in the SMD, as the best hope for Canada Corp.’s financial supremacy in the global economy, and as the best hope for the world. Scientists had estimated that the asteroid belt itself held hundreds of undiscovered new elements, with attributes that could improve the quality of life for everyone on Earth.

Already, USA, Inc. and The British Conglomerates of the Commonwealth had aggressive and profitable space mining programs up and running, although most other country corporations were so far as unsuccessful as Canada Corp. A major lode had not yet been discovered on any of the Space Mining Division asteroids, and the race to the proverbial mother lode was getting tense.

Michael knew there were iron ore lodes out there in the Belt that would more than justify the massive investment by Canada Corp. and others. One or two big finds would alleviate the debt the SMD was accumulating.

He needed a few more billion dollars for operating costs and research—there were hundreds of thousands of asteroids to survey—and he was sure the “Big Find” would occur soon. He had to get the Minister of Finance on his side, and to believe in SMD.

Then they could take their case to CEO Dolbeau.

Over the past two months, however, Michael had been unable to arrange a meeting with Ian Pocatello. The minister would not take private meetings with the VP of SMD, and had not returned any of his calls. When Michael discovered that the Minister of Finance was on the attendance list for the night’s charity, he had seen to it that he and the Minister would cross paths.

Another man was approaching, and hearing the last words spoken, commented in a wry voice.

“We have a Canadian on the Orcus 1. Did you know that? I’m following the story closely, myself.” He laughed. “And I saw a tabloid on the Mesh just today promising that landing on Pluto will mean the end of the world. 93% of readers agree.”

Which is why they perform extensive mental competency and personality tests before someone can buy a share of the country corp. and can then vote on national matters, thought Michael.

The others curled their lips at the comment as the Minster of Energy, Mines and Resources—Michael’s direct co-superior—joined them. He and the Minister of Canadian Space Exploration shared the joint-chairmanship portfolio of the Space Mining Division.

“Michael, how are you?” Alliras Rainier asked. A gray-haired man of seventy-one, Alliras was the foremost champion of the SMD, having made it a personal crusade to pass the bill ten years ago to create the Division, and pushing to have long-time friend Michael Sanderson appointed VP and director of the effort. Michael’s meteoric rise through the ranks of EMR could be attributed, to some extent, to his association with Alliras Rainier, a long-time advocate of Michael’s philosophies on energy and conservation.

Michael himself had just passed his fifty-third birthday a week before, spending the weekend with his family at his home outside Hull, Quebec. He kept fit by jogging two miles every morning, avoiding animal fats, and eating grains, fish, rice, and plenty of fruits and vegetables. At his last check-up, his doctor said to him, “I have some bad news; you only have about fifty or sixty more years to live.”

Family was the most important thing in Michael’s life, but a close second was the welfare of his fellow humans, not just Canadians, but everyone in the world. He gave to charity, and did what he could to help the environment, which was why he had gotten into the field of environmental energy at McGill University, where he had met his wife, Melanie, a Humanities Major.

Some small successes early in his career had garnered him the notice of Canada Corp.’s Department of Energy, Mines, and Resources. He had been climbing the ladder of the governmental corporation for the past thirty years, and was near the top, where he had gained more influence than he had ever hoped or dreamed.

He was in a position to effect great changes in the way the world found and used energy, and the possibilities excited him. The passion that had sent him into Environmental Studies in University had not dissipated over the years.

His energy level, and tolerance for political maneuvering, however, was fading fast.

When Michael nodded that he was fine, Alliras prompted, “And your lovely wife, Melanie?”

The conversation from this point was choreographed; the two had gotten together at Michael’s house the night before to discuss tactics.

“Melanie? She’s here, somewhere. I think she’s cornered Angela and the two are probably deep in debate over the aesthetics of pre-Columbian art.”

“I never should have encouraged her to take that U of Carleton course. I think I’ve spent over a hundred big ones on ugly statues of pregnant goddesses in the last six months.” He laughed, and the other three men joined in obligingly.

Michael could tell that Ian Pocatello was starting to feel more than a little cornered himself, with three pro-mining lobbyists surrounding him. The Minister was tense, as if waiting for the concerted attack.

The whole charade reminded Michael of tigers stalking a polar bear.

They would have to be careful, or enrage the bear.

Turning to Ian, Michael smiled. “I understand congratulations are in order over your last budget?”

“Yes. It was simple, really…”

If there was one thing Ian Pocatello liked, it was listening to the sound of his own voice.

The others settled in to listen, luring the Minister into a false sense of security. They smelled victory.

__________

USA, Inc. Exploration Site :

Mission Orcus 1 :

Pluto :

Twelve kilometers from the landing site, Justine, driving the ATV, pulled short.

In front of her was an alien artifact.

Ekwan Nipiwin took a step toward it.

“Stop!” Justine roared.

As one, they turned toward her.

She got off the ATV and picked her way down to them. It was a difficult task, considering the treacherous path, and her inability to take her eyes off the artifact for more than a couple of moments at a time.

As she came closer to it, she realized she could see through the semi-transparent surface of the monument. A hectare large at its base, and easily sixteen floors high, it was a massive structure of alien construction.

Justine stared at the behemothic artifact, her imagination running away with her. Thoughts of other life in the galaxy filled her mind. She had no doubt about it. They were not alone in the universe.

What were they like? Where did they come from? How long ago did they visit Sol?

Was this monument a calling card?

Here is where we are…come visit us.

Or a flag?

We were here.

Or some kind of warning?

Go no further puny humans!

She was sure the thinkers back on Earth would be up twenty-four hours a day trying to answer those same questions, once she transmitted her report. As mission exec., Justine had little in the way of scientific background, compared to the others in the science crew, each of whom had no less than two Ph.D.’s. Her training was more technologically based, but even that education did nothing to help her solve the puzzle in front of her.

“It ain’t doing nothing, Captain.” Helen broke off from the group to join Justine. “Just sitting there. Could have been here for a hundred million years, doing nothing.”

“I want to know for certain. If there is even the remotest possibility of danger to the crew, then I’m going to declare this area off limits until we get instructions from Earth.”

“Don’t be so dense!” Ekwan’s lips twisted. “I’ll show you.” He reached down and grabbed a sizeable chunk of ice and hurled it at the artifact before Justine realized what he was doing.

“Stop!” she commanded, but the ice ball, hurled with a human’s strength on a planet with a gravity base a fraction of Earth’s, shot like a rocket into the artifact.

—And shattered into a million tiny fragments.

The artifact remained a noble, immovable object.

“See, Captain! I already tried that before. It’s just there, like Helen said, doing nothing. If you are going to report this to Earth, the least we can do is take some surface measurements, spectrometer reading; the usual stuff.”

The pain-in-the-ass geologist was right, as usual. The immensity of the artifact itself, and the deep-seated awareness that there were others out there, numbed Justine, slowed her reactions. This discovery shook her to her core.

“What do we call it?”

“Dis Pater, of course.” This from George Eastmain.

The name was apropos. A rough translation of Dis Pater from Latin was “Lord of the Dark Realms.” The Romans had called their god of the underworld Dis Pater, and later changed it to Pluto. Justine had done her homework on all things Plutonian.

Henrietta mimed blowing George a kiss.

Glad that her helmet obscured the sour look on her face at the two of them, Justine nodded. “Very well. Let’s get as much data as we can in one hour. Then we’ll have to return for oxygen, and I’ll transmit my report.”

Like wind-up toys, the team jerked into action and began to set up their instruments.

They spent the rest of the hour taking measurements, readings, still photos, videos, and forming hypotheses. Within minutes, Dale Powers yelled out.

“What is it?” Justine asked, out of breath from running to his side despite the chance of slipping.

The astrogator raised his arm, and pointed his finger. Centered on one sloping face of the monument, Justine could see thousands upon thousands of etched glyphs. When she moved to another of the bubbles, she saw it also had strange writing on the surface.

“My God!” Justine turned, looking for the engineer. “Henrietta! Get over here. I need you to get a picture of this. And tell me what you think.”

With her camera, Henrietta took a few stills, and then ran the data through her palm puter.

“Forty-nine columns on this bubble,” she announced. “One-hundred and seventy-five rows. I can’t make anything out. I have to take a closer look.” She waited for Justine’s nod before turning on her anti-magnetos.

The engineer repelled off the planet’s surface and hovered before the engraving, taking photos and video.

“Each column and row represents a unique set of glyphs, maybe like a sentence or something. I can’t make out anything here.”

“How many sets?” Justine asked the group as they all peered up at their floating compatriot.

George, the astrophysics genius, replied, “Eight-thousand, five-hundred and seventy-five lines of glyphs.” The figures came to him with little effort. “On each face.”

Taking a quick spin around the circumference of the nucleus, George counted, “At least thirty-five neutrons. That’s over thirty thousand lines.”

“Yeah,” confirmed Henrietta. “And I think each line is in a different language; each style is markedly different, and I don’t recognize any of them.” She measured a few with her palm puter. “Each row is twenty centimeters in height, and each column is seventy-one centimeters in width, separated by forty-two millimeters of blank space. The whole encryption encompasses a square area on the face 35 meters by 35 meters. Here, I’m transmitting the image to your puters.”

They all pulled out their palm puters, and reviewed the images. Each line had a varying number of symbols, ideograms, dots, squiggles, or glyphs, from ten to a few hundred characters. Some specimens were simply a thousand or so straight lines inscribed side by side.

At the bottom of the last column, by itself, was a single line of glyphs. Justine thought it might be a signature of sorts.

Justine knew in her heart it was a Rosetta stone of an interstellar collection of languages.

Imagine! Over thirty thousand other species out there in the vastness of space!

Justine shook her head.

“Alright. We have to get back and send a report. Besides, our oxygen is low. In ten hours, we should have a reply to our report. And then we’ll go from there.”

Justine had to cajole every member of the team to return to the ship.

She, most of all, was the hardest to convince to leave.

__________

[Event Report : Form ER-102]

Date:

21-08-2091 / 13:23 GMT

Filed by:

Captain Justine C. Turner, Orcus 1

Navigator Helen Buchanan (CSE)

Scientific Team:

Joahanne Belcher (ESA), Ekwan Nipiwin (JAP), Dale Powers (NASA), Henrietta Maria (NASA), George Eastmain (NASA), Sakami Chin (PRC)

Nature of Event:

Discovery of unknown artifact. Scientific team named it “Dis Pater” after the Roman god of the underworld, who was later renamed Pluto.

Origin:

Unknown—not of human manufacture.

Age:

Unknown.

Location:

Pluto. Longitude 120:14:04. Latitude 42:98:31.

Composition:

Unknown. Specific gravity of 100+. Impenatrable by ion bombardment (laser drill ineffective). Spectroanalysis inconclusive despite repeated test. Uncharted, or uncharteable atomic composition.

Dimensions:

35.02 meters NS by 49.38 EW at base of nucleus. 168.27 meters in diameter including electron cloud. 75.91 meters in height.

Remark:

Foundation/base rests on surface of planet; no indentation identified.

Mass:

Estimated 1.44 terratons.

Apparent color:

Translucent. There is a subtle disruption of light flowing through object.

Animation:

None. Object is inert.

Distinguishing Marks:

Every curved surface of the nucleus is covered in glyphs, inscribed by unknown means. Extensive photo catalog included with appendix to report.

Observations:

Obviously of alien origin. We’ve tried every test we can think of, but none have given us any more than cursory data. Until we can interpret the glyphs we have no idea who the architects are, or for what purpose they erected this monument. Ekwan Nipiwin believes the shape is meant to represent an element, though it is nothing like anything in our current table, or like anything we have ever encountered.

__________

USA, Inc. Exploration Site :

Mission Orcus 1 :

Pluto :

“Captain.” It was Helen.

In her command chair, Justine, lost in thought, blinked and turned her attention to the Canadian.

“Yes?”

All eight of them had been maintaining a silent vigil, waiting for a reply from Earth. Occasionally, someone would point out a reading or an image and make a comment, but in subdued tones. The enormity of their discovery sank in deeper as the day progressed.

To pass the time, Justine had composed a few messages to family and friends, and one or two colleagues. At a time when a single person’s existence dwindled to near-insignificance compared the knowledge of over thirty thousand alien races out there, Justine felt she needed to reaffirm the connection to the ones she loved and respected.

It made her feel better knowing she was a part of something that might reveal the awesome secrets of outer space. Never in her wildest imagination had she believed the Orcus Mission would bear such cosmic fruit.

The others perked up as Helen spoke. “We’ve got a binary EPS from Mission Control. Huh.” She glanced up, her eyes wide in disbelief. “And a confirmation of translation of glyphics on Dis Pater!”

There was a moment’s hesitation. George Eastmain blinked rapidly.

Ekwan’s mouth opened in a silent O.

Then Justine spluttered, “A what?”

“I repeat: A translation.”

“That can’t be!” Dale Powers stood up. “Those glyphs prove there is life out there, and they’ve visited here.” He pointed to the ceiling, and his voice took on a note of incredulity. “But I know for a fact that our life has never been to Pluto!”

Justine regarded him for moment, contemplating his tirade. “I tend to agree with you, Dale.” She scanned the group. “But if Mission Control says they have a translation, we’d best hear it before discounting its validity.”

“Helen?”

“I’ll put it right through.”

They all turned their attention to their workstation monitors.

__________

Luna Station :

Luna :

Chow Yin had spent every one of the last seventy-nine years of his life on Luna. If anyone was aware of that, it would certainly make headline news, and break records. That was the last thing Chow Yin wanted, however.

At the age of three and a half, accompanying his parents on a posting to Luna Station, he had laughingly escaped the grasp of his mother one day and run off. As most accidents happen, he had run through a construction zone and fell under the tires of a terraloader. His legs had been crushed, his bones splintered into thousands of pieces.

Reconstructive surgery and extensive physiotherapy, combined with the easy Lunar gravity of the time, had given him back the ability to walk, but with a very pronounced shuffle, and only with the aid of crutches: his awkward gait was far beyond a mere limp. Throughout elementary classes on Luna, he had been called troll, troglodyte, Quasimodo, and a horde of other unwanted appositives.

He resented his peers, hated them.

Popularity was too far from his grasp to even be considered a dream. Acceptance was unattainable. He was a cast-out.

The physicians told him he could never travel to earth, the bones in his legs would shatter like toothpicks under the hard G’s of a re-entry shuttle, and walking in gravity six times that of the moon was an impossibility.

For all purposes, he became the only orphan on Luna, since no one besides him was permitted to be stationed there for longer than a year for their own biological safety—his parents included. Yin had fended for himself reasonably well. His parents had visited once a year, but had granted the People’s Republic of China legal guardianship of him.

Over the years, as he entered adulthood, his contact with his parents lessened to the point where Chow Yin no longer cared to accept their attempts at contact. To this day, he had no idea of their fate.

When Luna Station installed magnagravs for artificial gravity, only Chow Yin went without the lead-lined outfits. The pressure would be too much for his crippled body.

A lesser man would have let it get the better of him; perhaps even ended it all.

Not Yin.

He had turned his disadvantage to an advantage. The one thing he noticed about everybody who looked at him, especially once he reached his late teens and early twenties, was that their looks of horror and pity and revulsion were their central fixation. If he happened to be lifting their credit flecks from the folds of their coats, they did not notice, for his crippled and pathetic self was their only focus.

At twenty-three, he had been no longer satisfied with the pickings of transients and tourists credit flecks; those sums were enough to get him by, but what he really longed for was wealth: enough wealth that people would look at him with reverence instead of revulsion.

As the only permanent resident of Luna, Yin was more familiar with the station than anyone else was. He had converted a low-G storage bay on the bottom-most level of the station to his private quarters. With the help of a young and bored computer whiz whose parents had been stationed on Luna for a year, he erased traces of the storage bay in the main computer, changed security logs, created new access codes to keep out undesirables, and altered the entire computer system of the sector to suit Yin’s needs and desires.

From this base, he ventured forth among the teen population of Luna. Most of them were bored and disenchanted with life on the moon, and Yin recruited them to his cause, especially targeting those with skill in computers and technology.

Set up as a launch site to destinations beyond Earth, Luna Station, by its charter, was a cooperative venture of thirty-two country corporations. As such, no single government had absolute jurisdiction. The main computer was programmed as an administrative governor, and would enforce the policy voted upon by the station’s board of directors on Earth.

It was only a matter of time before Yin and his cybergang cracked the computer’s defenses.

Yin’s young protégés created a dummy file to accept instructions from Earth, run simulation reports on those initiatives, and send those dummy reports back, keeping the Earth council ignorant and happy.

As far as things went, by the time Yin was twenty-eight he owned the moon in all but name. The wealth and power he had gathered to him rivaled that of the country corporations themselves. Every pleasure was his; every luxury was his with barely a thought.

Nothing happened on Luna Station without Chow Yin’s fingers in the pot, and the only people that knew it were those that worked for him.

Lord of his little empire, Yin watched over the comings and goings of all transients at Luna Station, had his finger on the pulse of the country-corporations who docked their shuttles and temporarily installed their people on Luna.

If Yin wanted, he could have the Luna Computer ground all outgoing flights, or restrict any incoming shuttles from any country or private corporation that displeased him. He could hold all of outer space ransom, if he chose to do so.

He did not do that, however. Discretion, he had learned from experience, was the better part of increasing one’s personal wealth.

… And information was the most powerful tool in the pursuit of that goal. He used the information he gleaned in productive ways; revenge and petty tyranny was not his business. Besides, abusing his power would only get him noticed, and he preferred to operate and luxuriate in anonymity.

The only people he let get close to him were the teens, whom he had continued to personally recruit over the past forty-odd years.

As part of his campaign to dominate Luna Station, when the last Chinese station director had rotated back to China, Yin had the computers manufacture an identity for the director’s replacement and bounce it into the Hong Kong data base. A non-person had been transferred to the moon, and the big bureaucratic machine that was the PRC did not even notice, so wrapped up in their petty politics and closed-door communistic efforts. It was a coup d’état, as far as Yin was concerned, though yet an unpublished one.

The entire Chinese Sector was firmly under his control, and the rest of the station was at his mercy.

Classified government documents were his to peruse and use as he wished, and he did so with impunity. He had corrupted the shuttle port governor, diverted tariffs and fees to his own private bank accounts, and appropriated nearly the entire budget allocated to the Chinese Sector from the PRC. So far, he had gathered a net worth that numbered in the trillions. He had invested heavily in many of the Earth nation’s private corporations; and with a little manipulation, managed to secure a healthy return on his employed capital, as well as letting him keep his thumb on the pulse of Earth industry.

As part of his daily routine, while slowly consuming breakfast, he enjoyed reading some of the top-secret government communiqués his young techowizards intercepted.

When he read one such missive directed from Earth to Pluto, he nearly choked on his orange juice.

Immediately, he rang his secretary and told him, “Call a meeting of all our top snoops. We have a new priority.”

__________

Macklin’s Rock :

SMD Mine Number 568 :

Sol System :

Asteroid Belt :

Taking a break at noon for a bite to eat, Alex slipped off the thought-link patch and ocular caps, blinking his eyes as he focused on the small TAHU. Adults always tried to tell him that too much VR would make him go blind, but if that were true, Alex had never seen any evidence of it.

“Hucs,” he addressed the computer. Now that the thought-link patch was off, he had to vocalize his request. “Fries and cola, please.”

<Carbonated beverages are on restriction, Alex, as well as fried foods. I am sorry. Would you like a tuna sandwich and a glass of milk instead?>

Alex grumbled to himself. His parents were concerned that he was not eating well enough. He felt all right, but had no choice in the matter; he had not yet figured out how to overwrite the log matrix on Hucs, so that he could override its priority codes with impunity. He decided he would have to work on that problem in the afternoon, or risk severe penalties when his parents found out he had been playing hooky again.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” When he entered the dining cubicle, his sandwich and milk were waiting for him in the booth, the replicator pre-programmed with the differing personal preferences of each of the three inhabitants. Alex liked chopped celery and onion with no extra mayonnaise, but his parents preferred lettuce as their only addition. He sat down and ate quickly, his mind not on the food, but on the problem of the log matrix.

If he wrote a sub-program slaved to the file named “Alex’s Daily Activities and Progress Chart,” then whenever his mother or father tapped in an inquiry on him, the dummy file would come up on screen over top of the legitimate file. He could then doctor the dummy file in any manner he so chose.

The problem with that was—

The TAHU alert klaxon sounded, making Alex jump in the booth.

<Proximity warning,> Hucs reported. <Unknown quantity approaching TAHU. Origin unknown. Velocity approaching light speed; thirteen seconds to impact. Please proceed to security receptacle, Alex.>

Without delay, Alex tapped the 2D min-monitor in the booth, signaling his parents.

“Mom! Dad!” he yelled, but the monitor showed nothing but white static.

“Look out! I think it’s an asteroid!”

<Eight seconds until impact. Energy dampers at one hundred percent. Leak shield secure. Superstructure shields at full. Please proceed to security receptacle, Alex.>

Leaping out of the booth, Alex raced for his cubicle. The emergency drills his parents had forced him to repeat to no end came to him like second nature.

Jumping into the security receptacle, he closed his eyes as the restraints locked around him, securing him from hitting any walls when whatever it was outside hit him.

He had the briefest of moments to speculate what was coming at him. His first though had been an asteroid, but that would not be traveling so fast. A solar flare? Unlikely, at this distance.

Sweat leaped from his forehead as panic set in.

<One…>

His parents were outside, unprotected.

<…second…>

Unable to control himself, he screamed.

<…until…>

__________

St. Lawrence Charity Hall :

Ottawa :

Canada Corp.:

As Michael Sanderson and Alliras Rainier began their first round of maneuvering tactics to corner Ian Pocatello into granting them an extra billion dollars in funding, a servochine interposed itself between the two.

The Al had been designed in the shape of a humanoid, but instead of legs, it used six rubber wheels to glide across surfaces. The wheels were attached to a rectangular box that could be customized as a refrigeration unit, a file cabinet, a tool chest, or any other kind of container required by the servochine’s programmed capacity. As a waiter, the servochine’s compartment was used to carry bottles of alcohol and spirits.

To Michael’s slight surprise, the servochine was holding a silver tray on top of which was a white plastic envelope addressed to him.

“How quaint,” the Minister of Finance commented. “A couriered message. I don’t think I’ve ever been on the receiving end of one of those, little say sending one.”

Running interference, Alliras replied, “Don’t know why we ever stopped. Couriers and fax machines were wonderful. Now, we send everything over the EarthMesh. Quite frankly, I’m not comfortable with all the techno hackers in the world having access to the digitally transmitted love letters I send to my wife from work.” Both Ian and Stall chuckled appreciatively.

Glancing at the servochine’s CPU mount as if the AI would explain its presence, Michael took the envelope, opened it and, muttering a quick “Excuse me” to the three gentlemen looking on with interest, read the lased memo on the plastic slip he found within.

*

Michael, I’m sorry to have to send this message to you considering your current circumstances, but an emergency has arisen that demands your immediate attention.

There has been a catastrophe that could undermine the entire program. The media is not yet aware of the incident, but it is only a matter of time. We need you, Michael!

—Calbert

*

Michael looked up at Alliras, blinked, and then forced an equable smile on his face.

“Something has come up.”

“Everything all right?” Stall asked, fishing for information.

“Of course. You know SOPs: every time there’s a blip on the astrographs, they have to have it signed off.”

“A find?” Stall pressed.

Michael smiled. “If it is, I’ll make sure to send you an advance press release. And now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”

The look on Ian Pocetello’s face was a mix of concern over the emergency, and relief that he would not be corralled that night.

The timing was horrible, but Michael had to get back and assess the situation; he trusted Calbert not to exaggerate any catastrophe. If anything, his aide was apt to understate the case; and that scared years off Michael’s life. If damage control was needed, he had to get to the SMD event center quickly.

As Michael turned to go, Alliras said, “You don’t mind if I tag along?” He read the emotion on Michael’s face, and knew that the message was more important than lobbying the finance minister.

“Please do.” Michael said it as casually as he could.

Alliras motioned to one of his aides, who hurried over. “Please inform our wives we’ve been called away, and see that they get home safely.”

“Certainly, sir.” The man gave a quick nod, and hurried off.

Making apologies as they left, Michael and Alliras made their way out of the St. Lawrence Charity Hall, and into the Minister’s awaiting limo.

*

“Dammit,” Michael cursed once they were inside the vehicle. “Two months trying to get into the same room with Ian Pocatello, and this happens.”

He handed the memo to his superior. Before reading it, Alliras commented, “A bit medieval, sending a message on plastic. Quaint, as the Honerable Ian Pocatello put it, but still medieval.”

“It’s something that Calbert initiated; public thought-comm traffic is mimocorded by the government. CSIS has legislation allowing them to monitor any thought-comm or AV conversation, even encoded transmissions. Even the CCP can get access to the Corp’s messaging system, in a crunch. A hand-delivered message is about the most secure form of communication available to us, as ironic as that is.”

“Ironic,” the Minister repeated.

“If one of the CSIS agents, or even a worker at the communications network, is of the disgruntled variety, there’s always the chance of them selling any vital information over the border. We normally have a code we use over the thought-comm network, but I turned off my system for the charity function.”

Alliras read the plastic slip inside the envelope. He whistled. “What does this mean?”

“I’m going to find out soon enough,” Michael replied, already tapping in the number for a direct AV comm line to Calbert Loche, powered under SMD’s private and secured lines, to allow his superior to listen in. An AV comm, conducted through thought-link patches, could be heard by one person on either end of the transmission.

“What about your internal security?” Alliras prompted.

As the signal beeped that transmission was taking place, Michael answered, “We have our own code for department lines, just like your office, I assume. We use it for emergencies, so no one will have enough examples to decode.”

“You take your history lessons to heart, I see.”

“I learned from my superior, rather than from textbooks,” Michael complimented. Alliras nodded in concession.

To his consternation, Michael’s call was bounced to Raymond Magrath, Calbert’s capable assistant.

“What’s going on?” Michael demanded. “I got the message. Where’s Calbert? Get him on the line.”

Raymond looked sheepish. “Sorry, Director; Calbert has his hands full. I know he needs to speak to you, though. Urgently.” He struggled to think of what could be said over what passed for a “secure” line.

“There’s a…a kind of 152, but of indeterminate substance or identification.”

Michael chewed on his lip.

“And…?” he pressed after a moment.

“Also, a 489.”

“Oh. Damn.” He nodded to the assistant. “We’re already on our way. Fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you, Director.” The assistant severed the connection.

Michael hung up the comm line.

“So what’s a 152 and 489?” The Minister asked, raising one brow.

“A 152 is a ‘Find.’ A discovery of a mineral or ore lode.”

“That’s good, then.”

“Indeterminate. We get an average of a dozen 152s a week.

“—A 489,” Michael informed him solemnly, “we don’t get so often. It means there’s been an accident, and there are multiple deaths involved.”

The silence in the limo stretched out for a full minute, and then Alliras nodded.

“Then by all means, let’s not spare the horses.”

__________

USA, Inc. Exploration Site :

Mission Orcus 1 :

Pluto :

On the bridge DMR casement of the Orcus 1, and simulcast on their workstation monitors and palm puters, the NASA insignia appeared along with the emblems from the Canadian Space Exploration division, the European Space Agency, the Japan Conglomeration Space Enterprises, and the People’s Republic of China Space Program, all of whom had joined the Pluto mission under NASA authority.

Justine scrutinized every digiface character that appeared on the screen.

The report had been sent in binary code; a video uplink was thought too expensive for routine communications. The power requirements of AV at that distance were astronomical, to say the least.

The computer translated the message:

*

To:

Orcus 1

From:

Mission Control, NASA, USA, Inc.

Re:

Dis Pater

Message:

The glyph on the last row, last column is confirmed as Mayan Hieroglyph, circa 700 AD

Translation:

“Behold the Mighty Door of Kinich Ahua; Eternity is Now Before You; Be Ware the Power of Kukulcan.”

Orders:

Discontinue initial mission. Dis Pater primary priority. Local authority granted.

Signed:

CEO Frank Madison, USA, Inc.

Director William Tuttle, NASA

CEO Pierre Dolbeau, Canada Corp.

Thomas Granville, Minister of CSE

Dir. Lassen Kruger, ESA

Dir. Vic Tong, Japan Cong. space enterprises

Honorable Tung Jo, PRC Space program

*

Loud conversation broke out immediately, threatening to escalate into argument.

“What does that mean, ‘Behold the Mighty Door of Kinich Ahua; Eternity is Now Before You; Be Ware the Power of Kukulcan’?”

“And what does ‘local authority’ mean?”

“What do they expect us to do?”

“Who is going to be in charge? The Mission Chief? Or the Science Chief?”

Johan Belcher asked, “Are there any more details?”

“No.”

Henrietta had a concerned look on her face. “Are they keeping us in the dark on purpose?”

“Is there more? Does Captain Turner have a private message?” George Eastmain demanded.

That last question brought silence as all turned to her for an answer. Justine, in turn, glanced at Helen. “Is there anything for me?”

The First Mate/Navigator of the mission blinked a number of times. It was against regulations to reveal even the existence of coded military messages to the Science Team, but it was obvious the captain wanted to allay suspicion among the Team.

Slowly, she nodded, yes.

“Bring it up.”

Helen hesitated. “Captain,” she began to protest.

“Bring it up,” Justine reiterated, her tone forceful and full of command. She brooked no disobedience.

“Very well.” The Canadian turned to her comm computer and tapped in a few passages, giving the preliminary codes. She turned to Justine. “Captain?”

Nodding, Justine said out loud, “Voice print confirmation: Captain Justine Churchill Turner, Orcus 1. Security Code: Alpha-Alpha-Alpha-Zeta-Alpha-Turkey-Chicken-Rat.” There were a few chuckles, despite the tension.

The on-board AI replied, “Confirmation acknowledged, Captain.”

Justine added in a mock imperious tone, “Just so everyone knows, I’m changing the code after this.” That elicited a few more chuckles.

On the bridge DMR casement, the NASA insignia was replaced by the CEO of USA, Inc.’s official emblem. Unlike the binary EPS, this message was an AV communication, with a length of two minutes, fourteen seconds. The cost for that brief message was in the thousands of dollars.

On screen, the image of CEO Frank Madison and Director William Tuttle appeared, both seated on a couch in Camp David.

The Director spoke first. “I won’t waste time, Captain Turner. No doubt you received the translation of the inscription on that artifact yew called Dis Pater by now. I know, I know. The words mean nothing without a frame of reference. We’ve got top Mayanologists and cryptologists working on it right now with our best technical and theological experts.

“For now, I want you to inform the Science Team that they should proceed with utmost care, but with utmost urgency in trying to solve the mystery of Dis Pater; we need as much information as possible.”

The CEO, the most powerful man in America—and some said, the world—interrupted the Director.

“Since the discovery, we’ve had a number of summit meetings with the involved agencies represented by the Science Team up there, as well as with most of the other countries. There is a widespread movement to make public any and all findings. But the five agencies who are in cooperation on this project are in a position to keep the upper hand with our discovery.

“It’s political chaos down here. It is imperative that we have some solid information before making any kind of arrangement with any country outside the five. Therefore, we are depending on you to ride herd on those scientists up there. Bring us something we can use.”

The Director of NASA took over again. “Justine, no matter what, I want you to make sure no lives are in danger. Come back to us safely. There’s a promotion waiting for you upon arrival.” He smiled and gave a quick nod of his head.

The NASA insignia transposed itself over the frozen image, and then the casement went blank.

The argument that threatened to boil over from the collected scientists was cut off as Helen’s voice cut through the growing roar of protest.

“Captain! We’ve got something on the spectrograph sensor at the artifact site.’

She stared up at Justine, her eyes widened to the size of saucers.

“It’s the Dis Pater.”

Her voice throaty, she spoke in a breathless rush. “It’s…reacting.”

__________

SMD Catalogue :

Largest Asteroids :

by diameter (kms) :

1. Ceres – 952

2. Pallas – 544

3. Vesta – 529

4. Hygiea – 431

5. Intermenia – 326

6. Europa – 301

7. Davida – 289

8. Sylvia – 286

9. Cybele – 273

10. Eunomia – 268

- - -

42. Macklin’s Rock – 148

__________

SMD Event Center :

Ottawa :

Canada Corp. :

Michael and Alliras arrived at the SMD Event Center twelve minutes after speaking with Raymond Magrath. Taking the Colonel-By thoroughfare, they made it to the large neo-mod building in the southern section of Ottawa, near Gloucester and the international airport.

Inside the Event Center, the two men made their way to the seventh floor, Operations. Stepping off the conveyor tube, they entered organized chaos.

Technicians and operators were hustling back and forth, hovering over computers and monitors. All along the walls of the enormous room, giant DMR casements showed schematics of Earth, Luna, and the other planets. One showed the entire Sol System, with running statistics on each view scrolling up the legend casements. Most of the smaller monitors showed various asteroids in the belt.

Rows of desks housing computers and DMR casements divided the floor of the Event Center. Technicians and operators took up every available space.

Filled to capacity, the room held more people than would be present under normal circumstances. Most of those in attendance were regular evening shift. A few had not left after their shift ended, and stayed on through the emergency to lend their expertise.

Michael glanced at his watch.

The second night shift would arrive in four hours to spell the day shift. It did not matter what the emergency was; tired people made mistakes. Michael would direct them to go home himself, if it came to that. For the time being, he felt secure with an abundance of intellect in the room.

Raymond Magrath spotted them as they entered, and hurried over. With his thought-link patch secured to his temples over his widow’s peak, he nodded to the two, and directed their attention to the central screen.

Raymond was young, in his early thirties, but competent in his duties, regularly performing beyond his job description as administrative assistant.

Raymond wasted no breath with pleasantries. “It happened just over two hours ago.”

“What happened?” Alliras pressed.

Michael glanced over to Calbert, hovering over a technician.

Raymond squinted: a sign he was giving the CPU a command through the thought-link. Everyone had their own way of showing they were thought-linking, even though no physical movement was required. The central DMR casement flicked, and a new image superimposed itself for their scrutiny.

The legend explained that they were looking at Segment 14568 of the charted asteroid belt. The screen showed a number of large bodies, some rotating, others stationary.

The AI filtered out any rock smaller than a kilometer in diameter, to avoid creating a cluttered DMR display.

Many of the rocks had a white circle sketched on their surfaces, with a direct legend detailing their physical attributes and statistics, SMD mine number, and name, if they had one.

Michael saw an anomaly in one of the SMD asteroids.

One of the circle designations—Macklin’s Rock—showed that the site was in the process of being surveyed, but there was no real-time image of the asteroid itself on the screen.

“What happened?” he asked, repeating his superior’s question.

“The whole damned asteroid just vaporized on us. We have the EPS record cued and ready for playback.”

Just then, Calbert Loche spied them, and hurried over.

“Two surveyors were on that asteroid when it exploded. Although exploded is not quite the right term,” he added. “Disappeared, vaporized, vanished, who knows?”

At the moment, Michael was more concerned with the deaths rather than the technical explanation for the incident. “Who?”

“Margaret and Gabriel Manez, two senior geologists. They were checking a Nelson II at local site 14 when it happened.”

Raymond thought-linked to a smaller DMR monitor, and an archived image of Macklin’s Rock appeared, magnified, showing the location of the TAHU, and the thirty-seven prospective sites. Site 14 was illuminated in red.

Michael searched his memory. He prided himself on remembering the names of every person in the SMD, all 532 of them. A particular fact came to him, and he had trouble swallowing.

“There was a ten-year-old boy on that rock as well.”

“Yes,” Calbert answered, his voice low and solemn. “Alex, I believe is—was his name. Their son.” The hard look on his face told Michael that he felt just as responsible and remorseful as the VP.

“Survivors?”

“Sorry, Michael.” Calbert remained silent a moment, then concluded. “We don’t know what happened exactly.”

“Collision?”

“No. The EPS sent by the TAHU’s Hucs indicated something approaching them near light speed.”

“Light speed?” he blurted, shocked. “A Sunburst? Electric cloud storm? What was the point of origin?”

“None. We have no indication that it even originated off surface. We think it might be something they found at the site. Their Hucs’ long-range sensors picked up nothing, but the short-range picked up the anomaly about thirteen seconds before impact. Again, I’m not sure ‘impact’ is the right word, either.”

“That long? Thirteen seconds at light speed would be well past the boundaries of Macklin’s Rock,” Alliras pointed out, checking the statistics of the asteroid. “The origin of the pulse could be anywhere between Mars and Jupiter!”

Then Calbert’s words registered.

“The short-range picked it up? It’s geared for a few hundred klicks. That doesn’t make sense. Thirteen seconds? Are you sure?”

“That’s right, thirteen. The watch probe we have orbiting as sentry to this section EPSed that there was a oscillating pulse of energy—form unknown—at a point inside Macklin’s Rock.

“Whatever it was, it traveled, or at least originated under, the surface of the asteroid, just this side of the speed of light. Perhaps bouncing back and forth inside the rock a number of times, eating or consuming the asteroid from the inside out, before impacting with, or reaching, the surface. It was too fast to get a decent measure, to be sure, in any case. Whatever this energy source was, we have no signature on it, no means of identification.”

Michael struggled with his chemistry. “Whatever the substance was, it was inert until something triggered it. But what?”

“I agree in theory; there was some kind of fission taking place. Much more powerful than any nuclear reaction. If we only had a sample…”

“What do you mean?”

“All we know is that the energy pulse vaporized the entire rock in a matter of less than fifteen seconds.”

“Vaporized? Any traces?” Michael asked. “Resultant gases?”

Raymond shook his head. “None. Mass readings of the quadrant indicate a net loss of 142 teratons and change, exactly that of the Rock.”

“That’s impossible. Either it moved, or we’ve got millions of meteorites coming our way.”

“As far as we know, it didn’t move. There’s no trace signature of the solar wind tail. And there are no new meteorites in the segment indicating an explosion. None of the sensors picked up anythin; but then, again, the energy pulse of that thing was so strong, our sentry probes lost a few seconds of power. Anything could have happened in that time.

“—Anything,” he reiterated.

Michael sighed heavily. “What do we have to go on?”

“Just the recorded conversation between the surveyors—between Margaret and Gabriel,” Calbert corrected himself, his voice somber.

“Bring it up.”

“We should go into the conference room to view the log,” Raymond suggested, always thinking. “Right now, the techs don’t need the distraction.”

“Quite right.” Michael gestured to a portal leading to hall, which housed a series of conference rooms on either side.

*

With Calbert remaining at Ops, the three others seated themselves in leatherback swivel chairs around a large semicircular marble table facing a collection of DMR screens.

Raymond, his thought-link patch still connected, brought up schematics. The smaller monitors held images of Macklin’s Rock recorded two-and-a-half hours before the occurrence.

On the central DMR screen, the casement showed the Space Mining Division symbol for a moment, and then the image flicked to fifteen minutes before the event.

Raymond explained, “It took them a few hours to get to Site 14 after they left the TAHU. They checked the sites in rotation.”

A chronology sequencer on the lower part of the casement showed the time as 12:58 GMT. The image itself was the record from the ATV interface camera, which, as Margaret and Gabriel disembarked from the ATV in their bulky bioshield suits, followed them from about five meters away, hovering over the surface by an antimagneto engine and navigating by microfuel pulsors.

The septaphonics in the conference room carried the conversation between the two surveyors.

*

“Here it is, finally,” said Gabriel in his unmistakable accent, standing beside the ATV.

Margaret did not hesitate; she approached the site marker.

“Hucs reported the Nelson II had detected traces of a semi-large deposit of something beyond the core sampler range, didn’t it?”

“Yep. I brought the override code, just in case. We can get an extra twenty meters out of the sampler drill.”

He opened the ATV carry compartment and withdrew a telescopic extension for the drill, and joined his wife at the Nelson II.

*

Michael interrupted the playback with a hand gesture. The image froze at Raymond’s thought-link command.

“Do we have the readings of the Nelson II?”

“Yes.” The assistant brought them up on a secondary screen. “Non-conclusive. The mineral readings were typical as far as a kilometer down, nothing to write home about. No significant lodes. But when the drill reached its maximum depth, it registered a .002 per cent content reading by mass of some unknown substance.

“Obviously, Margaret and Gabriel believed it was a deposit of iron ore, as the record of their dialogue shows. This is why the potential value estimate he filed is so high.”

“Right.” Alliras cleared his throat. “Let’s finish the recording.”

*

The playback continued, with the two surveyors speculating on their find, and what they would do with their bonuses once they returned to Canada Station. Michael could not help but smile, even though his throat was tight, and his temples throbbed. It was a grim business.

*

“The Nelson II indicates the deposit begins fourteen meters below maximum depth,” Margaret reported.

Gabriel adjusted the depth cue on the drill, and tapped in the command to engage the Nelson II’s engine. The core drill twirled and dug into the asteroid.

“Any indication on size of deposit?” Margaret inquired as she monitored the Nelson II’s temp and friction indicators.

Watching the sample analysis display, Gabriel shook his head.

*

At 13:11:02 GMT, he reported, “Almost there, another minute or two.”

*

At 13:11:47 GMT, the image blanked.

*

The silence in the conference room drew out for a few minutes.

“Damn,” was Alliras comment.

Michael tried to be analytical. “Obviously, the deposit reacted with the something in the drill or sampler, or even with the friction and heat of the operation.”

“We’ve already begun analyses,” Raymond told him. “The makeup of the drill is designed to avoid causing a reaction to any known mineral compound, including plutonium and uranium. Whatever happened, it wasn’t nuclear.”

“So we’re left with heat?”

“We can’t rule out the possibility of a new element, one that does react to something in the drill?”

“So we are left where? At the beginning?”

“Yes.”

“Caught with our pants around our ankles, I would say,” Alliras put in. “Damn.”

They were interrupted by a message sent from Calbert. The casement appeared over the DMR of the survey playback. “Michael, one of our probe sentries has picked up small mass readings in the event area.”

“Be right there,” he replied, and the three men hurried back to the Operations Center.

*

Calbert greeted them with a nod. He pointed his hand to a medium-sized DMR on the east wall.

“Initial readings indicate a number of objects, ranging from 50 kg to 5000 kg mass.”

“Meteors?”

“No, ion pulse radar shows the objects as irregular, not cylindrical or spherical. We should be getting an image in about three minutes.”

The technicians and operators in the room all ceased their work and looked up at the DMR as the screen flicked to visual camera.

There was nothing on the screen at the moment, but the radar magnification indicated a range of 932 meters.

At a range of 500 meters, several objects could be discerned. One looked like the remnants of a Nelson II drill. Closer still, and the ATV could be seen, horribly mangled and burned.

One hundred meters in, the probe picked up two objects: the bodies of the two surveyors.

“Alive?” Michael shouted.

A tech punched a command sequence into his keyboard, and reported, “No, sir.”

“Damn!” Alliras swore; it was becoming a mantra.

Another technician reported, “All other objects identified as equipment from the survey team. Tools, rations, other accouterments.” Specific details at this point was lost on Michael and the others.

“What about the TAHU?”

“No sign, sir.”

“Recover everything out there,” Michael directed. “I want a detailed report and autopsy on my desk by nine tomorrow.”

The probe would magnetize the objects and drag them back to the Canuck Flyer, the mining orbiter, a large complex the surveyors used as a way station between Luna and the asteroids. With hundreds of engineers and processing technicians on board at any given time, there was a more than adequate mechanical and chemical laboratory, as well as an experienced medical staff on hand, more than qualified to perform the necessary procedures.

“What happened to Alex Manez?” Alliras said, but no one ventured an answer.

Michael, his body stiff, turned from the operations room and headed for the conveyor.

*

Alliras accompanied him down the hall. When Michael punched the up button for the conveyor, intending to ride to the seventeenth floor where his office was located, Alliras said, “I think I’ll go home to my wife, if that’s all right.”

“I wish I could do the same,” Michael said in a soft voice. “Right now, I have to write a press release for the media, and I have a few unpleasant calls to make to Margaret and Gabriel’s families.”

“I don’t envy you that task. By tomorrow, SMD stock might well be worthless.”

When the Alliras’s conveyor arrived first, he shook Michael’s hand. “I’m truly sorry about all this. I hate to sound clinical, but unless we can find out what that element your surveyors found on Macklin’s Rock, there’s no upside to this. The media will eat us for breakfast. We’ll lose our funding and our charter.”

“I know. Take care, Alliras. See you tomorrow.” “I’ll stop by mid-morning, if that’s all right.”

“Just fine. Convey my apologies to Angela.”

“I will. Try to get some sleep tonight yourself.”

“Right.”

Alliras stepped inside the conveyor tube. He nodded and tried to give Michael a smile as the doors shut.

The second tube arrived, and Michael rode it up to the top floor of the building.

*

In his office, he place two commlink calls. One to the Manez Family, and one to the Sheridans, and expressed his condolences as best as he could for the loss of their children and for their missing grandchild.

He then typed a short press release or the media, posted it on the Associated Press Mesh Board, Highest Priority, then turned off his computer, opened the liquor cabinet and withdrew a bottle of scotch. He poured himself a stiff measure in a plastic coffee cup.

After a quarter of an hour, he placed a commlink call to his home.

“Hey, babes,” he said when his wife, Melanie, answered.

“You’re still at work?” she asked.

“Yeah. I think I might be a while. All-nighter. Gotta be here in case they find anything.”

“What’s wrong?”

Michael had to take a deep breath, and then he filled her in. They talked over the link for three hours.

He made sure to tell her he loved her before hanging up.

Michael finally stretched out on the couch in his office to try to catch a few winks.

__________

Unknown :

Disconnected.

Free falling.

Force of pressure.

The depths of space.

Lost in the farthest reaches.

Found by the light of Sol.

All things seen as if one.

Nothing is possible when everything is gone.

Feeling his way through the morass of darkness.

Screaming against the vast vacuum of madness and pain.

Sailing with the solar wind as guide to his destination.

For one instant he feels the power of all.

The next moment the call comes to him.

It is power; it is for him.

The beacon of a million stars.

The shores of all consciousness.

The signal is Home.

It calls him.

Come, Alex.

Come.

__________

USA, Inc. Exploration Site :

Mission Orcus 1 :

Pluto :

Helen’s voice of authority cut off the argument that threatened to boil over from the collected scientists.

“We’ve got something on the spectrograph sensor at the artifact site. It’s the Dis Pater.” Immediately, Henrietta Maria and Sakami Chin rushed over to the communications desk.

Sakami’s eyes flashed all over the communications boards. “What is it?” the planetologist asked.

Helen replied in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

“It’s glowing—and the sensor reports that it’s giving off electromagnetic wave vibrations. Initial wave length at 6662.04 angstroms, a frequency of 450 terahertz increasing in frequency at an accelerating rate of 60 terahertz per hour per hour.”

“Can it do that?” George Eastmain, the astrophysicist, shook his head in disbelief.

Helen shrugged; her specialty was navigation and communication. “Maximum wave length of 3997.23 angstroms will be reached in approximately five hours.”

The captain speculated, “Some kind of broadcast? Could the Dis Pater be some kind of antenna array? If so, where is the broadcast originating?”

“Unknown.”

Between 7000 and 4000 angstroms is the visible spectrum of light. Something’s coming at us!” exclaimed Dale Powers, calculating the mathematics in his head: “… At just under the speed of light!”

Justine raced for her bio-eco suitshield, and donned it in record time. With her, the Science Team dressed and entered the air lock, leaving Helen behind to monitor communications and control.

Taking the ATVs, both packed with analytic and survey equipment readers, the group raced for the artifact.

Twenty minutes after the initial reading reported by Helen, the Science Team and the captain gathered around the monolith. For a few moments, they did not move from the ATV, so stunned were they by the change in Dis Pater.

The color of the monolith had changed from transparent to a deep cherry red. They heard the cyclic wave emissions as a hum, which resonated in a growing and lessening volume.

Justine swallowed. “All right people; let’s act like we know what we’re doing. I want every kind of reading you can imagine taken on that thing.” When they did not react immediately, she spoke in a loud commanding voice, “And I want it ten minutes ago!”

Quickly, the six scientists spread out to check the existing analytical equipment, and soon, reports were filtering in from each area of expertise.

Justine retrieved the AV interface camera, and filmed everything as it happened. She gave instructions to Helen to EPS live to Luna station. The power costs would be extraordinary, but if the CEO of the United States of America wanted some tangible information, she was going to give it to him in spades.

Ekwan was the first to call out. “I read temperature change.”

“Specify,” Justine ordered, assuming temporary command of the Science Team. If Dale Powers had any objections, he did not voice them.

“Surface temperature of artifact rising,” the Japanese scientist explained. “minus 210.8°C…minus 210.1°C…minus 209.6°C…”

“Projections?”

Ekwan consulted his computer. At Ground Zero, temperature will read 0.0°C”

“Interesting,” Justine said. “Peripheral effects? Climatology of the surrounding area?”

Ekwan shook his head. “It depends on how long Dis Pater holds that heat. We could have a few isolated whirlwinds, maybe some nitrogen hail or methane rain. If the artifact cools quickly, there is nothing to worry about. I’m assuming it will begin to cool once…whatever…reaches us.”

George Eastmain reported, “The thing is changing color slowly. It’s going through the entire visible spectrum. The color right now equates to about 6,250 angstroms. Over the next few hours, we’ll see it get light red, then yellow for a few minutes, changing into the greens, then blues, and finally into the violets at Ground Zero—about 4,000 angstroms or less.”

“Wave emissions increasing in pitch.” Johan Belcher looked up at Justine. “In about two hours it’ll reach a frequency too high for us to hear, but it might wreak some havoc with our communications.”

“Noted.” Justine played the camera over the artifact, noting that it had already lightened in color. “Is there any kind of spectral analysis possible? Can we tell what this thing is made of?”

Henrietta and Dale hunched over one of the monitors. Dale glanced over his shoulder. “It’s impossible to tell what Dis Pater is composed of. The element is uncharted. As well, we’re getting a reading on a second unknown element reacting with the artifact. Uncharted as well.”

“Suppositions?”

“If I were to make a guess I would say Dis Pater is made of an element that would have an atomic weight of about ten thousand, way off the charts. Carbon has about twelve, nitrogen fourteen, and even plutonium is about two-hundred forty-four. This stuff is way beyond our analytical abilities. As for the reactant, my best guess based on what this machine is reading, about half that: 5,000 or so.”

“Incomprehensible,” muttered Henrietta.

Dale shrugged. “It’s naive of us to believe there are only a hundred or so elements in the entire universe, man-made or not.”

Justine was growing frustrated. She knew the scientific process was an exercise in patience, but she was a woman of action and it galled her to have to sit on her hands.

“Speculations,” she addressed the group. “Solar flare? Electric cloud? Cosmic lightning? Someone must have a theory.”

When no one answered immediately, Ekwan, his specialty intergalactic meteorology, shook his head. “I can’t tell you what it is, but I can tell you what it’s not.”

“Well, that’s something.”

“It’s not a solar flare, or solar wind. Solar wind, at best, has a velocity of about 500 kilometers per second, not the 299,792 kilometers per second light travels. A flare would not travel this far out from the sun.

“An electrical cloud, as we’ve been calling them, is isolated in one location. They rarely travel more than a few hundred thousand kilometers, less than a gig.

“We’ve got something that could possibly be coming from as far away as 5,500 gigs. If it is originating inside the solar system, then we are talking about something coming from the general vicinity of Mars or Jupiter. From outside, it’s possibly something to do with the Oort Cloud. Cosmic lightning is usually a side-effect of electrical clouds.”

“Any other possibilities?”

No one replied for a few moments, and then George shook his head. “It’s too early to know.”

“Are we in any danger? Should we evacuate?”

Again, there was no reply.

Forced to make an executive decision, Justine said, “We don’t have enough time to lift off the planet, so if there’s a global effect, we’re done for no matter what. But if there is a local effect around the site, I want to be at least a dozen kilometers away at impact. At the very least, I don’t want to be here when it begins hailing. Thirty minutes before Ground Zero, we’ll return to the lander and monitor our instruments from there. Is everyone in concurrence?”

One by one, the Science Team nodded their heads.

Over the next few hours, Justine left them to their work, occasionally interrupting one person or another to make a statement to the AV camera for the benefit of Mission Control on Earth.

*

As the final hour approached, for the first time in her life, Justine started feeling claustrophobic. Out in the vastness of space, she felt as if the entire universe was closing in on her, choking her, squeezing the life out of her. The other members of the crew had tasks to occupy them, but all Justine had was her imagination. She never thought something like this might happen to her. Her interests in Pluto had been sentimental and academic; this event was not only an extraordinary anomaly, but it was also a catalyst for Justine’s internal priorities. It made her realize that there was more to the solar system, and the universe, than mathematical statistics. The universe was a living organism.

Her bio-eco suitshield was becoming warm, so she turned the thermo-regulator down a few degrees.

After an eternity, her commlink chimed, the general broadcast light blinked, and Helen’s voice filled the silence inside their helmets. “T minus forty-two minutes, Captain.”

“Thanks, Helen. All right people,” she directed to the Science Team, “get ‘em up and move ‘em out.”

With reluctance, they obeyed. By T minus twenty-six minutes, they were back inside Orcus 1, and Justine wasted no time in sounding a Stage One Impact Alert. Stabilizers activated, and magno-repulsors switched on. The occupants kept their bio-eco suitshields on, and belted themselves into their command modules.

Helen continued the countdown. “T minus fifteen minutes. Ground Zero at 18:13:59 GMT.”

“There’s a continuous EPS to Earth on all monitors, so put your best face on,” Justine warned the crew with a light voice; their faces could not be seen through their suit helmets.

On the main DMR casement, Helen filtered in a real-time AV of the Dis Pater. Over the past few hours, it had changed as predicted, its color turning yellow, green, and blue. Currently, it was in the deep violet end of the spectrum. The cyclic wave emissions were no longer audible to the human ear, but the computers tracked it unfailingly, despite Johan’s supposition.

“T minus ten minutes,” Helen told them. A moment later, her voice took on a new timbre. “I have something on the long range radio pulse scopes. I’m getting a bounce-back of a small object about 200 gigs out.”

“Identification?”

“Not at this range. Speed approaching 299,792 kmps—very close to light speed.”

Justine felt compelled to stand up, despite the restraining belt on her. She had to will her muscles to obey. “Do we know from where, yet?”

George Eastmain called out, “Inside the system. I’m extrapolating origin…now. It came from the asteroid belt.”

Helen nodded. “Confirmed. Inside the solar system.”

“Speculation?”

For a change, there was none.

“Keep me posted, Helen. I want to know the instant the computers identify the object.”

Time turned to molasses, and the final minutes passed like decades.

“T minus five minutes. Object eighty-nine point nine gigs and closing.”

“Identification!” Justine demanded.

“Sorry, Captain.”

The crew continued to watch their monitors in silence for the next few minutes.

Justine’s apprehension and frustration was getting the better of her. She switched her internal speakers to privacy mode, and made an entry in the captain’s log. She directed a short appended entry to Brian, her ex-husband, and ended it with: “…Maybe I could have been more compromising, but…this project is so damned important to me. I hope you understand, and forgive me. If we never meet again, believe me, I cherished the time we had together.”

Helen’s voice broke through the entry. “T minus two minutes. Object at thirty-five point nine gigs and closing. “Everybody secure?” Justine called out.

One at a time, each responded affirmatively. Justine saw that more than one of them had been logging personal entries as well. That made her feel better.

“T minus forty-five seconds. Object at thirteen gigs and closing…

“T minus eight seconds. Object two gigs away…

“T minus four seconds. Object at one million kilometers and closing fast.

“Identification confirmed.”

“What is it?”

“T minus two seconds to impact…”

“Hold on everyone!”

“One second—”

__________

SMD Event Center :

Ottawa :

Canada Corp.:

Early the next morning, a commlink call buzzed until Michael woke up. His neck was kinked from sleeping on the leather couch, and he tried to stretch it out.

Yawning, he turned on his computer and looked at the DMR monitor. The Coordinator of Administrative Operations’ face filled the screen.

“What is it, Calbert?”

“Michael,” the coordinator gasped over the link. “Get down here right away! You’ve got to scan this yourself to believe it! It’s the CEO of USA, Inc. on holo—for you!

He blinked twice.

“The Yanks found the TAHU from Macklin’s rock, and you’ll never guess where!”

*

Riding the conveyor tube back down to the seventh floor, Michael could not help but tap his fingers against his thigh nervously. The CEO of USA, Inc.! He was quite possibly the most powerful man in the world.

NASA had found Macklin’s Rock, but why would the CEO want to speak with Michael, when it would be easier to have the Director of NASA contact the Minister of the CSE?

When the conveyor stopped, Michael paused and glanced at his reflection in the full-length mirrors on each side of the tube. He straightened his tie, fixed his jacket, swept fingers through his hair, and felt the stubble on his cheeks and chin. There was no time to shave.

Taking a calming breath, he entered Operations.

Raymond was waiting for him. Eyebrows quirked in anticipation and wonder, he quickly told Michael, “I’ve patched a secure link in Conference Room C. Mr. Alliras, Mr. Granville and Mr. Loche are already inside, waiting.”

“Mr. Granville?”

The administrative aide nodded, confirming the presence of the Minister of Canadian Space Exploration.

“Thanks, Raymond. How do I look?”

“Like shit, but I don’t get paid to judge any beauty contests.”

“Quite right. Anything new out here?”

“Nothing substantial. After we got some of our in-orbit sensor arrays back on-line, we picked up a slight heat signature from residue in the area, but it had already faded by the time we got an accurate read on it.”

“So what happened? Where did NASA find it?”

Raymond just shook his head. “They’re keeping us in suspense.”

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he smiled at Raymond, gave a conciliatory nod, and headed to the conference room.

He opened the door to see the Minister of Energy, Mines and Resources deep in conversation with his co-chair of the Space Mining Division, Thomas Granville, and the Minister of CSE. Calbert was seated at a command terminal, punching up various displays on the minor DMR casements, checking background information on the situation.

Alliras spotted Michael. He smiled broadly, but Michael could tell it was strained.

“Mr. Rainier,” he said in formal greeting in deference to the Minister of CSE. “Mr. Granville.”

“Morning, Michael,” Alliras said, motioning him to join them. “I was just giving Thom a situation report. He was out of town until earlier this morning, when he received a communiqué that NASA and the CEO of USA, Inc. wanted a videoconference, top priority. I know it’s early in the morning, but from the sounds of it, this is important. I have a source that tells me it has something to do with Dis Pater.”

Michael cocked an eyebrow. “Isn’t that the artifact they foundon Pluto? What does that have to do with Macklin’s Rock? “

“I’m not certain, but the director of NASA requested your presence specifically.”

Michael glanced at the main DMR casement. Curious.

Sensing his thoughts, Alliras said, “We’ve already got a line feed, but the conference won’t start until our fifth arrives.”

Michael started to ask, but Alliras, grinning, answered first. “CEO Dolbeau.”

For a moment, Michael was taken aback. The head of the Canada Corp. was not known for attending low level meetings of any kind.

Therefore, he thought to himself, this is now a high-level meeting.

Something important was coming down. He could feel the sweat glisten on his forehead. On the other side of the conference table, Calbert looked cool as a cucumber. Typical. Calbert wouldn’t let anything as mundane as a meeting between the most powerful men in the world phase him when he had a job to do.

The Minister of CSE was a former military officer, and as such, he turned to Michael, and with a low grumble, handed him a cordless shaver, which he produced from within a briefcase.

Embarrassed, Michael took it. “Thank you.” He took a few steps over to the water fountain and applied the shaver to his face.

He finished just in time, as the conference room door opened for CEO Pierre Dolbeau and his personal attaché, Frank Wellman.

“Gentleman, greetings,” the CEO said in his French accent.

“Sorry to bother you so early in the morning, Sir,” Thomas Granville said, taking Charge of the proceedings. “I trust you made it here without incident.”

“A little ruffled around the edges, I’m afraid. Didn’t quite have time to shave,” he joked, rubbing the whiskers on his chin, putting them all at ease. Michael’s hand went involuntarily to his own freshly shaved face.

Mr. Granville, smiling, made quick introductions all around, and then nodded to Alliras.

Alliras, in turn, gestured at Calbert. “Mr. Loche, you may begin the two-way communications patch connection on the secured line.”

Calbert tapped in a few commands into his computer, and the DMR casement lit up with the insignia of the CEO of USA, Inc., above the official emblem of NASA. Michael knew that on the other side, the CEO and the director would be seeing the insignia of each department represented in the room superimposed over a large Canadian Flag.

On the screen, the image of the CEO’s living room in Camp David served as a backdrop. Both the CEO and the director were seated on a white cloth couch as aides and assistants bustled about the periphery of their view.

“Good morning, Pierre,” the CEO of USA, Inc. offered.

“Et bon jour a toi, Francois!” It was the CEO’s way of lightening the tension; he was famous for his Francification of people’s names. Michael was sure Pierre Dolbeau was the only one outside of Frank Madison’s family who could get away with such bantering behavior.

“How’s the family, Peter?”

“Ca va tres bien. Et la votre?”

“Good; very good. —Please be seated, Gentlemen. Make yourselves comfortable.” When everyone had found their chairs, the CEO of USA, Inc. got right down to business.

“Let me confirm our intelligence report with you; according to the press release posted by VP Michael Sanderson, at 13:12:25 GMT, there was an accident involving the asteroid called Macklin’s Rock, resulting in the deaths of two surveyors, and also resulting in the apparent loss of their child—no trace of him so far. Against all laws of physics, this Rock seems to have disappeared, or disintegrated, dematerialized. The actual cause and effect is unknown.”

Michael swallowed. “That’s right, sir. On all points.”

The CEO nodded, and then addressed his Canadian counterpart.

“Let me digress for a moment. We have not made the following information public, and we would appreciate your keeping it under your hat for the time being.”

“But of course!”

A dark photographic image of an unfamiliar electron model appeared on screen against a backdrop of the stars. Some of the members of the Orcus 1 mission stood in the foreground to provide perspective on just how large the artifact was.

“Good. As you all might know, the Pluto Mission, Orcus 1, has resulted in the discovery of the artifact the lander crew have dubbed Dis Pater. On the face of this artifact, we found examples of over thirty thousand forms of writing. Today, our cryptologists have determined that one sample of writing underneath the main text is in an obscure dialect of Mayan.”

Michael, Alliras and Calbert shared looks and a few grunts of surprise. “A translation!” For a moment, Michael was completely distracted from his concern over Macklin’s Rock and Alex Manez by this revelation.

“In a previous conference, we have discussed this with Mr. Granville and Mr. Dolbeau. The translation is as follows:

“Behold the Mighty Door of Kinich Ahua; Eternity is Now Before You; Be Ware the Power of Kukulkan.”

“What does that mean?” Alliras asked.

William Tuttle, the director of NASA, spoke up, “According to the Mayan Pantheon, Kinich Ahua was the god of the sun, appearing as a firebird—their version of a phoenix. Kukulkan was the god of the elements. We might have just received a small clue to the deeper meaning in the last few hours.”

He shifted position, and lifted a notepad for reference. “At precisely 13:12:25 GMT, the artifact known as Dis Pater, originally classified as dormant, began to react.”

“React! To what?” Michael was losing his patience, and only calmed himself when Alliras put a consoling hand on his forearm.

“First, let me describe what happened. The scientists on Pluto noted that two important changes were taking place. First, the object turned a deep shade of red and began to emit a wave oscillation of 6662 angstroms. Second, the color began to transcend through the visible spectrum of light, and the wave emissions began to accelerate at a constant negative sixty angstroms per hour per hour, until, five hours, one minute and thirty four seconds later, at 18:13:59 GMT—about 23:13 Eastern—the object had reached a wave oscillation of 3997.23 angstroms. It settled on a color of deep violet, having gone through the entire spectrum of visible light.

“We began to receive the EPS signal about 23:30 Eastern, and at 04:30 this morning were made aware of a startling discovery from the Orcus 1.

“At ground zero,” he continued, “the object, Dis Pater, ceased to glow, returning to its original transparent, and ceased also to emit any wave pulse. It became, once again, dormant. At that same instant, however, Orcus 1 detected a foreign object near Pluto, originating from the asteroid belt—”

All six men in the conference room leaned forward, the emotions on their face a mix of apprehension, surprise, anxiety, and disbelief.

The director concluded, “The foreign object, clocked at a mean speed of 299,792 kilometers per hour, ceased its incredible velocity, and took up orbit equidistant between Pluto and its moon, Charon. There were no power emissions, or reaction signatures from any engine or power source. Moreover, there was no electrical activity or any other kind of activity detected.

“Ion spectrograph indicated the object to be chiefly metallic, with a mass of about one-and-a-half terratons, but indicated small traces of a polymer composite at one location. The Orcus 1 thereafter used a telescopic magnometer to visually identify the object orbiting eight thousand kilometers above the surface of Pluto.

“The object, gentlemen, was identified as an asteroid of approximately 100 kilometers in diameter; records identify this asteroid as Macklin’s Rock, with a Temporary Asteroidal Habitation Unit erected inside, all property of the Canadian Space Exploration’s Space Mining Division. The TAHU had markings on its face matching those of the geological survey conducted by Canada Corp.’s Energy, Mines and Resources Space Mining Division, SMD #568. So far, we have not been able to discover any signs of life inside the TAHU, and there are no power emissions. The TAHU is dormant.”

The director of NASA fell silent, letting it all sink in.

CEO Dolbeau broke the silence, his voice thin and uncertain. “Are you trying to tell me that this asteroid traveled over four billion kilometers in five hours?”

“Just shy of the speed of light, yes.”

Michael jumped to the same conclusion as the others, that the substance the Manez’s had discovered was an element that had the energy and power to propel an object at near light speed. It was the discovery of the millennium. As mind-blowing as that realization was, Michael was more concerned with one other thing. He did not hesitate to ask.

“How soon can you get someone up there to check and see whether Alex Manez is there, and if he is still alive?”

The CEO of USA, Inc. and the director of NASA shared a pointed look.

It was William Tuttle who finally answered,

“Unfortunately, the Orcus 1 does not have enough power to perform a lift-off and subsequent return to Pluto, and still leave enough power to continue their mission, and make return trip to Luna Station. The optimal window for their return trip will not occur for another six months. We would lose a half a year of scientific discovery if we were to attempt a rescue.”

Michael stood. “Are you telling me that you are going to just sit there and allow Alex Manez to die when you can save him?”

CEO Dolbeau made no comment, but out of the corner of his eye, Michael saw him raise an eyebrow.

The director replied in a level voice, “According to our best projections, there is no sign of life on TAHU.”

“You can’t tell unless you send someone up. If Alex managed to reach the TAHU’s security receptacle, he will have enough oxygen and heat for eighteen hours, even without electricity.”

“I’m not disputing the possibility of his survival, only stating that to do as you request will cost a considerable amount of money and an even greater loss of time.”

Michael jumped to his feet. “If money is what you want, tell me how much and I’ll take it out of my own pocket!”

“Now, now!” Alliras interrupted, pulling Michael’s sleeve and gesturing that he should retake his seat.

The director of NASA was about to make comment, but the CEO of USA, Inc. spoke first. “I appreciate your position. Of course, we will abandon the Orcus 1 mission immediately. We have already transmitted instructions for them to terminate the mission. They will proceed to the TAHU and salvage the entire unit, if possible. Finally, they have orders to return immediately to Luna Station, although the trip back will not be quite as rapid as the TAHU’s trip there. Our best projection has them returning in a little over seven months, sometime after the New Year.”

“Thank you, Mr. Madison,” said CEO Dolbeau. “That is very generous of your government to conduct a rescue mission of this caliber without regard to the astronomical costs of this undertaking.”

“It is the least we can do, under the circumstances. We are already drawing up a proposal to initiate a second Orcus mission; we hope to have an exclusive partner in this venture,” he offered, leaving the suggestion out in the open. The CEOs smiled at one another, but Michael, his temper cooling, saw that neither man made any indication that the conference was concluded.

He had to wait a few moments before CEO Frank Madison, as if interjecting an afterthought, said, “While I have you all on the line, I would like to informally propose a second joint venture that would be mutually beneficial to us both.”

“Of what nature?” CEO Pierre Dolbeau asked casually, though Michael got the sense that he knew exactly the proposal’s nature, and had been expecting this topic to surface at any moment. If Michael had thought it through, he would have realized that the top man of USA, Inc. would not waste time on a personal interface when a pre-recorded AV press release would have sufficed in this particular circumstance.

“We are prepared to offer an equal financing contract to you—I would say, ten billion dollars total equity—in a co-development enterprise through a joint corporation, a partnership with equal ownership.

“NASA would loan this new company—a subdivision of NASA and SMD, let’s call it Quantum Resources, Inc. for now—a number of research technicians and scientists matching your own contribution. We would stipulate that sub-contracts would be divided equally between NASA and SMD on the Dis Pater research, as well as for possible lodes of Element X, shall we call it, discovered on Macklin’s Rock. If this is indeed what has driving the asteroid to achieve light speed, the possibilities for future enterprise is staggering.”

He continued. “SMD would retain all mining rights on their individual stake claims, as would USA, Inc. should we stumble on any finds. Exclusive development rights to any finds on either side would be given to Quantum Resources. International marketing would be supplied by NASA Space Resources, with a 30% royalty to be disbursed to Quantum Resources.”

For brief moment, Michael felt like protesting. What right did USA, Inc. have to come sticking their fingers in SMD’s discovery? All SMD had to do was re-analyze their readings of the Nelson II, and collate any other information they received from the recovered TAHU, and they would have a virtual monopoly on the results of light-speed research, if they were able to find another lode of Element X.

Then a few other thoughts occurred to him; thoughts that had probably already occurred to CEO Dolbeau, who would have to be a shrewd businessman to run the third largest corporate government in the world.

The first consideration was that, if a contract was reached, NASA would not release the news of Dis Pater’s phenomenal reaction, nor the light-speed trip of the Manez’s TAHU. This information could be suppressed for the next seven months, and perhaps even well after the return of the Orcus 1. That would provide this joint-corporation, Quantum Resources, with an incredible advantage in research time. With NASA Space Resources’ incredible marketing base, any resulting products would reap billions in revenues for Quantum Resources, and the parent companies.

In addition, if SMD closed the information flow and refused the deal, NASA would throw every spare asset into the search and development of the mysterious Element X. They would start out behind SMD at first, but with their enormous resource base, they would quickly overtake and dominate Canada’s world market share.

A joint venture would speed things up for both parties, and the benefits would be mutually reaped.

Politics gave Michael a serious headache.

CEO Dolbeau straightened himself in his chair. “It is apparent to everyone here, I’m sure, that the discovery of Dis Pater and its relationship to light speed travel indicates incontrovertibly that we are not alone in the Universe. There are others out there; possibly, many others. I’m sure we would all agree that when—not ‘if’—we meet our interstellar counterparts, it would be extremely important to show a unified front, that we present ourselves as a people who freely enter into cooperative ventures in the spirit of cooperation and beneficial enterprise.”

The CEO of USA, Inc. nodded formally. “I see we are of one mind. As we speak, I have lawyers drawing up the initial drafts of Quantum Resources, Inc.’s charter, as well as the joint financing and research contract between SMD and NASA. I’m sure any minor negotiations will be handled diligently and promptly by our respective departments long before the return of Orcus 1. In the meantime, I have instructed William to have an open line on the Orcus 1 mission transmitting non-stop from NASA’s Mission Control to the SMD Event Center.”

CEO Dolbeau stood. “That is very gracious and kind. I know we will all be watching with baited breath for results of Orcus 1’s contact with the TAHU.”

CEO Madison, also standing, hastened to add, “If I might propose one more thing.”

“Of course.”

“In the spirit of cooperation that you expounded upon so eloquently, I would like to propose that the directorship of Quantum Resources, Inc.—or whatever name we eventually agree upon if that one is not satisfactory—should fall to Michael Sanderson. His diligence and concern for the well-being of those under him has been shown so pointedly to us all as of greater concern to him than any fiscal interest; a quality, I’m sure, to which we all aspire. I unofficially forward this motion.”

“I can assure you, Mr. CEO, that your proposal is more than adequate as a sign of your good faith. I unofficially second. And, as we are the only two shareholders who count at this early stage, the motion is unofficially passed.”

The formal part of the conversation concluded, the two CEO’s indicated they wished a closed two-transmission line, through which they offered each other pleasantries and shared a few words on other topics of international concern.

*

Ushered out behind the two ministers, Michael and Calbert left the conference room to the CEOs and their aides.

“Congratulations,” Alliras offered Michael as they neared the door to exit, shaking his subordinate’s hand. “You obviously made an impression.”

Still dumbstruck by the appointment, Michael shook his head. “I didn’t expect…” He took a deep breath.

“None of us are surprised. You deserve this.”

“I’m sure I’ll have my work cut out for me, but right now, I want to see that tape of the Dis Pater. It’s the key to understanding Element X, and our interstellar neighbors.”

Alliras laughed. “Typical. You’re offered the catbird seat, and all you can think of is how to build a better mousetrap.”

“I’m sure I’ll do a victory dance later, when it all sinks in. —Calbert, I want to know exactly when the Orcus 1 will rendezvous with the TAHU.”

Calbert shook his head and chuckled. “All business with you, boss.” But he got right down to it as well.

Accessing the data tapes through his thoughtlink, Calbert informed him, “It won’t be until this afternoon. You have a few hours to grab breakfast. The Dis Pater files will be in your office waiting for you.”

“Thanks, Calbert.”

“Boss, we’ve got six months to analyze the data. Why don’t you catch a few more hours sleep; you look like you’re dead on your feet.”

“I agree,” Alliras said, nodding to Calbert. “We all could use a few hours to rest, and freshen up.”

Thomas suggested, “Why don’t we all meet back here at one? While we wait for the rendezvous, and see whether young Mr. Manez has survived his travails, we can discuss a plan of action. There’s a hell of a lot of work for us in the next few months, and I want to get a jump start on it, make sure we’re all on the same wave length.”

Shaking hands, they dispersed.

Michael turned to Calbert. “I’m ordering you to take your own advice. Stand down. You and Ray both. I’ll see both of you in seven hours. I’m going to head home and grab a shower.”

*

As Michael exited Operations and took a conveyor tube down to the parking lot where a limo was waiting to take him home, all that had transpired suddenly caught up to him, hitting him like a tidal wave.

There were others out there…somewhere. They had left more than a calling card; they had left a possible means of contact, like the recording on the Voyager II probe sent out in the late nineteen-seventies by NASA. Humankind was about to embark on a mission to take them into the Interstellar Age.

And Michael Sanderson was going to be a pioneer of the next stage of the evolution of humankind.

Instead of feeling elated and proud, Michael felt inadequate to the task. Frightened. Small.

He thought of Alex Manez, the first light speed traveler. Had he survived the experience? His parents hadn’t; they had become the first victims of Element X.

Was Alex alive?

Michael hoped so.

__________

Pluto Orbit :

Orcus 1:

Macklin’s Rock;

The tomb was complete; darkness impenetrable, forever. He was a living corpse in a coffin of the unknown; his brain had ceased all higher functions in defense of the impossible data that had bombarded his senses. It was all too much.

Breathing was an effort. It was increasingly more difficult with each passing millennium.

Or was that, each passing minute?

Alex slowly came to realize that he was losing oxygen in the security receptacle. There was no light for him to read the monitors; the devices themselves were not operating.

“Hucs?” he called out. “Hucs?”

Only silence answered him.

Memory was the core of a spider web; Alex was on the outer thread. He followed the silken strands, careful not to fall off into the bottomless depths of insanity.

Something had hit the asteroid. His parents had been outside, on the surface.

“Mom! Dad!” he called out weakly, not expecting them to answer. “Help!”

He tried to move his head, but there was something stopping him; he remembered, the security receptacle encased his head in protective foam, leaving just enough room for him to breathe.

Moving his hand, he drew it up and tried to rip the solidified foam from his head, but it was too hard. He had to activate Hucs; the computer must have gone off-line. Flicking his hand over the control switches brought no results. The power must have shorted.

Feeling around for the manual override, a panic set in, causing his heart to trip-hammer in his chest. The override, when he found it, produced no effect either. The entire TAHU was dysfunctional.

A scream welled in his throat, his brain rebelling against the claustrophobia that was constricting him. Out in the vastness of empty space, he was trapped, immobile.

Images swarmed through his mind. Voices. He heard voices.

Some time had passed between when the unknown quantity impacted Macklin’s Rock, and when Alex regained consciousness. How much time?

There had been those voices. Calling to him. He had refused the summons, but not because of any conscious decision on his part; he had not been ready.

Ready for what?

He closed his eyes, even though that did not change his view, and thought hard, concentrated. There was the sense of a lightness in his memories. Lightness, or light, or… He didn’t know. The universe was laid open for him like an annotated atlas. Time-space had no meaning in that light.

No. That wasn’t right. Time had meaning; space had meaning; but past the light—yes!—past the light, time-space had no meaning. Past the light.

Past.

Future.

There were no such things. He rejected them.

No, something rejected them for him.

Because he was not ready.

Ready for what?

He was beginning to feel dizzy from lack of oxygen. The override did not produce any electricity in the TAHU, although it should under any normal circumstances. Unless whatever hit them had disconnected the solar connectors from the TAHU’s battery core.

He had to restore power, or he would die. He recalled the emergency procedures drilled into him before his parents and he undertook the journey to Macklin’s Rock. In the event of an accident, the security receptacle was supposed to have enough life support to sustain him for eighteen hours; more than enough time for rescue to arrive from the Mining Orbiter.

He didn’t know how long he had been out, but if the oxygen level was any indication, then he didn’t have much longer to go. Perhaps eight or ten hours.

There was a sudden thought-flash in his mind. The power of it overwhelmed him.

He remembered:

Sol was laid out in his mind in its entirety, like a map on a table, or the 3D hologram of the solar system in the space museum back home on CS-3.

A chorus of voices, like angels, like devils, began to sing. It was a haunting-melody, a riveting accompaniment to the images that presented themselves in his mind.

He remembered an image of Jupiter, the massive gas giant with the large red spot, coming toward him at incredible speed. It had been in his field of vision for less than a second, growing larger from a small dot to something that covered his entire field of view, and then racing past him, out of sight. The intensity of the song dimmed. Like voices buzzing in the background. The rumble of a crowded hall on Canada Station Three.

The song grew stronger, more intense.

Empty space for more than a half an hour. As the song crescendoed, he saw Saturn, its rings of gas particles forming a perfect halo around its equator. It performed the same second-long appearance as its gaseous brother, Jupiter. The music echoed like the memory of a dream dancing just past consciousness.

Another hour or so, and he had the sense that he was crossing the orbit of Uranus, though the smaller gas giant was nowhere to be seen. The song played on.

Ninety minutes later, he was certain he was in the path of the smallest of the gas giants, Neptune, and his course abruptly veered twenty degrees above the ecliptic. A little over an hour later, and more than five hours after Macklin’s Rock initially reacted, Pluto and its cousin, Charon, burst into view like a giant net, catching him between their orbits. The song took a change in timbre and tone. It was the denouement of the symphony.

Now, the images and song had disappeared, but he had the lingering impression of two small planets on either side of him.

The entire thought-flash was more like a dream than reality, but now, every time he closed his eyes, he was certain that he could see beyond the bounds of the security receptacle, beyond the TAHU, and beyond the asteroid.

For some unexplainable reason, he was over five billion kilometers away from the sun.

Panic set in, and he concentrated on keeping his eyes opened. The blink came on suddenly, and he could sense something approaching Macklin’s Rock.

It was a space ship. A different song told him so.

He must be delusional. His mind was playing tricks on him. Pluto was nowhere near where he was—which was the asteroid belt, of course. Wasn’t it? And the ship coming toward him was obviously the rescue pod, for, what ship would be out so far from Earth? The only mission Alex had heard of was the Orcus 1.

He remembered reading a podcast. There was a mission currently on Pluto.

Mentally shaking his head, since he could not do so physically, he decided he was just imaging things. Most likely, Macklin’s Rock had suffered a collision with another asteroid and the resulting impact and subsequent lack of oxygen was making Alex delusional.

A loud, echoing noise filtered through the TAHU, and after a moment, Alex identified it as a fission laser cutting through the top face of the TAHU. The rescue mission from the Orbiter.

Someone was going to save him.

Salivating, trying to moisten his dry throat, Alex called out, “I’m in here!” as soon as he heard the laser cease to cut, and the grinding sounds of polymer ripping as the rescuers opened the TAHU.

It was then that Alex realized that once all the air escaped the TAHU, sounds could not travel in the emptiness of space. The security receptacle itself served as a soundproof encasement. Without a digital septaphonic booster, the rescuers would not know where he was until they stumbled upon him.

Alex closed his eyes…

…and could see in his mind’s eye the suitshielded figures of two people drifting down through the opening of the TAHU to the floor of the main room, the soft beams of their palmlights traveling over the confines of the room, searching for survivors. The song was back in his head, dim, as if he had turned down the volume. His internal vision extended just a few dozen meters outside his security receptacle, rather than millions of kilometers.

Panicked because of the images he should not be able to see, he forced his eyes open. A blink brought him a flashing image, quickly fading, of things he should not see. It was like a radar blip. He grunted in surprise at the image. Four more blinks produced the same effect.

With repetition, he became more used to the unusual perception, even though his heart raced with the implications. He did not think he could ever get used to the song, however. It was like the babble of a hundred people speaking foreign languages, and there was an imperative message hidden behind the unearthly lyrics.

The next time he blinked, he consciously tried to expand the range of his mental perception. He found that he saw not only the figures quickly approaches personal cubicle, but the ship which had landed on the surface of Macklin’s Rock. In his periphery, he could see the images of Pluto and Charon far off on either side of the asteroid. The song peaked again, urging him, warning him, cajoling him.

Another blink and he pushed his range to the limit; he could not see, but he could sense all the other planets in the solar system, the sun, the Earth, and even the larger bodies in the asteroid belt. The song overwhelmed him, made him so dizzy he wanted to vomit, but he somehow controlled himself.

“What’s happening to me?” he said to himself. “I must be completely crazy.”

The next blink, he tried to see past the solar system, thinking he might as well enjoy the sensational perception while he could. Once he was rescued, and he got some oxygen, he was certain his normal senses would return to him, and he would discover that he had been in the asteroid belt all along.

To his mild surprise, he could not see past the outer orbit of Pluto. There was something blocking his view; some kind of electromagnetic field that imposed a limit on his perception. If he could strain his ears and pick out a few words of that song, the explanation would come to him.

He shook his head. Then, his mind adapting quickly to the new—though obviously delusional—perception, he tried to shrink his field of vision as far as he could. Quickly, he discovered that he could consciously turn it off. A blink produced the same blankness of view as with his eyes open inside the protective foam.

No song.

A movement in the security receptacle turned his mind from his experiments. The rescuers opened the receptacle, and, with their much stronger hands, ripped the foam from him.

His first sight as the foam fell away from his eyes was the play of a light, sharp and intense. After so long in the dark, he saw spots dancing in front of him until his eyes became used to the light.

Someone pressed a suitshield helmet over his head, and the warm rush of oxygen sent him into a faint. He breathed deeply a few times and felt the dizziness fade.

Sounds filtered into him from the septaphonics.

“Alex? Alex? Are you all right? Can you hear me?” It was a woman’s voice.

Alex nodded. “Yes,” he replied, though his words came out in a squeak.

His throat was parched. Sticking his tongue out, he touched a plastic nipple inside the helmet, which extended into his mouth. He sucked an ounce of water from it, and opened his mouth to let the nipple retract.

“I’m all right,” he said. “Are you the rescue team from the Mining Orbiter?” But he knew they were not before they confirmed it.

The two figures turned to look at one another. Finally, the woman addressed him again.

“I’m sorry, Alex, but no. My name is Captain Justine Turner, from the Orcus 1. We were on a mission to Pluto when we discovered your TAHU entering the orbit of the planet.”

Alex closed his eyes again.

Blinked out.

Pluto and Charon were still there, ten thousand kilometers away on either side. The familiar theme of the dark planet pounded in his ears, a musical score a million times more intense than Gustav Holst’s masterpiece, The Planets. Holst had never written a score for Pluto, since no one had known of the dark planet’s existence until a few years after the composer’s death. But no one, however ingenious, could ever have produced a symphonic spectacular such as the one in Alex’s head when he blinked out.

It was real.

And it came to him then, the reality of his situation.

“My parents are dead,” he said out lout, but to himself.

The captain of the Orcus 1, not hearing him, reached down and helped him to his feet. “Can you come with us? The ship is just outside.”

Alex nodded, and, prompted by the second crewmember, donned a suitshield to protect him from the solar radiation that extended out even that far from the sun.

As they made their way out of the TAHU, the other figure introduced herself. “My name is Helen, Alex. I’m a Canadian, like you.”

Alex did not reply, still stunned by his parents’ deaths.

A tear slowly trailed down his cheek, hanging a moment on his chin, and then fell from him to land on the base of the helmet. A moisture sensor on the helmet’s inside surface triggered a tiny vacuum, which sucked up the tear, reclaiming the drop into the water reservoir surrounding the helmet.

Alex suppressed the extrasensory images that came whenever he closed his eyes, and wished he could do the same for the ache in his heart.

__________

SMD Event Center :

Ottawa :

Canada Corp.:

After a quick breakfast of sliced fruits and orange juice that he prepared for himself, since the cook had the day off, Michael Sanderson left his house and stepped into the awaiting auto passenger transport, and gave the navigation computer the address of the SMD Event Center.

During the twenty-three minute trip, he scanned the Globe & Mail newsvid home page on the EarthMesh, reading the headlines and downloading those stories that caught his interest. The press release he had posted on the Associated Press net did not appear anywhere. The news services splashed the latest celebrity gossip instead. People were not interested in science; they would rather read about whom was sleeping with whom, or listen to the columnists jaw about what actor was getting a divorce, or getting plastic surgery.

Michael truly cared about the truth, and he cared about the quality of life in every quarter of society. The best way to bring the standard of living up uniformly was through economics. The natural resources of the earth were taxed to the limit, and expensive to mine.

They had to find alternatives among the asteroid belt. With increased volume of precious materials, there came jobs, wealth, and opportunity for anyone who had the wherewithal to grab it. Handing an average person a couple of dollars did nothing. Like the biblical proverb went, “Give a man a fish, and he will have food for a day; teach a man to fish, and he will have food for the rest of his life.”

Flipping the auto transport’s DMR casement back to the Globe & Mail Page, he scanned it for any other articles relating to the mishap.

The deaths of Gabriel and Margaret Manez were reported; but there was no indication that the early morning summit meeting between the CEOs of USA, Inc. and Canada Corp. had been leaked. For that, Michael was thankful. They would have to handle the discovery of Element X and the recovery of Alex Manez with utmost secrecy; outside interference from fringe groups would hamper the CSE and NASA getting to the bottom of the mystery.

Although the translation of the glyphs on Dis Pater did not mean anything to Michael at the moment, he was glad there was no mention of the breakthrough. The public had enough wild information on its hands; any more, and there could be panic in the streets. The fewer people who knew humans were not alone in the universe, the better—at least for the short term until the government corporations could soften the blow.

He turned off the DMR monitor when the auto arrived at the SMD Event Center, and a chime inside the cab sounded. Michael exited the vehicle and entered the Center as his auto transport continued on to the parking garage; that set of instructions were preloaded into the auto’s default program.

Glancing at a chronometer inside the conveyor tube, Michael noted that it was nine minutes past one.

He entered the Operations room on the seventh floor to pandemonium.

“What’s going on?” he asked, eyes flicking to the monitors. Alliras saw him, and quickly strode over, Calbert following closely behind.

“He’s alive, Michael,” the Minister of EMR said, his jubilation apparent. “It’s Alex. He’s alive. They’ve found him.”

“What?” Michael asked incredulously. He had hoped for the young boy’s forbearance, but did not really believe anyone could have survived that kind of trip.

“Yes. And he is perfectly fine. They’re just transporting him over to the Orcus 1 now before they go back to the TAHU to investigate.”

Scanning the monitors, he quickly found the one slaved to the NASA transmission from Pluto. The astronauts had landed on Macklin’s Rock, peeled away the surface of the TAHU like an onion, and at that moment, were emerging from the orifice escorting a small figure Michael immediately identified as Alex Manez.

Michael could barely suppress his joy; his relief was palpable.

Alliras handed him a data fleck. “It’s the joint venture contract and a preliminary charter for Quantum Resources, Inc. That’s the official name. You had better look the contract over before we sign it. Once your concerns are addressed, I’ll pass it up the chain.”

“Great.” He turned to Calbert. “Send up a note to Alex, telling him we’re happy he’s been rescued, and that we’re doing everything we can to get him safely home. I’ll append a note letting him know that we recovered his parents’ bodies, and will broadcast their funeral on closed circuit to the Orcus 1.

“Request Captain Turner performs a complete physical and mental analysis of Alex. I want that, and everything concerning Dis Pater, Orcus 1, and Macklin’s Rock piped into my office computer. I’m going to review this contract, and everything we’ve got from Macklin’s Rock and Orcus 1 so far, and try to figure out a plan of attack. Forward any suggestions to me, will you?”

Calbert nodded. “I’ve already outlined a number of items.”

“Fantastic. And, Calbert, I’d like you to consider whether you want a job in Quantum Resources with me, or if you’d rather have my recommendation for VP of SMD.”

“What?” Calbert was flabbergasted at the offer.

Alliras nodded. “If you decide to stay here, you’ll have my recommendation as well.”

“You have your choice,” Michael added. “But I could really use someone like you at the helm in the new venture.”

“I’ll—I’ll have to think on it.”

“Of course. Let me know by the end of the day.”

He turned to Alliras “Would you like a snifter of brandy?”

“You couldn’t drag me from it.”

Together, they left Operations, trusting in the competency of those inside to perform their jobs to the best of their ability without supervision.

They took the conveyor tube up to Michael’s office, and once inside, sat on the long couch.

Michael had produced two glass tumblers of vintage brandy, and they tapped their glasses together in a silent toast to events gone well.

__________

Luna Station :

Luna :

Chinese Sector:

Over two-hundred thousand kilometers from Earth, a teenager named Klaus Vogelsberg watched a pirated-link broadcast of the NASA transmission to SMD Ottawa from his computer DMR on Luna Station and knew fear.

Hands shaking, he pressed the auto-dialer on his video communicator to his superior, Chow Yin. A somber oriental face appeared in the communications casement, dark eyebrows heavy with concern and anger.

Chow Yin had the resources to do just about anything he wished inside Luna Station with impunity. One of those actions Klaus feared was to make him disappear. Klaus had no wish to become an anonymous statistic.

He had screwed up, and knew it.

“Have you seen the transmission, Boss?” Klaus asked, his voice cracking. He did not need a reply to know that the other man had watched the same broadcast on a slaved channel.

Clearing his throat, Klaus apologized, “I am terribly sorry, Boss.”

It was Klaus’ task to monitor all scientific-related broadcasts from Earth, hunting for any hints of discoveries of new products, elements, or any kind of invention that might prove of future value. Klaus would then pass along the information to another, who would quickly fill out worldwide patent forms and have it automatically registered with the World Patent Office under front companies set up by Chow Yin.

Once the real inventors, be they individual or organization, got around to processing their paperwork and applying for a patent, they would discover the previous claim. At that point, Chow Yin and his society would sell their bogus patent back to the original research company for an outrageous amount.

It was a lucrative swindle, one of dozens Chow Yin had running.

Currently, his task was to monitor all transmission to and from Pluto and the Orcus 1 mission. It was a top priority.

The night before, Klaus had intercepted the distress EPS from Macklin’s Rock, but had thought nothing of it, and had not passed the information along to his boss. How could he have guessed that an asteroid would spontaneously develop the ability to travel to Pluto in less than five hours? It was an oversight that could possibly cost Chow Yin billions in extortion moneys, now that the implications had become clear.

With the discovery of Dis Pater, coupled with the seeming light-travel journey taken by Macklin’s Rock, Klaus easily put two and two together. Interstellar travel was within Earth’s grasp, and he, Klaus, may have let the technology slip right through his organization’s fingers.

Before long, USA, Inc. and Canada Corp. would have all possible patents locked up. The fact that Chow Yin would be furious was an understatement, but the eerie calm with which he spoke to Klaus made the young man’s stomach clench as if he had an intestinal cramp.

“Of course you are sorry,” Chow Yin said, his words coming slowly, methodically. “If you had handled your responsibilities correctly, we would be in a position to capitalize on this now. I am not merely speaking of a payoff. If there is a secret element that is capable of FTL travel and if we control it, then we could control the entirety of outer space. Instead, there is every possibility that Luna Station will become nothing more than a milestone in the conquest of the solar system with no mention of me or my contribution. Luna Station’s global and interplanetary position will be completely undermined, all because of your blatant incompetence.”

“Yes, Boss.” Klaus averted his eyes.

Chow Yin took a long, deep breath, and regarded his young protégé with the predatory eyes of a shark. “There is a slim chance that we may yet come out of this intact. It is a long journey home from Pluto; am I wrong?”

“Yes, Boss. I mean, no, you are not wrong. It is a long journey, perhaps as long as six months or more…and fraught with dangers.”

Chow Yin tightened his lips in what passed for a smile. “I see that we are once again aligned in our thinking. After all, possession is nine-tenths of the law, is it not? Contact some of those ‘friends’ that you keep bragging about; offer them anything they want to get the job done. I want all the secrets from the Orcus 1 mission in my hands by the New Year. If luck is on our side, we will come out of this unscathed, and very rich. It would be a sweet victory to dominate the world—in the forefront, this time, instead of hiding behind Luna’s dark side.”

With that, Chow Yin severed the communication, leaving Klaus’ DMR casement blank. A full minute passed without Klaus moving even the slightest.

At first, the only hint of the coordinator’s reacting to the remonstration from his superior was a slight quivering in his cheeks. Then all his emotions spilled out. He punched his open hand and cursed, “Damn it all!”

He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Anger would not solve his dilemma.

Opening the bottom drawer of his desk, he removed a small quart bottle of German whiskey he had stolen from his father, and poured a thumb’s depth in a plastic tumbler he also kept in the drawer. After throwing it back, his face grimacing from the burn as the hot liquid tore down his throat, Klaus poured himself another, and sat for a long while holding the tumbler in his hand. If Chow Yin caught him with alcohol, he would turn Klaus out.

He stared out the window of his room onto the org-garden and contemplated. Was he doing the right thing? How could they be so foolish as to think they could harness the underlying power of the universe in their puny hands? The implications were clear to him. He was a student of technology, and knew that the scientific community regarded faster than light travel as a theoretical impossibility. They had their same old arguments, and would use them at every opportunity to discredit the notion that the stars were within human reach.

Now, Klaus knew, they could stick their theories in their event horizons. That thought made him feel better. Once lauded as great men, those so-called experts would now be scrambling to come up with alternate theories to prove FTL was real, and pretend they had never been on the other side of the argument. Hypocrites.

Still, there was a knot in his stomach when he contemplated his task. He had to ensure he could hire someone to hijack the NASA spacecraft. Even as Klause did this, Chow Yin would see to it that he would never be able to slip out from under his Chinese master’s authority. Klaus would be as imprisoned on Luna Station as Chow Yin.

But, if he did not do as Chow Yin directed, Klaus would soon be numbered among the dead.

It would have been better if his father had never been posted to Luna Station, though his job with the European Space Agency dictated it; better still if his father had never touched a drop of alcohol. Klaus shuddered, remembering the drunken beatings his father would dish out to him.

He had had no choice: either run away from home or suffer the abuse. Klaus had run away, and straight into the waiting snare of Chow Yin’s network of teenage thugs.

The anger in him surged. His father, and all those like him would pay dearly. Chow Yin would make them suffer; and Klaus would make that suffering possible.

With renewed determination, he opened a link to his EarthMesh account and began to make inquiries.

__________

NASA Orcus 1 :

Sol System :

Flight Path Pluto-Luna:

Excerpts from the Official Flight Journal of

Captain Justine Churchill Turner

—transcribed from voice:

*

Captain’s Journal — August 21, 2090

Confirming the reality of the sudden appearance of Macklin’s Rock, we shuttled the Orcus 1 to the asteroid, abandoning our previous two missions: the first of which was to explore Pluto; the second, to study the alien object we called Dis Pater.

Upon arrival on the displaced asteroid, we discovered the sole survivor and rescued him.

Young Alex had enough time to secure himself in the receptacle-floater, and to all outward appearances, arrived quite unharmed. I waited to perform an exhaustive physical examination on Alex to determine his state of health the moment we brought him on board. There are people on Earth who are anxious to receive that report. Alex understandably pleaded exhaustion and First Mate Helen Buchanan concurred.

“If he feels all right,” she said, “then there’s nothing that can’t wait. Once we brought it back on-line, the biometrics on his security receptacle indicated all readings within normal range. I’ll set up a cot in the medical bay, and hook him up to the electroencephalograph AI while he sleeps. It will report any abnormalities to my belt monitor. I know if I’d been through what he’s been through, all I’d want is a quick nutrishake and a dozen hours sleep.”

I bowed to the first mate’s recommendation on the medical matter. Helen set up a bed for Alex, procured a protein and carbohydrate-intensive drink, and saw him fast asleep.

Dale, Henrietta, Sakami, George and I saw to the dismantling of the TAHU. Helen returned to her post and continued to monitor the command consoles. Johan Belcher and Ekwan Nipiwin used the ship’s ATV to travel to SMD Site 14 in an attempt to obtain a specimen of Element X. According to the NASA-SMD report we received eight hours after liftoff from Pluto, which might have been the catalyst for the asteroid’s incredibly swift journey through the solar system. If they do not find evidence of the element, they are to perform a complete spectroanalytic survey of the entire area, and collect a cross-section of specimens for return to NASA.

Addendum:

They did not find a trace of Element X (I wish they would come up with a less mysterious name for it). The spectroanalysis proved completely useless. The specimens they collected reveal no evidence that anything untoward occurred.

Once the TAHU is loaded, we will have to liftoff immediately, or miss our window. A lost day on this end could mean an extra two-hundred days of travel before reaching earth.

Nobody would be happy about that.

*

Captain’s Journal — August 22, 2090

An odd thing occurred this morning; something that I’m sure I will ponder at great length during the trip home when we finally lift off.

Our ward, Alex Manez, slept the rest of yesterday afternoon, all evening and night, and woke early this morning. Helen had rigged the electroencephalograph AI to notify her upon Alex’s awakening and she quickly dressed and found me in the dining area eating breakfast.

“He should be awake,” Helen told me.

“Great.” I stood and dumped the remainder of my coffee in the vacuum refuge receptor. “Let’s go see how he is. Mission Control on Earth is practically yelling for a report on Alex.”

“I’ll grab some food and meet you there,” Helen offered.

I wanted Helen along for two reasons: first, she’s Canadian, and I thought that might set Alex at ease to have a fellow compatriot there even though they are of two different ethnic origins; second, as part of Helen’s job description, she is skilled in first aid and rudimentary medical techniques. The first mate is a registered nurse, and she is qualified on the bio-analysis equipment. She can make diagnoses and recommendations usually reserved for those with M.D.’s.

Stepping inside the medical bay a few minutes prior to Helen’s arrival, I cleared my throat when Alex did not immediately turn around.

He was awake, dressed, and playing with a stethoscope. I said, “Good morning, Alex. Do you remember me? I’m—”

“Yes, of course. Captain Turner.” Putting the instrument down, the ten-year old turned and regarded me for the first time that morning. His face was solemn, unreadable. I felt a momentary shudder of apprehension, as if the intelligence behind those eyes were ages old.

“Good morning.” He was the epitome of detached politeness.

“That was quite the sleep, Mr. R.I.P. Van Winkle,” I commented, trying to sound jovial and friendly. “You’ve been in here a while.”

“Fifteen hours, thirty two minutes, and seventeen seconds,” he replied with easy confidence, his tone one that brooked no disagreement.

“Why, that’s about right. How did you know—?” I began, and then realized the answer. “The EEG.” I pointed a thumb at it.

The machine would have a running record of statistics on Alex. Heartbeat, respiration, blood pressure, every stage of his sleep and wake periods.

“Where did you learn to read an EEG?” I asked, as I found a chair and sat down, waiting for Helen to arrive with breakfast.

Alex shrugged, but did not reply.

“I guess it’s not that hard to figure out.” I said. “You must be good with computers and stuff.”

Another shrug.

“Well, if you are technically minded, are you going to follow in your parents’ footsteps when you’re older, and join the Canadian Space Exploration department?”

“My parents are dead,” was his answer, plain and simple.

Speechless, I stood there in stunned silence as Alex calmly sat down on the cot, folded his hands in his lap, and watched me with the eyes of ancient experience.

I wished fervently for Helen to arrive and alleviate my discomfort; perhaps Alex would warm to a fellow Canadian. It was ridiculous, but this young boy intimidated me.

Inhaling deeply, I closed my eyes and composed myself, recalled my senior leadership training. I willed myself to keep my wits about me and not let myself be cowed by a child.

“Well, Alex. How did you come to that conclusion?” With tacit agreement from Helen, we had refrained from informing Alex of the demise of his parents.

“It’s not a conclusion; it’s a fact. They are dead.”

I struggled to come up with a response. Alex was being impuissant about the knowledge of his parents. “How do you feel about that?”

“How do you think I feel?” he returned.

“I’m not certain. You strike me as a very special person. You are correct: your parents did not survive, Alex. I’m sorry to confirm this for you. They were outside of the TAHU, on the asteroid’s surface when—”

“When the asteroid, at near the speed of light, traveled here to Pluto.”

“How do you know all these things?” I asked.

“I was there. It’s a little hard to miss.”

I had to take a deep breath and collect my thoughts. “Do you feel sad about your parents, Alex?”

“Of course.”

“You seem to be taking this all very well; either that or you’re hiding your emotions from me. You don’t have to hide from me, Alex. I’m your friend.”

Alex did not reply to that.

“It’s all right to let out your emotions, Alex. If you want to cry, you should.”

“Thank you for the offer, Captain Turner, but I’m fine.”

He was being irritatingly polite. If I didn’t feel so sympathetic for his predicament, I would have felt the urge to slap him across the face, just to get him to show some emotion…even anger.

Whatever else I might have said to him remained unspoken as the hydraulic door unlatched, and opened to reveal Helen backing in, holding a large tray of food in her hands. It smelled wonderful.

Helen smiled to Alex. “Breakfast. I hope you like eggs, toast, and orange juice.”

“Yes. Thank you very much,” he replied, looking at the food eagerly. It was the first sign of any emotion in the boy this morning. Therefore, he was human, I thought wryly. Not an alien changeling or simulacrum.

“Coffee for you, Captain?” Helen offered me a sealed cup of the warm caffeinated liquid. “Aspartame and non-dairy creamer.”

“Thank you, Helen.”

“You’re welcome.” She turned to Alex. “How are you feeling this morning? You had quite a rest.”

“Fine,” he mumbled around the crust of the toast he had consumed in one bite.

“I’d like to run some bio-diagnostic tests on you, a little more involved than the electroencephalograph I hooked up to you last night, if that’s all right?”

Alex shrugged, intent on his repast.

The first mate’s expression turned to one of confusion, and she let out a small harrumph as she inspected the EEG machine.

“What is it?” I pressed.

Before answering, Helen initiated the EEG interface and began typing in a sequence of function keys, bringing up differing schematics and charts on the digital screen.

“Nothing,” Helen answered finally, her voice tinged with concern. “There’s absolutely nothing on the EEG!”

“What do you mean? It was on a few minutes ago! I see lights!”

“Oh, the machine is on, but it might as well be hooked up to the wall. It recorded nothing all night long.” She looked at the cords attaching it to Alex, like a collection of umbilicals. “Perhaps I hooked it up wrong.”

“Then how did it alert you that Alex had arisen?”

“Well, either there’s something wrong with the connections, or— Alex, did you play with this EEG this morning?”

He turned from his eggs easy over and shook his head.

“Never touched it.”

“It’s not working. If there were data, it’s gone now.”

Shrugging as if this came as no surprise, he said, “I could have told you that.”

Both Helen and I stopped looking at the EEG interface monitor, and stared hard at Alex.

“What do you mean by that?”

“The EEG isn’t recording anything. Isn’t that obvious?”

I put my hands on my hips. “Then how did you know how long you were sleeping, down to the last second?”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” he replied. “I had been in the room for fifteen hours, thirty-two minutes, and seventeen seconds when you arrived.”

“What?”

That he knew that information indicated either he was obsessive about time, and kept meticulous track on a chronometer; or that the marking of time came to him easily, like second nature. I’d heard of people who could tell you the time of day down to the nearest minute, without looking at a chronometer, or even looking at the position of the sun. It was like a person who has an internal time clock, and wakes every day at the same time. Perhaps Alex was one such person.

Helen ignored the question of time, and grabbed her stethoscope, dragging a mobile bio-analysis unit from one corner. “What do you mean, you weren’t sleeping? Insomnia?”

Alex shrugged. “I guess.”

“Didn’t you get any sleep at all?”

“No.”

Helen brought the bio-analysis unit over and switched it on. The indicator light and the screen showed that the instrument was operational, but when Helen passed the vital receptors over Alex, nothing showed up on the monitor.

“That’s odd.”

Quickly, she reset the unit, and passed the receptor over me. My heart rate, respiration rate, body temperature, diastolic and systolic blood pressure measurements appeared alongside a brain wave chart and a micro-display chart of my major organs and their function rates. It was similar to an EEG, but had many advanced functions, and could diagnose most every ailment known. All of my readings were at a hundred percent of normal, and my microorganism levels showed satisfactory. I was the picture of health.

Helen reset the unit and passed the receptor over Alex, and again got no reading.

“What the hell?” the first mate cursed. She turned and regarded Alex. Bringing the stethoscope to her ears, she indicated to the boy that she wanted to listen to his heart rate.

“Normal,” she reported. “For some reason, the machine isn’t working, neither is the EEG.”

I hovered over the two. “Was the EEG working last night when you hooked it up?”

“Yes. That’s the funniest part of this whole thing. There isn’t even a record of the first few minutes after I hooked it up to Alex. I’m sure I checked it before I left.”

Turning to Alex, Justine spoke in her most authoritative voice. “Now, Alex. Are you lying? Did you play with these machines? They are expensive pieces of equipment, and are not toys to be played with.”

Alex, having finished his breakfast, eased back on the cot and regarded me with an impassive look that sent a shiver down my spine. “I told you; I never touched them.”

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but—”

Before I could finish my statement, Alex glanced over at the bio-analysis machine. There was a beep, and the unit suddenly flared to life.

Helen dashed over to the monitor. “Readings for one Alex Manez are normal. DNA patterns match; there’s no sign of foul play. What’s the meaning of this?” she asked, her usual patience starting to run thin.

Alex, giving a knowing cock of his head and a twinge of a smile, glanced at the bio-analysis machine again. The readings began to fluctuate past the normal spectrum. His body temperature went up ten degrees, his heart rate increased a hundred beats per minute, his respiration rate dropped to one breath per hour, his blood pressure was all over the place, and the unit began to diagnose Alex with every disease known to humankind.

“What the hell?” I cried.

Again, Alex glanced at the machine, and all the readings disappeared. The unit flatlined.

“What are you doing?” Helen asked, her eyes wide and her face registering pure disbelief.

Again, Alex shrugged. “Nothing much.” And he would respond to no more questions on the subject.

*

Captain’s Journal — August 23, 2090

The TAHU and all CSE equipment have been loaded aboard the Orcus 1, and we are preparing to lift off the asteroid and begin our journey home. I have scheduled the flight to begin first thing tomorrow morning, at 05:59 am EST. It should take us about one hundred and forty days to arrive at Luna Station; the sun’s enormous gravitational pull will boost our velocity by more than thirty kilometers per second over our average velocity coming to Pluto.

Our young ward, Alex, displays highly antisocial behavior, though Helen assures me that his reaction to his predicament and the loss of his parents is not uncommon. She refuses to speculate on the events of yesterday morning.

I, for one, will be watching Alex closely.

Once we are in flight, descending toward earth at three-hundred-and-twenty-four kilometers per second, I will transmit the first EPS report to Earth; I am not certain whether to include my thoughts on Alex yet, or wait until I have more information.

*

Captain’s Journal — August 30, 2090

It has been nine days since Alex’s rescue, and eight since the boy revealed some kind of electropathic kinetic ability with the EEG and the bio-analysis units; since then, he has not shown that the ability remains, or that the events of August Twenty-Second had ever occurred. Medical examinations provoke no unusual results, and, as far as the technical readouts are concerned, Alex is perfectly healthy.

Upon questioning, he denies any knowledge that the anomalies with the EEG and bio-analysis unit took place; although his stoic behavior from that day persists. He refuses to participate in any discussion or recreation with the science team or command crew, and only comes out of his makeshift compartment in the medical bay for meal times.

Both Helen and I agreed not to include our observations in our report, and to maintain a clandestine vigilance over young Alex, watching should he repeat his feats. Even when alone, he does not experiment with his abilities; all medical bay monitors show steady, normal outputs. There have been no glitches in any other electronic equipment on board the ship.

*

Captain’s Journal — September 14, 2090

Although the past two weeks have been spent analyzing the TAHU and its contents, we have found no evidence that proves one way or another what exactly transpired in the asteroid belt.

What caused Macklin’s Rock to achieve light travel? Why did it cease its flight when it entered the orbital field of Pluto and Charon. Obviously, the termination of the rock’s journey has something to do with the Dis Pater artifact.

But what? It remains a mystery.

We received another EPS from NASA informing us that they have created a joint-venture partnership between USA, Inc. and Canada, Corp. to study Element X, Dis Pater, and the possibility of repeating light speed travel.

Quantum Resources, Inc. has confirmed the directorship to the former vice-president of the Space Mining Division of Canada Corp’s CSE, the reputed Michael Sanderson, whom I have never met.

With him at the helm, the joint company has aggressively collected, collated, and documented all aspects of the events concerning their charter. All reports we send to NASA (the EPS informed us) will be copied and forwarded to Quantum Resources’s headquarters in Toronto, Canada.

We have instructions, upon arrival at Luna Station, to hand over the TAHU, all materials found within the unit, and a full report on all our finds to Quantum Resources, Inc. officials who will meet us at the station. There will also be a representative there who will take charge of young Alex and escort him back to Canada Corp.

So far, Alex has shown no inclination to repeat his remarkable feats of electropathic kinetics, nor has he acknowledged that he ever has, or still retains, that ability. I have decided not to include any observation in our reports to NASA and Quantum Resources, Inc. yet.

Once we have returned to NASA Mission Control, I will hand over this journal to Director William Tuttle, and rely on his discretion and decision whether to make issue of Alex, or report my observations to Quantum Resources, Inc. There is no malice in my decision; I merely do not wish upon Alex any more scientific and psychological scrutiny than necessary. Besides, I am not sure if my observations fall under Quantum Resources’ charter.

*

Captain’s Journal — October 29, 2090

In the medical bay, as at every science station on board the Orcus 1, there are cameras installed to document all experiments for future study. By no means were these cameras designed for security purposes, so it was with some trepidation that I programmed the computer to turn the cameras in the medical bay on, and leave them record the room overnight.

This move was prompted by a revelation brought to my by First Mate Helen Buchanan earlier yesterday. Catching me alone for a few moments, she indicated to me her concerns.

“I don’t think Alex has slept a wink since coming on board the ship,” she said.

“What?”

“Do you remember him saying that he didn’t sleep that first night?”

“Yes.”

“At first, I thought it was just nerves, a mild case of insomnia. What with all he’d been through, it’s not that unremarkable. After a few days when he didn’t complain about it, and since he looked rested enough, it never crossed my mind again.”

“And what leads you to believe he’s been awake for, what, two months?”

Helen mumbled. “It’s not like me, but I left the bioanalysis unit on last night in the medical bay. When I went in this morning, it had stored a twelve-hour record of the only living being inside the room, Alex, in its memory banks. When Alex stepped out for breakfast, I accessed the data, and it proves conclusively that, although he remained inactive for a few hours, he never achieved Alpha sleep, let alone REM sleep. After the few hours, there was an absence of readings, indicating, perhaps, that he had left the room. Shortly before five o’clock this morning, he returned to the room and waited until I arrived.

“I was curious what he’d been up to all night, and so I did a quick investigation.”

My mind racing in twelve different directions, wondering what all this meant, I prompted her to continue: “What did you find out?”

Helen bowed her head a moment before continuing. “He accessed our main computer data banks. Although he managed to hide the identity of any data files he used or stored, he may not have known that every time a file or document is opened, the file usage meter is tripped in the log casement. During the past two months, Alex has been accessing the main computer every night. I know it’s been him, since I discretely questioned the science team, and no one has any knowledge of using the machines after hours except on a few rare occasions.”

“Thank you, Helen. Don’t approach Alex. He’ll probably deny it. Let me handle this.”

Her relief was palpable. “Just thought you should know. I’ll be off to perform my routine sensor cache interactions.”

*

Captain’s Journal — October 30, 2090

Helen was correct. Alex does not sleep.

When I replayed the camera recording late this morning, I was shocked to see that at around eight o’clock, when everyone had finished their evening meal and sought refuge either in their own quarters or in the recreation cubicle, Alex, as was his custom, repaired to the medical bay.

To my great shock, he lay down on the cot, and stared directly at the camera, situated in the corner of the small bay.

For fifteen minutes, I watched as he stared right at me. I had to remember this was just a recording.

I fast-forwarded, but the image on screen did not vary.

Hours went by, right up until six o’clock this morning, Alex did not move from his spot on the cot, nor did his gaze waver from the camera.

At precisely six o’clock, when the ship’s chime indicated it was time to rise and that breakfast was being prepared by the AI in the dining facility, Alex stood up from his cot, took a step or two toward the camera, and spoke.

“Have a good morning, Captain,” he said to the camera, and left the room.

I recall that, over breakfast, Alex had been smiling at me furtively, although at the time I had paid no heed. He knew ahead of time that I was going to access the camera recordings.

There is something not right with young Alex Manez.

I don’t think he was this way before the Macklin’s Rock incident. He has changed in some fundamental way that I cannot put my finger on. Although he has not shown malice toward the crew, the ship, or me, I am starting to cultivate a fear of young boy.

*

Captain’s Journal — December 25, 2090

It is Christmas Day, and Helen and I spelled each other at the helm so we could enjoy the onboard festivities. The entire journey has been long, and we can all imagine ourselves in the comfort of our own homes, for the first time in more than a year. Especially now that we’ve begun our aggressive braking maneuvers, since we have passed inside the orbit of Jupiter and are fast approaching the asteroid belt.

It is unnerving to think that the outward trip took Alex and his asteroid approximately five hours; it has taken us four months to cover two-thirds of the distance. This boggles the imagination. To think that travel at light speed could be within our grasp! A trip to Proxima Centauri would take a little over four years, instead of five thousand at present technological levels. I wonder what this advancement will mean in terms of the socio-economic impact on our fellow humans.

Every hour, we apply a retrorocket boost, dropping our velocity by a kilometer per second. At current speeds of over three hundred kilometers per second, the Orcus 1 would simply shoot past Luna in the blink of an eye. Over the next two weeks, we will have decreased our velocity to less than a hundred kilometers per second.

It bothers me that Alex has not participated even in our Christmas celebration. He has not overcome his antisocial tendencies, and has kept himself in the medical bay during waking hours. At night, he continues to access our main computer files.

Shortly after discovering his nocturnal forays, I enlisted the help of Dale Powers, a whiz at all things technical, and developed a watchdog program to list by name all files accessed on Orcus 1. I have determined that Alex has never accessed the same information file twice. At this time, he has read close to eighty-nine percent of the information stored on board Orcus 1, including the Science Team’s data storage arrays. By the time we land on Luna, he will have accessed every single file contained in the data banks aboard the ship.

I estimate that if he has retained even a fraction of what he has read, then he will already know more about outer space and science than any three members of the Science Team.

I asked him what he was looking for. Expecting him to act shocked that we knew he was reading our files, it was my turn to be surprised when he replied. “It’s pretty boring here otherwise.”

“You’ve accessed technical readouts, schematics, hard science files, and encrypted files. Surely, you don’t understand them! You’re only ten-years old!”

For the first time in any of our discussions, he was forthright: “At first, it was difficult to understand them, yes. But after a while, I figured it out.”

“Figured it out! More than half of that information I couldn’t solve with both hands, a flashlight, and a map. Most people take one look at some of NASA’s basic manuals and develop a permanent headache. I had to take basic calculitical telemetronics twice before I could understand just the fundamentals.”

“I know; I read your personnel files as well.”

“Oh.” For a time, I was too stunned to form a coherent response. “Don’t tell me you can remember all that scientific and technical jargon.”

He smiled, proud. “Every word.” Then he proved it, by quoting word for word the calculitical telemetronic manual of the Orcus 1. I was flabbergasted, but I had to know.

“And what are you going to do with all this information?”

His reply was as cryptic as I could imagine. I pressed him later, but he would not elucidate me on what he meant.

What he had said was, “I have to find out what they are saying.”

“What who are saying?”

He turned to me and said, “The planets.”

__________

NASA Orcus 1 :

Sol System :

Flight Path Pluto-Luna:

EPS Security Monitor : (Command Bridge)

January 10, 2091

3:11:27 PM EST to 3:17:13 PM EST

3:11:27

The EPS view shows the command bridge of Orcus 1.

3:11:27

Present are Captain Justine Turner monitoring the command chair, First Mate Helen Buchanan at helm, and Dale Powers (Astrogation) at navigation.

3:11:27

Activity is minimal.

3:11:35

Log indicates routine implementation of breaking procedure in anticipation of attaining a solar orbit ahead of Earth’s orbit at 58,154 kilometers per hour.

3:11:58

Proximity klaxon sounds.

3:11:59

Activity increases.

3:12:02

Captain Turner: What the hell is that? Give me a visual right now!

3:12:04

Dale Powers initiates long-range magnification sensor optics from navigation.

3:12:04

Trajectory computations appear on helm computer casement.

3:12:13

Dale Powers: I can’t get a fix. Working on it.

3:12:15

Helen Buchanan: It’s approaching at 102% present speed; impact in ten minutes, twelve seconds, mark!

3:12:19

Captain Turner: Don’t tell me we’ve got another frigging runaway asteroid!

3:12:20

George Eastmain and Sakami Chin enter.

3:12:21

Alex Manez stands in portal to command bridge, watches.

3:12:23

Sakami Chin: What the hell is going on?

3:12:25

Helen Buchanan: Negative on that, Captain! It’s not an asteroid. Magnetic Doppler shift indicates it’s a ship. Sensors also read exhaust emissions.

3:12:27

George Eastmain: What did you say? A ship?

3:12:32

Dale Powers: Affirmative on that. We’ve got a visual; it’s not great at this distance, but you can tell it’s an artificial coming at us.

3:12:35

George Eastmain and Sakami Chin hurry to their stations.

3:12:58

Helen Buchanan: They’re not responding to comm. I’ve initiated SOS and warning transmissions; they’re not responding to either of those!

3:13:30

Captain Turner: Dale, can you verify its trajectory? Is it coming at us on purpose, or is this just a freak coincidence?

3:13:48

Navigation computer runs test simulations with variations entered by Dale Powers

3:13:49

Helen Buchanan: I’ve confirmed the computer’s emergency instruction set to send live EPS to Earth on continuous feed.

3:13:58

Dale Powers: Confirmation on trajectory. They’re definitely coming at us on a collision course.

3:14:01

Captain Turner: Shit! (pause) Helm! I know this ship is not designed for evasive maneuvers, but I highly recommend anything you might suggest. Get us out of this, Helen! Dale, can you get anything on visual that could help? Identify the bugger!

3:14:12

Johan Belcher, Ekwan Nipiwin and Henrietta Maria arrive and, seeing the approaching ship on main monitor casement, quickly take their stations. Captain Turner sees Alex enter, motions for him to stay where he is.

3:15:01

Dale Powers: Negative markings, Captain. The shape of it is unfamiliar. It’s not NASA or CSE.

3:15:05

Johan Belcher: ESA doesn’t have anything like that either.

3:15:08

Ekwan Nipiwin: Is not Japanese. It looks private.

3:15:10

Captain Turner: What? Are you trying to tell me—

3:15:12

Ekwan Nipiwin: Pirates did not die out in the Caribbean; they merely evolved. I say we are being attacked by pirates. And if you consider the information we have on board this ship, it’s no wonder why.

3:15:34

Alex Manez leaves portal of command bridge unnoticed.

3:15:35

Captain Turner: (shakes her head) How did they know! No one on this ship leaked any information!

3:15:40

Dale Powers: It could be anyone in any of our agencies. There are dozens of people who have access to, government information. Not to mention hackers, of course. Or other governments. When you consider everything, I agree with Ekwan; it’s not exactly a surprise. We should have anticipated something.

3:15:45

Captain Turner: Anticipated? We’re not a military ship! We’re scientific! This kind of shit is not supposed to happen!

3:15:48

George Eastmain: Whether it’s supposed to happen or not, I just picked up a radar sensor reading on that ship’s forward hull. It’s a can-opener.

3:15:53

Captain Turner: A what?

3:15:54

Ekwan Nipiwin: The front of the ship is a spike that punctures the hull of the victim’s ship, at the same time inserting a reverse claw that will pry open our hull like a can of sardines.

3:16:03

Captain Turner:You mean they’re going to ram us?

3:16:05

Ekwan Nipiwin: Yes. Also, if we do not don our suitshields, we will quickly run out of air and pressurization.

3:16:11

Captain Turner: Shit and damn it all! Helen!

3:16:21

Helen Buchanan: Sorry Captain. At current velocity, any drastic alteration in course will tear us apart.

3:16:26

Captain Turner: How long until impact?

3:16:28

Helen Buchanan checks trajectory computer, requests confirmation

3:16:39

Helen Buchanan: Collision imminent in five minutes, twelve seconds…mark.

3:16:42

Captain Turner: All right. All hands to don suitshields. If they want the frigging ship, they can have it. Dale, can you erase all main computer files?

3:16:47

Dale Powers: Affirmative…entering command codes now.

3:16:50

Captain Turner: Helen, eject everything from payload bay, let them chase the TAHU and everything else from here to forever. Everybody else, to the security receptacles.

3:16:59

Dale Powers: All non-essential files deleted. Confirmed. All essential files awaiting command code for deletion.

3:17:00

George Eastmain, Ekwan Nipiwin, Henrietta Maria, Johan Belcher leave posts and head for security receptacles.

3:17:03

Captain Turner: Voice print confirmation: Captain Justine Churchill Turner, Orcus 1. Security Code: Alpha-Alpha-Alpha-Zeta-Alpha-Turkey-Chicken-Rat. I never got around to changing it.

3:17:09

Helen Buchanan: TAHU and payload ejected, Captain.

3:17:10

Dale Powers: All essential files deleted. Main systems shutting down.

3:17:13

Captain Turner: Good, now both of you to your security receptacles. (Turns around)

3:17:20

—Where’s Alex!?

__________

NASA Orcus 1 :

Sol System :

Flight Path Pluto-Luna

For the first time in months—the first time since he realized his parents had died—Alex was truly scared. Petrified would be a better word, but semantics was beyond him right then.

He had sensed the approaching ship minutes before the Orcus 1’s sensors alerted the command crew to its presence. At first, he had thought it was merely a rendezvous ship previously arranged by NASA or CSE, but when the klaxons sounded his curiosity and confusion had brought him to the command bridge where he learned the truth.

Pirates.

And Alex had no illusions that their purpose was anything but to kidnap him. No stranger to the EarthMesh, Alex knew that no information in the world was failsafe. Someone must have hacked the Orcus 1’s transmissions to NASA and pieced the clues together. They knew Alex was alive, and potentially the key to light-speed travel.

A valuable commodity, to say the least.

It took him three minutes to unfreeze his paralyzed muscles. Once the captain knew of the impending collision between the ships that would destroy the Orcus 1, all hands would be ordered to their respective security receptacles. They would jettison the crew’s receptacles before impact, and the pirate ship would alter course, hunting down each receptacle in their search for Alex.

But he would not be among them.

There were enough receptacles for the original crew. He was sure no one would have the presence of mind to think of Alex’s survival; even if someone did offer him a receptacle in their stead, he would not accept. He had something else in mind.

He raced for his old security receptacle from the TAHU in the payload bay. It was his only chance. Standard procedure dictated that all receptacles be fully charged at all times; and that included the one from the TAHU. Although none of the Orcus 1 crew had thought to recharge the receptacle, Alex had taken it upon himself to do the job one night a few weeks back. It had been a simple task after accessing the SOP files from the main computer banks.

He congratulated himself on his forethought.

It would take the pirates hours, perhaps even a full day, to hunt down the Orcus 1 security receptacles, only to discover their quarry not among them. By that time, the emergency alert to Earth would bring military vessels patrolling the asteroid belt to the rescue, and the pirates would have to flee or die. All the while, Alex would be in his old security receptacle in the ship’s payload bay, unharmed.

Thirty seconds after dashing from the Command Bridge, Alex reached the payload bay and hurried to the ruins of the TAHU. He crawled through the wreckage to the security receptacle and fastened himself in, initiating a priority code he had programmed. For eighteen hours, he would be safe.

Closing his eyes, he trained his mind outside the Orcus 1, and tried to locate, with his mental capacity, the oncoming pirate ship.

Just as he was getting a fix on them, and began to magnify his outer vision, there was a deep mechanical rumbling under him, shaking the security receptacle violently.

“What the—?” he called out, steadying himself inside the receptacle.

He interfaced with the status monitor. “Condition?”

The monitor computer could accept voiced queries, but could answer only visually on the screen. In standard computer typeface, the words appeared.

: Unknown interference with SC stabilizers : Sensor findings inconclusive : Waiting :

“Link with Orcus 1 computer,” he ordered.

: Link established : Waiting :

“Computer. What is the cause of recent vibrations in payload bay?”

: Vibrations in payload bay caused by executive order to eject all contents in payload bay by Captain Justine Churchill Turner at 3:16:50 p.m. EST : Waiting :

“Computer!” he shouted. “Abort! Abort! Abort!”

: Unable to comply : Waiting :

Alex did not have long to wait; at 3:17:08, a loud grinding noise filled his ears, blocking out any other sound, blocking out even his thoughts, as the payload bay door opened and the airlock pumps jettisoned the TAHU, the security receptacle, Alex, and a few dozen other objects into space.

Alex ground his teeth together as a sudden motion slammed him face first into the security receptacle’s monitor. His elastiplas restraints bit deep into his ribs and thighs.

Within moments, silence replaced the grinding, and Alex’s equilibrium returned. He could feel himself rotating at a slow rate. As for his velocity and trajectory, the security receptacle was useless in that regard.

Feeling the panic well up in his throat like hot bile, Alex forced himself to calm down and let his outer vision do for him what the security receptacle sensors could not. Within moments, he found that steady mental rhythm that allowed him to see outside of himself, to see outside of the tiny receptacle into the vastness of the beyond.

Thirty degrees or so from the zenith of his trajectory, he saw the Orcus 1. From his viewpoint, it was the NASA craft that was rotating in wide circles around his position, getting farther and farther away by the second.

He saw a smaller ship approaching the Orcus 1. Instead of continuing its trajectory, the pirate ship’s port thrusters fired, and it changed position, altering course to intercept Alex.

At that point, Alex could have cried at the way things had turned out.

He was completely helpless.

__________

Quantum Resources, Inc.:

Toronto :

Canada Corp.:

Michael slammed his fist down on his desk. The windows in his new fourth floor office in the Quantum Resources, Inc. complex north of Toronto rattled from the vibrations. In the hall, his administrative assistant stopped the dicta-shell, glanced up through the semi-transparent fiber wall.

“What! This had better be some kind of sick joke! This is the goddam twenty-first century! Things like this don’t happen!” Michael could barely contain his anger.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we just received the NASA-slaved EPS transmission from the Orcus 1’s security camera confirming their S.I.D. call.”

Calbert Loche was trying hard not to notice his superior’s ire, knowing it was not directed at him, and continued with his report.

“At approximately 3:23 p.m. EST, an unmarked aggressor bore down on a collision course with the Orcus 1. For some reason, the Orcus 1 ejected its payload moments before impact, and the aggressor altered course for intercept. There are no standard operating procedures for a pirate attack. Captain Turner was just doing what she thought was best. She was making it up as she went along, and only had a few moments to make a decision. NASA has cleared her of any culpability.

“Captain Turner confirms there was a single life form reading in the ejected payload, that of Alex Manez, who is now in the confines of the attacking ship. What he was doing there, I don’t know. The payload bay was off limits, but Alex must have thought it a good hiding place.

“The Orcus 1 had no hope of pursuit, and its sensors were jammed and they lost the aggressor’s signature emissions. The Orcus 1 is continuing final approach to Luna, and will arrive in fourteen days. NASA has a dreadnought-class protector less than a hundred gigs away, and is sending it to follow the aggressor’s last known trajectory, but the chances of picking up its engine emissions signature is minimal. The Earth Space Traffic Commission has been alerted, and will investigate, on a random basis, ships entering Earth orbit over the next thirty days.”

“For what that’s worth!” Michael blurted. “A couple of bottles of whisky is enough to get those damned commissionaires to look the other way for five minutes. Damn!” he cursed. Turning to Loche, he spoke through gritted teeth. “You know what this means?”

“It means someone out there knows all about Element X, and probably has information we don’t. That information, I would assume, indicates that Alex is more involved in this than being a hapless bystander. Captain Turner’s reports on Alex are less than forthcoming; Alex has been affected somehow, the kidnappers know more than we do about it, and they took him because of it.”

“The possibility occurs to me that either we’re not the first ones to encounter Element X, or that someone is reading every file we transmit.” Michael paced up and down the office. “We need more information. I want everything we’ve got on anything to do with Element X, Alex, Orcus 1, Dis Pater, Macklin’s Rock, everything, collected. I want a special team set up to investigate this—take people off the element searcher team if you have to. There’s something about all of this that we’re missing. Something right in front of our noses. God, I hate being left in the dark; it’s infuriating. I want answers!”

“I’ll get right on it. I know just the people to use.” He left Michael to brood by himself.

The Director of Quantum Resources did not brood long. There were just too many bits of disjointed and seemingly unconnected data, and too many pieces of this grand puzzle that did not connect in any way. There was too much that he did not know.

Over the past few months, he had been busy getting Quantum Resources off its feet. Although they did not have any product to show for their efforts yet, their charter provided for a lengthy R&D lapse, considering the scarcity of the element around which their company was based.

Of the forty-seven employees at Quantum Resources, thirty were collating data and trying to determine relationships among asteroidal figures to narrow down the conditions where Element X might be found. It was an astronomical task, but had about as much chance as randomly picking an asteroid and physically surveying it.

Ten employees were engineers determining properties of Element X based on sketchy data, and attempting to develop theories on possible uses of the mysterious element.

The remaining seven, including Michael, Calbert, and Raymond, were administrative. As it stood, Raymond Magrath was more than capable of handling internal administration by himself. Calbert was effective as a liaison between Quantum Resources and their parent corporations. Michael did not have any concrete task before him except for the odd meeting between NASA and CSE execs.

He decided to roll up his sleeves and get himself immersed hip-deep in this investigation. It was time to get down and dirty.

The first question on his mind, something that had been bothering him for a number of months, was Captain Turner of the Orcus 1. Her reports to NASA were inconsistent.

When dealing with the technical aspects of the mission, such as current shipboard conditions, the ongoing investigation of the TAHU, and transmission of theories put forth by the scientists aboard concerning Dis Pater, she was exhaustive. Concerning Alex, she was elusive. Although her statements were anything but brief, the content never changed: Alex was fine. Alex was doing well. Alex was normal and healthy.

Obviously, somebody thought Alex was extraordinary enough to stage a pirating and kidnapping of the young boy. Captain Turner had spent the better part of five months with the youngster; she had to have seen something out of the ordinary.

Turning to his desktop, he entered a high-security password in his computer, typed an encoded EPS message. He directed his transmission to intercept the Orcus 1.

*

To Captain Justine Turner, Orcus 1

From: Director Michael Sanderson, Quantum Resources, Inc.

Security: Level 1 Clearance

I have been apprised of the attack on the Orcus 1, and the subsequent kidnapping of Alex Manez. I appreciate the extremes to which the abductors have gone to complete their task. All measures are being taken by your and my governments to find Alex.

It has come to my attention that Alex may have been affected by exposure to the element we are temporarily terming “Element X” in ways that we have not yet fathomed; we suspect the third party involved has obtained information about Alex that may make it imperative we recover him, beyond the obvious reasons to do so. It would be helpful if you could provide me with any observations, however mundane, you have made about Alex that may not have made it into previous reports.

Director Michael Sanderson

Quantum Resources, Inc.

*

He tapped the SEND option on his console. It would take more than twenty minutes for the message to reach the Orcus 1; an additional amount of time for the captain to form her response; and another twenty minutes for the reply to reach him. Still, Michael checked his computer a dozen times that hour for messages.

When his secretary informed him she was heading off for lunch, Michael realized he was hungry. To clear his mind, he put on his overcoat and gloves, and took a walk down the street to the Webster Family Feed Company for a ham on rye and a tall glass of unsweetened iced tea.

His thoughts were in turmoil. The national and international ramifications of the events of the past few months were staggering, but Michael could not help thinking about Alex.

The poor kid. First, he lost his parents, then was propelled more than four billion kilometers from home; and, as he made the long journey back to Earth, he was accidentally ejected into space, and subsequently kidnapped by forces unknown. How would all that affect a child’s mind?

When Michael arrived back in his office, his computer DMR screen was flashing, indicating an urgent incoming message.

Barely suppressing his excitement, he opened the communiqué and read Captain Turner’s reply.

*

To: Director Michael Sanderson, Quantum Resources, Inc.

From: Captain Justine Turner, Orcus 1, NASA

Security: Level 1 Clearance

Against my better judgment, I am forwarding selected excerpts from my private journal—coded with a double-redundant protocol—to you through a trusted colleague; you should receive the uncoded version in a matter of hours. It is painfully obvious no transmission is completely secure; I would have rather waited to present this information to relevant parties in person, but have taken as many steps as possible to keep this information secure. I ask that you keep this to yourself for the time being.

A second copy is being forwarded to Director William Tuttle.

Captain, Justine Turner, Orcus 1, NASA

*

The wait would drive him crazy. Michael decided to occupy his time answering his other meshmail and browsing the Earthmesh.

Knowing that it could be years before Quantum Resources saw a profit, Michael had diverted a small percentage of the startup capital into a number of secondary investments; hedging his bets, as it were. He logged onto the EarthMesh Global Stock Market and checked the progress of his accounts, selling off a few, buying into a few other companies that looked good to him.

A knock on his door brought him back to the here and now, and he looked up as Calbert Loche entered the room.

“I just wanted to let you know that I’ve formed a research team of seven for this project. Most of the information available is already in our data banks, but they’ve decided to start from the beginning and work their way through it all as if for the first time.”

“Good. I’ve made a few inquiries of my own to obtain more data. I’m racking my brains. There’s this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that tells me we’re missing something crucial. I want to know more. I want Alex found.”

“Those are some of the directives I issued them. Also, they are contacting a few other organizations that might have a different angle on the entire Dis Pater matter; SETI and some of its independent splinter groups. Crop circle experts are having a field day, saying they’ve predicted this for over a hundred years. There’s a lot of data out there, and a lot of people with even more opinions. There are the Luddites who think progress is the devil’s own weapon against the soul, and would do anything to keep this information from being used. If you’re looking for someone who’s responsible for the kidnapping, we’ve got ourselves about a billion-and-a-half suspects. And almost as many motives.”

“I’d like to narrow that down, just a little,” Michael replied acerbically. “And quickly. Within the next week or two.”

“You ask the impossible, and we shall provide.” Calbert smiled lightly. “Anyway, it’s knock-off time. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Michael looked at the chronometer in the corner of his DMR. “Already? Where did the time go? I’m going to stick around a while, check a few leads.”

“All right. See you.”

“Bye.”

Michael went back to his computer, but he could not focus on anything. He leaned his chin on the palm of his hand and stared blankly at the monitor, letting his thoughts run away; a free association exercise of sorts.

He imagined traveling to the stars, meeting alien cultures, and charting the entire galaxy. What an adventure!

He was jarred out of his reverie when his communicator chimed. Picking it up, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Sanderson here.”

“Henry at the front desk, sir. Your wife is here to pick you up. She’s waiting outside in the car.”

“My wife! She’s not supposed to be picking me up. I drove here this morning myself. Are you sure it’s my wife?”

“Uh, yes, sir. She rang in and said she’s been waiting for twenty minutes.”

Michael sighed. It probably was time to turn in for the day. He was exhausted and far too frustrated to be effective. He needed a good night’s sleep.

“All right. If she rings in again, tell her I’m on my way.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Michael hung up the communicator and, with a puzzled expression on his face, put on his jacket, packed his briefcase, and headed down to the lobby. He nodded at Henry as he passed through the front desk security scanners, and stepped outside.

His car was idling in the pickup area. He couldn’t see through the tinted windows, but when the horn sounded sharply—a trait his wife had when impatient—he subconsciously relaxed. Walking over to the passenger side, he opened the door and got in.

There was a man dressed in a large winter jacket and wore a balaclava pulled down over his face. With a speed that stunned Michael, the man opened the driver side door, slipped his car card in the slot to lock all doors, and closed Michael in. Fumbling for his own card, Michael found it and used it to release the doors, and jumped out, but by the time he was on the sidewalk, there was no sign of the stranger.

Looking back inside the vehicle, Michael saw a manila envelope between the driver and passenger seats. Sitting back down inside the car, he opened the envelope. Inside was a report.

The front page read:

*

Decrypted Text

Excerpts From The Official Flight Journal Of

Captain Justine Churchill Turner.

*

He flipped quickly through the dozen pages of transcribed entries, describing Alex’s ability to manipulate electrical devices, and his apparent insomnia. Obvious side-effects of exposure to Element X.

Looking around to see if anyone was watching him, Michael slowly went over the journal excerpts line by line. The insomnia, the computer files, the hidden camera, the electrical telekinesis—all pointed toward something in Alex. A mystery. There was something there.

By the time Michael got to the end of Captain Turner’s report, he knew exactly why Alex had been kidnapped, and why the pirates had gone to such lengths.

The only question that remained was…who were the pirates?

__________

Pirate Ship :

Sol System :

Like a petrified clam within its shell, Alex waited inside the security receptacle and listen for the sounds of the kidnappers to come to pry him out forcibly. He was too panicked to remember to use his special clairvoyance to watch their approach.

Docking with the pirate ship had been clumsy, and if Alex had not been secure in the receptacle, he would have had numerous bruises and bumps to show for the experience. As it was, he was more scared than if he had been injured; if he had been, at least he would have something to take his overactive mind off what would become of him.

In the DMR game, Nova Pirates, a captured fighter would be taken to the pirates’ home base where he would be enslaved for the rest of his life, performing menial chores and suffering the abuse of the pirates. That was just a game; this was reality; and over the past six months, Alex had come to know that most of the time reality was much worse.

On the Orcus 1, he had felt safe, secure, and could afford to be aloof, reserved, even arrogant in an effort to hide the internalized pains of losing his beloved parents in such a brutal manner. The Orcus 1 was an accommodating, concerned crew.

On the pirate ship, he would have no such luxury.

He could imagine his future torment. What had he done to deserve such horrid fate? His parents killed, himself kidnapped. The song in his head threatened to drive him insane. What else was going to befall him?

After a quarter of an hour by himself in the receptacle, Alex thought he was going to go crazy from the isolation and from his imagination. Soon, however, he could hear the sounds of footsteps as the pirates made their way through the defunct TAHU to locate his security receptacle.

Within minutes, they found him, and he finally gathered enough wits to blink out and see beyond the receptacle to his captors. As with every time he closed his eyes to use his clairvoyance, that haunting song came to him, the lyrical words too soft to define, too far away to catch, too intense to ignore.

There were two of them, he saw. Both were men, dressed in flight suits. One had dark hair and short. He looked oriental. The other man was a tall and blond Caucasian.

Though Alex could not quite pin down their ages, he finally decided they were younger than any member of the Orcus 1 crew. They did not look like pirates; more like astronauts you could find at any space agency in the world.

Taken aback by the kidnappers’ unexpected normality, he didn’t hear them at first, but they repeated themselves. The tall, blond one had a European accent Alex could not pin down.

“We are not going to hurt you, Alex. I’m going to open the receptacle, and I would like it very much if you cooperated with us, and didn’t try to run,” one of them said. “There is no place to run, anyway; but if you are a good boy, things will go better for you. Can you hear me?”

Alex’s tongue did not want to work for him.

“Can you hear me?” the man repeated as he withdrew a pair of handcuffs from a pouch tied around his waist. “Tell me you’ll cooperate, and I won’t have to tie you up.”

“I won’t fight,” Alex finally replied loud enough for the sound waves to penetrate the metal of the receptacle, and let his clairvoyance shut down as the men punched the release button, allowing the door to swing open easily.

Alex stepped out cautiously, and looked up at the men, making no effort to run from them. They had spoken the truth; he had no place to go, except open space. He was in their power.

“Good,” the man said. “I see we have no need of these.”

He raised the handcuffs before Alex a moment before putting them away in his pouch. “Now, my name is Captain Gruber, and this is First Mate Chung.”

“Who are you?” Alex had to ask. “Pirates?”

“We work for a private organization that has taken a great deal of interest in you, Alex. They have followed your progress quite closely since your unfortunate accident last August, and would like to meet you. I assure you, no harm will come to you if you cooperate, but make no mistake, we have taken you prisoner, and you will do as we say, or there will be repercussions. Do you know what that word means?”

Alex nodded. “In Nova Pirates, prisoners are tortured and made slaves.”

Captain Gruber gave him a sour look. “Very funny. No, we are not pirates…exactly. Nevertheless, if you do not cooperate, you will be dealt with severely. Certain privileges that I am in a position to grant you will be withdrawn. It will be a few weeks before we return. How you spend those few weeks—either in comfort, or locked in your room with no entertainment—will be your choice. My orders are to keep you incommunicado. Do you know what that means?”

Alex shook his head, even though he knew the answer.

“It means no contact with anyone, locked in a room for the rest of the trip; but if you are a good boy for us, I will let you have certain freedoms. What do you say to that?”

“I won’t try anything,” Alex promised.

“Good. Now, if you will follow First Mate Chung, he will show you to your accommodations and then bring you to the mess to get some food. We have recreation facilities for the crew that you may use to occupy your time until we attain orbit. The only requirement we have of you until our landing is a daily physical examination. I understand that you have some small ability with the manipulation of electricity.” He gave the boy a stern, uncompromising glare.

So, they had somehow hacked into the Orcus 1’s secure data bases, as had Alex. How they had done it from space was beyond him.

“I don’t know the extent of this power, but I have no interest in a demonstration, Alex. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Off you go, now. I’m looking forward to a comfortable, uneventful return. I trust you share my optimism, and that you will make every effort to be a good little boy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. We understand each other perfectly.” He turned on his heel, and strode away.

*

After being shown his room by the First Mate—a small, cramped space marginally larger than a coffin, with a military bunk and a glowlamp—Alex was familiarized with the latrines and the mess hall. Chung brought him to the common room that was empty right then. There was a DMR television with an extensive library of foreign language videos; a video entertainment console with a number of games also in other languages, but Alex thought he could get around that with the games. There was also a refreshment kiosk that, Chung explained, contained files on every beverage Alex could want.

“Now, remember, Alex; this common room is for the crew members, a place to relax. They have been given orders not to talk to you, so when they are off duty, you may not come in here. You can play the videos when the room is free, and you can read any of the books in here if you can find one in English. However, under no circumstances are you to contact any of the crew for any reason. If I hear one complaint, you will be locked in your room for the duration of the trip. If you have any questions, you may approach me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, we must go to the medical bay for some tests.”

*

The physician at the medical examination room was a pleasant looking older man with a disarming manner.

When Alex arrived, the doctor smiled and beckoned the young man to come in. True to form, the doctor was dressed in a lab coat, and wore spectacles over bright blue eyes. His hair was balding, and what hair he had left he swept over the bare skin of his pate. Chubby hands held a stethoscope he had just been donning when Alex arrived.

When he spoke, it was with an accent from one of the southern states of America.

“Have a seat young man. I promise this will be much easier than you think. I’d just like to take a few readings—heart beat, respiration, all on the EEG bioreader; and if I could, a small sampling of blood, if you don’t mind. Then you can be on your way.”

“That’s all right,” Alex told him. Taking off his shirt, he lay down on the examination bed.

“My name is Doctor Hyndman, but you can call me ‘Doc.’ “

Doc began his examination by attaching a few electrodes to Alex’s torso and temples. “I understand there is some kind of electrical disruption field you are able to produce.”

There was no use denying it. “If I want.”

“Remarkable. Could you show me now? I already have reading for normal state of rest.”

“The Captain said—”

“It’s all right, Alex. The Captain is not here right now, and I don’t take orders from him. But, if you don’t wish to…”

Alex, despite himself, liked the doctor. “All right. But you have to tell me how you knew about it.”

The Doc smiled. “Our organization has many resources, both financial as well as human. A little bribery is all it takes to obtain remote codes. A laser EPS to the Orcus 1 when we know no one is monitoring the computers, and ‘boom,’ everything is laid out for us. Now, I have shared a secret with you; it is your turn to show me what I would like to see.”

Alex, with as little effort as it took to breathe, caused the EEG bioreader to flatline.

“Remarkable. How do you do it?”

Alex shrugged. “It just happens. I think it, and I can just…I don’t know…take away the power. Or, I can add to it.” Again, he flexed his ability, and the EEG bioreader began to beep and quip, the readings fluctuating wildly. “Like breathing. You don’t think every breath, but if you concentrate, you can hold it for a while.”

“All right! All right, Alex! The machine will explode.”

“Sorry, Doc.”

He smiled. “No worries. You say you just think it? Do you get tired when you do it?”

“No.”

“Not even a bit?”

Alex shook his head.

“Dizzy, like when you hold your breath?” he asked.

“Nah-uh.”

“I understand you have not slept in months. Do you feel tired at all?”

“Well, no.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow.

Alex explained, “Not sleepy tired, but sometimes I feel a little slow.”

“Slow?”

“Like when you haven’t eaten in a while. Low energy or something.”

“Interesting. Any other side effects you can think of?”

Alex shook his head, while the doctor rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“I wonder…but then, it is not my place to delve. They have facilities for this at the station; my colleagues will be eager to begin their studies of you.”

Alex sat up as the doctor produced a syringe for taking blood. “Doc,” he said hesitantly, and for a moment, the doctor assumed Alex was nervous about the needle.

“It will only feel like a small pin prick for a moment,” he assured Alex.

“I’m not afraid of the needle. I just wanted to know… What are they going to do to me?”

The doctor paused a moment, gave-Alex a quizzical look. Then his expression changed to one of amused assurance. “Well, I haven’t been told everything, you understand. But I can assure you that no harm will come to you. Our organization is powerful, but we are not frivolous. There are many things that we do that others might feel threatened, and want to stop us, but everything we do is for the betterment of humankind, ultimately.”

“They didn’t have to kidnap me—”

“But I’m afraid we did, Alex. You have a power, beyond the manipulation of electricity, which is of vital importance to the world. Your home country, and others, is ill equipped to deal with your potential. There would be disasters, possibly war. Even now, some countries are drawing lines, taking sides.

“We have the facilities to explore and observe, and want no part in Earth’s wars; I assure you, no one will come to any harm, especially you. In this, you must trust me. It is for your own good that we have taken you. In the wrong hands, you could do great harm without wanting to. You don’t want to hurt people, do you?”

“No.”

“There, you see? Already I have proven that what we are doing is for the greater good.”

Alex furrowed his brow, unable to understand the doctor’s logic. “But this ship was going to ram the Orcus 1!”

“I assure you, Alex, we would not have done that. You see, none of us wishes for death. The captain would have turned at the last moment.”

The doctor leaned forward, his face drawn in concern.

“No, Alex, all we wished to happen was the evacuation of the ship, so that there would be no confrontation. We had expected you to be ejected along with the rest of the crew, but, as it happens, you came out alone, before the others. That made our job easier, and we have avoided hostilities with the NASA ship.”

“But…” Alex struggled with the dichotomy of the doctor’s argument.

When the needle was injected in his arm, and blood taken, Alex barely registered the pain, his mind was awhirl.

“Done. Moreover, as I promised, it did no hurt so very much. You see I keep to my word. So you must trust me now.”

Alex nodded solemnly.

“Well, Alex. You may go now, but my door is always open. If you are confused, or you have questions, you may approach me whenever you feel the need. All right?”

“Okay.”

First Mate Chung entered the MER and shot a questioning glance at the doctor.

“All done, First Mate.”

“The Captain wishes to receive a full report on your readings, Doctor.”

The Doc cocked his head to one side. “And he shall have access to all medical findings taken aboard this ship, as is his right; but you know under our contract that information about Alex is top secret. You and your Captain are not privy to our business.”

“I don’t like this skullduggery, Doctor! And neither does Captain Gruber. Frankly, the money does not seem all that much now, not enough by far for pissing off the entire USA Inc.”

“Ah, but the discretion lay with you. We would never reveal your participation in this endeavor, for it would reflect badly upon us. And I’m sure you would keep your own counsel as well. A double indemnity clause, if you will. Now, I’m sure our young ward will be hungry now, and it is almost dinner time.”

*

Alex followed the grumbling First Mate to the mess, and ate his meal in silence, not even bothering to identify the food he shoveled into his mouth.

Everyone was being more than nice and convivial to him, and this disturbed him in a rudimentary way. Not only did he expect to be handled with brutality and callousness, but also he had fully anticipated being summarily locked away. Was the doctor telling the truth, in that this mysterious organization had kidnapped him because they saw no other way to keep him from using his powers against others? For the betterment of humankind?

And what about the powers that so concerned the doctor? Besides being able to freeze or bolster existing electrical pulses, something which Alex could find no great use for except being able to use computer without a thoughtlink patch, or fool EEG machines, the other ability he had was seeing beyond his range of vision. How could either possibly harm anybody?

As nice as everybody was, Alex was determined not to let them win his trust. They were kidnappers, right or wrong, and he did not like that.

He planned carefully what he was going to do.

__________

Pirate Ship :

Sol System :

Alex spent the next two weeks in a state of futility. The crew’s apparent apathy toward him provided him with no opportunities to question them, or innocently overhear conversations—the ones in English—that could have given him a clue who these people really were and what their purpose was in kidnapping him.

The rules stated that he was not to enter the recreation room when the crew was off duty. Alex kept to his room, and only wandering the small area of the ship where he was allowed to be.

He was able to raid the ship’s computer files, but besides technical jargon and schematics of the ship, and routine logs and reports, he found no information about the organization that had taken such an acute interest in him. If Alex had not known better, he would have sworn they knew about his ability to go into computer files from a distance, and had taken steps to erase any trace or record of themselves.

The only break in Alex’s monotony was his daily physical examination with the Doc. He was a jovial man, and Alex enjoyed his company, although the Doc was the enemy. Alex quickly realized that the Doc was himself digging for information about Alex, dropping casual questions that seemed innocent enough.

How far away can you control an electronic device? What do you do all night while you are awake? Do you never get sleepy? What do you think about? Can you tell me if you have dreams? Not even waking dreams? Do you still feel fatigued? Any other symptoms?

Two thoughts occurred to Alex: first, this organization, while they knew more about him than anyone else on Earth knew, still had many gaps in their database.

For instance, they had information about his ability to manipulate electricity, and to cause computer files and programs to activate without physically touching the keyboard. For some reason, they thought this power to be singularly dangerous.

However, they had no idea about his ability to see beyond himself, to see outside the ship, and into the vast reaches of local space. He decided to keep this a secret; how it was going to help him, he had no idea, but if he had something they did not know about, it meant that he retained a certain amount of power over them.

The second thing that Alex spent many a night pondering was the ambiguous nature of the enemy. The captain and crew, although they had actively kidnapped him, and broke several laws in doing so, beheld Alex with total disregard. He had expected them to be mean, callous, and to go out of their way to cause him grief. As long as he did not get underfoot, and obeyed the rules set out by the captain the first day of his capture, the crew completely ignored him. They didn’t extend him any courtesies if they didn’t have to; but neither did they seek to harm him. He was a passenger, little more.

Then there was the Doc, who genuinely seemed to like Alex, although he was Alex’s captor, and obviously had an agenda he had not openly revealed to his patient.

It made thinking of them as the enemy that much more difficult; but to think of them of such, he was determined.

Perhaps it was easy to think they could fool a young boy; but Alex was no ordinary boy concerned with play. His parents had been assiduous in ensuring Alex’s education, and awareness of the world outside his family. There was always time for play, but after the lessons, although Alex often cheated and played first.

Now was not a time for play.

He decided he was not going to learn anything significant until they reached their destination, so every night when he was alone in his small room, laying back on the lumpy mattress with his eyes closed, he floated outside himself, outside the ship, to check their progress.

Alex wondered how they were going to circumvent the radar monitoring orbitals every country corporation used to control and check the flow of Earth-bound and space-bound flights. Anything larger than a two-meter meteorite was logged and traced. Surely, Alex’s kidnapping had been reported to all countries concerned with the Orcus project; and knowing the Earth Mesh grapevine, word would have leaked out. NASA would approach the United Earth Corporate and demand a strict traffic watch for any ship approaching Earth in the time window they calculated the kidnappers would return there.

It was a few days before final approach, as Alex learned from the Doc, so he would have to wait and see until then, as the Doc, when questioned, smiled and refused to reveal the captain’s plan.

Two days before the ship would reach Earth, Alex, using his extrasensory sight to watch the Earth becoming larger and larger against the backdrop of the immense starfield of space, was taken by a strange feeling. It was more of a certainty, an intuition.

Suddenly, he knew deep within himself—as assuredly as he knew his own name—that the ship was on a course that would take them past the Earth.

He thought back and recalled that not once had anyone said that their destination was Earth. Even when he had assumed it was so, and mentioned it, the doctor had not corrected him.

In his field of extraspacial vision, he saw the moon appearing from behind the horizon of the Earth.

Luna Station.

An independent port, owned by all, but accountable to none.

The perfect hiding place.

__________

Quantum Resources, Inc. :

Toronto :

Canada Corp.:

Calbert Loche knocked tentatively on the Director’s office door.

When Michael looked up, Calbert raised his eyebrows, silently asking permission to enter. The Director nodded, waving his loyal assistant in, and leaned back into his leather chair, rubbing the glare of the DMR casement from his eyes.

It had been a long morning. So far, there had been no developments in the hunt for Alex Manez, and no clues to the mysteries of Dis Pater or Element X.

However, there had been a deluge of meshmail requests from various news agencies and mesh newsletter groups requesting information. As part of Quantum Resources public relations campaign, Michael had decided to offer full disclosure on any information the governments of Canada Corp. and USA, Inc. had de-classified; as well as any “non-sensitive” information Quantum Resources itself developed, releasing this information after it had been confirmed.

The information pirates and leftist groups that monitored NASA (as if that agency were run by malevolent forces) attacked Quantum Resource’s computers with a passion that frankly shocked Michael. He thanked his lucky stars for Calbert Loche, who implemented his philosophy of clean computers. The research machines had no possible access to any mesh account, and no company secrets could be saved on any computer that had an Earth Mesh connection. Outside correspondence was done on separate computers—dumb terminals only.

Michael could imagine what would happen if any information on Element X was leaked. The mesh tabloids had had a field day on the subject of Dis Pater, that find being declassified by NASA within hours of discovery, but the farcical stories those rags generated had no end.

It never ceased to amaze him how some groups obtained their information, and how much of it they managed to acquire. Their accuracy was as alarming as their theories were ludicrous. They spread was enough misinformation to keep the masses on the edge of doubt.

Since Michael had little function outside of administration matters until there were any developments, he took it upon himself to deal with the news agencies and mesh groups. If nothing else, it reminded him how important it was not to let himself be swayed by the tabloid stories and opinion columns.

As the one with the facts, he could check them against the accounts generated by sub-news groups. The tabloids fell short every time. Opinion columns sometimes had a few informed participants, but most entries came from lonely, bored, or deranged people who had nothing better to do.

He looked up at his aide.

“Tough day?” Calbert inquired politely.

“Yeah. It never ends.”

“Uphill battle?”

“Something like that.” Michael nodded.

Calbert smiled. “—both ways?”

That elicited a chuckle from Michael. He saw Calbert was holding a duo-tang. “What have you got for me?”

Calbert lifted the duo-tang, glanced at the cover. “Preliminary Budget for the Fiscal Year 2092—Quantum Resources, Inc.” He made a sour face. “It reads like award-winning fiction; only the writer can understand what the hell it says.”

They shared a small laugh.

Lifting his eyebrows, Calbert said, “No, I came by to tell you we’ve downloaded the preliminary investigation report from NASA on the Orcus 1 incident.”

“Incident?”

“That’s what they’re calling it until they can find a responsible party and lay charges. Also, the weekly Dis Pater/Element X update has been downloaded as well. I didn’t know if you caught it on your meshmail.”

“No. Too busy with the media subculture.” He gestured to his computer.

Calbert grimaced. “Tabloids. Never touch the stuff. I stick to the Globe and Mail, and the Washington Post. Everything else is trash. Too bad the rags have ten times the circulation of any legitimate paper. Crackpots and unrateds.”

“On that, we agree.”

There was a short silence where Michael decided Calbert was gathering himself to ask something of personal importance. He gave his assistant all the time he needed.

“Uh,” Calbert began, “My wife asked me to invite you and Melanie if you were available for dinner this Friday. We’re having a few couples over for cards. If you don’t have any other plans.”

“No, our schedule is clear. Mel would be delighted. We haven’t really been social since moving to Toronto. How is Joan?”

“She’s adjusting, but preferred Ottawa. The generous raise you approved for us helps keep her mollified, though. She’s got her eye on an Alaskan cruise this spring.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“Yeah. If you like boats.”

“I think they’re called ships,” Michael joked.

“Change the ‘p’ with a ‘t’ and that’s what I get when I board them. Anyway, I’ve got to bring this budget down to Ray and see if we can figure it out together.”

Michael laughed. “The mysteries of physics are laid to waste by your brilliant minds, and you can’t figure out a simple budget.”

Calbert mimed offering the report to Michael. “Then you wouldn’t mind going over it yourself.”

Raising his hands in a forestalling gesture, Michael shook his head. “Not on your life.”

Offering a conciliatory laugh, Calbert got up and said, “Talk to you later.”

“Later.”

When Calbert had left, Michael sighed, took a sip from his now-cold coffee and grimaced. Clearing his throat, he went back to his computer and pulled up the files from NASA.

The “Incident” report told him nothing new, and he closed the casement. The weekly update on NASA’s efforts in the Dis Pater investigation did not offer Michael any new insights, and he skimmed the long-winded paragraphs, scanning for anything of interest.

He brushed over one paragraph, and the meaning of it did not register in his mind until he reached the end of the report. The author had alluded to an interview, but the report did not have any attachment that indicated where the interview was. He read the phrase again:

*

[Ref: n:\982563\\nvstgtn.dispater.ntrvw325.nasa.gov]

“The translation of the sacred scroll the old man revealed to me leads me to believe a further investigation is fully warranted. There is a possible link between the fall of the Mayan civilization around 800 AD, and the discovery of Dis Pater…”

*

Michael checked the file location on the NASA LAN, to which he had been given access, but it was not there. He went back to the report and checked the file details. The author’s name was George Markowitz, and it gave his meshmail and vidcomm addresses.

Dialing George Markowitz’ vidcomm through the DMR casement, Michael waited patiently as the ringer sounded four times. He was expecting a voicemail message, but was surprised when the screen blinked on to reveal a fortyish man with a receding hairline and a sour expression on his round face, shadowed by most of a day’s growth of beard. He wore a simple blue shirt, with no tie.

“Hello—” George checked the display bar on the bottom of the screen that flashed the caller’s identity. “—Director Sanderson.” The irritated look on his face did not alter with the knowledge or recognition of his caller’s identity. “What can I do for you?”

“Hello, Mr. Markowitz. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if you could help me.”

Markowitz nodded impatiently.

“I’ve just finished reading the weekly NASA update on Dis Pater—Element X, and I saw your report. In it you make reference to an interview with a Mayan Indian.”

“Yes.” There was a decidedly bitter tone to his confirmation.

“I tried to find the attachment, but couldn’t. I was wondering if you could direct me to where it is posted.”

George Markowitz looked around him at the other end, as if ensuring no one was listening in. “Look, Director, I could get into a bit of trouble for this.”

“My interest is strictly official,” Michael assured him, momentarily confused.

“That’s almost worse. If you must know, I presented the interview to my Investigation Supervisor, and he dismissed it as irrelevant and ordered me to remove it from my investigation. He also directed me not to bother any of my superiors with this again. I haven’t shown the interview to anyone else, and erased it from the NASA LAN as I was instructed. The editing department must have forgotten to delete my header info in their daily update. It has been posted for a couple of days, but no one is all that interested in the oversight; you’re the first to say anything about it to me.”

“So the interview is deleted?” Michael pressed.

There was a moment’s hesitation as George considered his reply. “Officially, it never existed. But—” He sighed ponderously. “I have a copy on digital.”

“Would it be too much trouble to ask you to transfer it to my LAN at Quantum Resources here in Toronto? I wouldn’t ask otherwise, but I have a bit of a vested interest in all aspects of this investigation.”

“Yeah, I know.” George took a few breaths. “All right, but I’ll send it through a proxy mesh service, so there’s no official log, and no immediate link to me, even though, officially, the interview is no longer considered NASA property, but declassified and Public Domain; my Supervisor might not see it that way. It’s a lengthy video, so the upload might take a few minutes.”

“That’s perfectly fine. Here’s my mesh address.” He typed it onto the video transfer so that it appeared at the bottom of Markowitz’s DMR casement. The NASA investigator copied it to his mailer.

“Maybe you can do me a favor in return,” Markowitz suggested. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course.”

Markowitz’s demeanor transformed over the course of the conversation. He became more relaxed and eager, finding someone interested in his work.

“I would like to meshmail you my resume. I’ve been keeping up with your press releases, and reading your meshpage. I think you could use someone with a knack for gathering information. It’s not that I’m dissatisfied with NASA. I’ll be honest; there is a personality conflict between me and my supervisor. I…married his sister when we were all in university, and he’s never forgiven me for that.

“Circumstances threw us into the same department a few months back, and he won’t authorize a transfer for me. I don’t mean to burden you with personal problems, sir, but just wanted you to appreciate my motivations.”

Michael cocked his head. “I can’t promise you anything right now. If we don’t find any more samples of Element X, it might be me peddling my resume around town. But I will take a look at it and give it due consideration.”

“That’s all I could ask. Thank you. I’ll transfer the interview file shortly, after I log on to my mesh service.”

“Thank you.”

They disconnected the transmission, and Michael decided to go get a fresh coffee while he waited for the download. By the time he got back, his inbox had a new item.

There were two messages from George Markowitz. The first was his resume. Michael quickly perused it, and found himself growing increasingly impressed with the man’s qualifications and career history. They were wasting him as a junior investigator at NASA’s R&D department.

He was thinking, Raymond could use a catch-all information analyst like this, and forwarded the resume to his assistant.

Then Michael opened the second message.

It was straightforward.

“Here is the file you requested.”

Michael loaded the file into his DMR AVOT Viewer, donned his equipment: earmask for audio, and ocular cap for visual. There were also the options of a nose filter for olfactory input, and even a full electronic suit for the full tactile experience, both of which he opted out of. Michael was more interested in the context of the interview than smelling anyone’s perspiration.

He ran the interview.

__________

Orcus 1 :

Sol System :

Luna Approach:

Justine had been in space four times before. Every time she returned home, she had watched in rapt fascination as the Earth began as a tiny speck against the black backdrop of space, and slowly grew to the size of a walnut on the monitor screens. As the days progressed, the blue orb gradually encompassed her entire range of vision. She loved this part of it, and looked forward to it every time.

There was little else for Justine to do on final Earth approach. The ship’s navigation computer handled most everything. A human observer was only needed in case the NASA guidance computer lost contact with the ship. When not in the observation lounge, Justine spent the days whiling away in her cabin, going over her notes of Alex, and of the coup that had taken both him and the CSE TAHU. She wondered whether she should have been able to predict any of it, or could have prevented it from happening.

Standard procedure did not include the event of space piracy. Justine had to use her judgment; and that had resulted in disaster. She knew she should not blame herself, but there were those in the Administration who would blame her, especially those seeking promotion who would use this incident as their own personal stepping stool for promotion.

Her chances of redeeming herself were practically non-existent.

She was on the verge of penning her resignation, with plans to rejoin the Lowell Observatory, when her communicator chime captured her attention.

Depressing the receive button, she mumbled a desultory, “Mmm-hmmn?”

Helen’s voice came over the non-video communication transfer. “Priority message to you from Director Tuttle, ma’am.”

“I’ll take it in here.”

“Very good.”

Justine’s computer beeped a few seconds later, indicating that it had accepted the data dump and was ready for her perusal. She depressed the appropriate commands, and on her small DMR screen, the NASA Director’s face appeared.

The Captain of the Orcus 1 listened carefully to all Director Tuttle had to say; then, her heart pounding with barely suppressed excitement, saved the message on the public drive, and immediately called a meeting of all crew and science team members.

*

In the Command Bridge, she waited until everyone was assembled before addressing them.

“I have just received a priority message from Director William Tuttle. I won’t waste time on any lengthy preamble trying to explain the content of the message. Instead, I will play it back for you, and let you come to your own choices.”

At the use of the word “choices” everyone began to talk at once. Justine waved her hand at them for silence, then she motioned for Helen to begin replay of the message on the large DMR in the Command Bridge.

Director Tuttle’s face appeared when the NASA insignia faded into the background.

“Justine,” the image said. “Conferencing with both the heads of the Canadian Space Exploration, and with the CEO of USA, Inc., we have come to a unanimous agreement to launch a return mission to Pluto, exclusive to both our country corporations. This has been achieved in compliance with a new contract between Canada Corp., its subsidiary, CSE, and with USA, Inc. and its subsidiary NASA. As well, the new joint-partnership corporation, Quantum Resources, Inc., which has been set up to exclusively study the phenomenon of the asteroid, Macklin’s Rock, its sole surviving occupant, Alex Manez, and all aspects of the mysterious Element X.

“However, since the bulk of our scientific evidence has been pirated from the Orcus 1, including Alex Manez, the information concerning our plans, and our future agenda, has been brought into the public spotlight. Under amendment of our initial exclusive contract with Quantum Resources and its parent companies, we have agreed to offer limited partnerships on this new mission to Pluto, to be called the Orcus 2 mission, to all original participants of Orcus 1. No doubt the space agencies concerned will be EPSing messages to your crew and scientific team presently; so I have taken the initiative to warn you and inform you of these developments.

“It is our consensus that any member of the crew or Scientific team who wish to extend their tour to the Orcus 2, and return to Pluto, may do so. For those who are ordered back by their respective space agencies, or do not wish to participate in the Orcus 2 mission, we have made arrangements for the Orcus 1 to rendezvous with the Lunar Station, instead of returning home. Flight trajectories will be uploaded into your ship’s navigation computer within a few hours.

“There, at Luna Station, a crew transfer will be initiated, as well as a refit and restock of supplies. There will be a two-week shore leave on Lunar Station following a debriefing.

“Both myself and the CEO of USA, Inc. extend our most hopeful request that you should head up this subsequent mission, Captain, if it is your wish. In return, we will be extending your tenure, and offering you a substantial flight and mission bonus. We leave it to you whether you wish to present this news to your crew, or wait until they are contacted by their respective space agencies. Your replies will be required no less than twelve hours from the time of this transmission.

“Director Tuttle, out.”

Justine turned in her command chair and watched as members of the Orcus 1 began the process of realizing that their initial mission, although it had technically failed, still brought reward. Most of them would be given the opportunity to try a second time.

The pall that had settled over the members of the ship over the past six months, and more especially, after the pirate attack, had suddenly lifted with the news that they would be going back to Pluto.

“We all have some thinking to do—” Justine began, but was interrupted by Helen Buchanan.

“Sorry, Captain, but I don’t require any time. The minute the CSE sends me the offer, I’m going to EPS back that I’m staying for the duration. I know I don’t have much to do with the scientific aspects of this mission, but I’ve always been one to see it through to the end. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

One by one, the members of the science team agreed with the First Mate’s sentiments, in their own words. Not only were their careers going to be saved by this opportunity and their professional sense of duty appeased, but their personal ambitions to unlock the secrets of Pluto and Dis Pater were being granted in a way none of them had even entertained.

In the end, Sakami Chin bowed out when the order from the People’s Republic of China Space Agency ordered him to return to their country, to be replaced by Chin’s esteemed colleague, Dr. Soon Tek.

Justine, however, was going back to Pluto, and nothing was going to stop her.

__________

Quantum Resources, Inc. :

Toronto :

Canada Corp.:

George Markowitz had personally traveled to Honduras to get the interview.

Being one of the Senate’s favorite hobbies, NASA benefited through generous government corporate transfers, and was able to buy the latest in high-tech equipment. Quantum Resources did not have an AVOT, or Virtual Tourist Camera (the name by which they were marketed in the private sector), in their inventory, but luckily, the output could easily be played on any DMR casement with a specialized adapter.

Michael had the option of viewing the flat screen output (slightly distorted), or taking in the full 270° visual 3D audio and full factory and tactile experience of the Virtual Tourist operator.

The VT Camera took samples of the air around the helmet the operator donned, and recorded the scents as part of its database of over sixteen thousand smells. When played back, the DMR could, if the option were desired, give off a small spray of one of its twenty-three basic scents, and send electronic pulses to the brain that tricked it into thinking the viewer was smelling the smells in the field.

Normally, those wanting to go on a virtual vacation without leaving their homes or offices on lunch break used the full experience tapes.

Michael’s interest was purely business. He turned off the extra features, and just used the VR helmet to watch the A/V interview.

[Copan : Honduras : Central American Conglomeration]

A great eastern city of the ancient Mayans, Copan was now nothing more than a tiny village of less than five thousand residents forty miles outside of the much larger Departmental Capital, Santa Rosa de Copan. It was in the smaller village that Mr. Markowitz first donned his Virtual Tourist and turned it on.

A map of the area appeared superimposed for half a minute over the picture.

“We are here in the mountainous region of Honduras, near the site of the ancient Mayan City of Copan. It is the home of the Mayan Indian who originally translated the hieroglyphs we found on the artifact, Dis Pater.

“The man, Yaxche, named after the tree of heaven, is said by the locals to be the only one in Copan Departmental who can still accurately translate the earliest forms of pictograms from the ruins of ancient Copan city.”

The image on the DMR, taken from the perspective of George Markowitz, showed a dirt road defined by a number of ramshackle houses running down its length, the houses themselves on the verge of ruins.

Sitting on a handcrafted rocking chair at the nearest house was an old man, short, stocky, deeply tanned with black hair and a remarkably round head. He grinned as George approached. Not all of his teeth had survived the many decades of the old Indian’s life.

“This is Yaxche,” George said.

Yaxche rocked once, twice, and grinned deeper as George arrived at the front of the house. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and said, “Ahyah. Heloo.”

“Good day, sir. I’m George Markowitz from NASA in the United States. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”

Still grinning like a fool, the old man blinked and replied, “Ahyah.”

“You are the man who translated some hieroglyphs for us last summer?”

“Ahyah.” He clicked his tongue. “I read some of the old writing. Goozal Kinich Ahua; Inti ba Rahn; Goozal Kukulcan.”

George translated from memory. “Beware the Mighty Door of Kinich Ahua; Eternity is now Before You; Beware the Power of Kukulcan.”

“Ahyah. You remember. Very good.”

“Thanks. Now, we have heard from some of the scholars in Santa Rosa de Copan that you have in your possession a document that dates back over a thousand years old, but they have not been able to appropriate it from you or this village.”

“It is legacy,” Yaxche said, still grinning. “Belong to Copan. One day I will pass on to Mitnal, maybe go with Hunab Ku—I don’t know where I will go, who will take me. That day, when I pass, it will go to my grandson.”

*

Michael wondered why Yaxche grinned so, and then he realized that, to this villager, George must look like some kind of idiot with the Virtual Tourist helmet recorder on his head.

*

George asked, “Could I see the document, Sir?”

“Ahyah.” He turned to face someone off-image, said something in his language, and a boy ran off toward a building down the street.

George turned back to the Indian. “How did this document come into your possession? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Ahyah. I was given this gift of legacy by my grandfather, Chictzi, who was given it by his grandfather, Colop, who was—”

“I see.”

“Ahyah. Maybe you do.”

Waiting for the young boy to return, George asked, “And how old are you now, Yaxche, if you don’t mind my asking.”

“Ohya. Don’t know. Many seasons. Too many for this old man to count. Not to worry. Not many more to count. No. Not many more.”

Presently, the boy returned with a polished wood box, handed it reverently to Yaxche, and disappeared with the alacrity of any pre-teen, no matter their culture.

George paid him little attention, and focused on the parchment scroll the Indian began to unravel.

“Amazing!” was all George could comment.

Then: “It’s made from what looks like a kind of bark-cloth. Whatever its source, it has lasted for over ten centuries!”

Yaxche regarded George as a teacher to a pupil. “Ahyah. Made from bark of pine tree; chew until soft and thin, then dry under sun.”

“Wonderful. What does it say?”

For a long while, the old man did not reply, turning his gaze to the scroll. It was as if he were lost in the past. Finally, he began his tale.

“It is a story of the downfall of the Mayan Peoples. Ahyah. For hundreds of seasons, the People were wealthy and prosperous. But we grew complacent. Hunhua, ruler of Mitnal, the realm of the dead, became angry with the People because of their arrogance, and made a plan to gather them to his realm.

“Hunhua whispered in the ear of Ah Hulneb, god of war, and suggested it was time for the People of the South to go to war with the People to the North, the ones you call Aztec.

“So the People gathered their women and children, and put them on an island to keep them safe; then they went to war.

“Hanub Ku was creator of the Maya; he had rebuilt the world three times after the three deluges which poured from the mouth of a sky serpent. The first world was for dwarves, who built the cities; the second world was for the Dzolob, the offenders, and the third world was for the Maya. But Hanub Ku was displeased with this war of the Maya and the Aztecs, and decreed the world would be rebuilt again a fourth time for the white man.

“He sent Kinich Ahua, the firebird god of the sun to come down and burn the Mayan cities while the People were off to war. He sent Kukulcan, the feathered serpent god of all elements, to rise from the oceans and swallow up the island on which all the Mayan women and children were hiding, and take them back into the deep of the sea with him so that the Maya could not breed any more disobeying children.

“When the People came back from their war with the Aztecs, they saw their cities destroyed, and their families disappeared, and they hung their heads in shame and allowed the Aztec warriors to come and defeat them, to use them as sacrifices to the Aztec gods, and slaves to their kings.

“Kukulcan was so disappointed in the People’s behavior, that he became Quetzalcoatl and ruled the Aztecs.

“It is said that Hunab Ku went back to his home in the stars to make plans for the fifth world, after the deluge that would destroy the white man.”

His tale finished, Yaxche looked up at George expectantly.

“Incredible,” the NASA researcher said, the DMR image shaking with his head. “If this is to be believed, then the Mayan gods predicted the coming of the white man some five centuries before it happened!”

“Ayah. It is said to be. And the fifth world is soon to come. But what do I know? I’m just an old man.”

“The fifth world…”

George spoke in an aside to the VR. “Could this be a prediction of the discovery of the FTL element on Macklin’s Rock? Could it be that this ‘Fifth World’ is what lies beyond our solar system? Is it possible, as so many theologians and philosophers have toyed with, that the ancient gods were space travelers who visited Earth and bestowed great gifts upon our ancestors? How else do we explain the hieroglyphs found on Dis Pater if they were not put there by travelers from the stars a thousand years ago who visited the Mayan people?”

*

The interview went on for a few more minutes, but Michael cut the sound, and did not watch the DMR anymore. True, George’s speculations were wild…but no more ludicrous than other explanations than the so-called respected scientific community had brought forward.

Could it be…?

__________

Luna Station :

Luna :

“Luna port control, this is Orcus 1, NASA BJN-1145 requesting final approach clearance to Luna Station, over.”

*

: Orcus 1, this is Luna port control. Please confirm approach vector trajectories, velocity and current payload, over. :

*

“Luna port control, approach vector at 92 degrees, 14 minutes, 42 point 556 seconds at separation of 92 point 348 thousand kilometers, mark. Payload at 14 thousand kilograms, over.”

*

: Orcus 1, vector confirmed. Your position is marked on approach radar, submitted to docking governor for calculation. Hold for calculations, over. :

*

“Luna port control, waiting, over.”

*

: Orcus 1, authorization granted, logged. Please turn over navcom control to docking governor computer on mark, three, two, one, now, over. :

*

“Luna port control, navcom control slaved to docking governor, check, over.”

*

: Orcus 1, slave confirmed. You will be docking at nub 43, station 12, one hour, twelve minutes, fourteen seconds, mark. Authorization number for refit and restock requested, over. :

*

“Luna port control, authorization number is as follows: NASA BJN-1145 AD-324-19-44-4, please confirm, over.”

*

: Orcus 1, authorization confirmed. Stopover of 15 days authorized. Departure time scheduled for 01-30-92 at 0923 hours, over. :

*

“Luna port control, departure time confirmed, over.”

*

: Orcus 1, please transmit manifest of any goods to be transferred from Orcus 1 through Luna port, over. :

*

“Luna port control, manifest is being transmitted. Also note an exchange of crew member Sakami Chin, PRC, for Soon Tek, PRC, over.”

*

: Orcus 1, crew roster change noted, over. Soon Tek confirmed presence on Luna Station, check. —Protocol completed, over. :

*

“Luna port control…Thank you, Luna port control, over.”

*

: Orcus 1, enjoy your stay, over. :

__________

Quantum Resources, Inc. :

Toronto :

Canada Corp.:

The memo on his computer concerning the confirmation of the Orcus 2 mission was of cursory importance to the Director of Quantum Resources, Inc.

Privately, he was glad Captain Turner was commissioned to lead the next mission to Pluto; she had been there before, and was more than competent enough to handle an extended duty in space. It would be good for her career, and after she had stuck her neck out to give him the information on Alex before it was completely safe for her to do so had put her in Michael’s good books.

He had EPSed a message to her through her office at the Lowell Observatory thanking her for her effort, and offering his future help whenever she felt the need to call on him.

He was far more occupied, however, with the news Calbert Loche had brought to him a few minutes after he stepped into his office that morning. Although Michael had ordered the bulk of his staff to look into the Alex Manez kidnapping, the small detail that had remained on the search for Element X had worked steadily towards a resolution of the problem. Calbert divided his time between the two teams.

“Michael, I think we’re on to something,” Calbert had said to him.

“What?” he asked, standing. “Alex?”

“No. Element X. There is an anomaly in the preliminary survey report. Our new man, George Markowitz, thinks he can extrapolate something that might give us a clue how to find Element X.”

“George! He just started a couple days ago!”

“Yeah!”

Michael was pleased that his recommendation to Calbert had led to the hiring of George. He had hoped he would not be sorry hiring the man. Retaining the master researcher might have just paid off.

“Let’s hear it.”

Calbert Loche held up a forestalling hand. “His presentation isn’t completely finished yet. He has some back-reports coming in from NASA that he has to verify and compare, and he’s also set out feelers to the Europeans, and is hoping for a few replies this morning. I just wanted to know if you could set aside an hour this afternoon to hear the team out.”

“Absolutely!”

“Great, say, about 1:30.”

“Perfect.”

*

In the conference room, Michael sat at the head of the table facing a large DMR screen set into the back wall. On the left, Calbert Loche leaned back into his chair with a confidence that served to increase Michael’s anticipation.

On the other side of the table, Walter Johnson, Peter Cloud, and Gary McNally sat with folders arranged on the surface, pens at the ready, making notes as George Markowitz made his presentation to the Director.

He brought up a display Michael recognized as the preliminary geological survey of Macklin’s Rock performed by the Manez’s.

To begin, George came right to the point, “I’m not really scientifically literate, but I can check and compare facts. At first glance, this survey in and of itself says nothing. Until now, we had been staring at it for months before we realized that instead of looking at it, we had to look through it.”

Michael silently applauded the man’s use of “we,” even though George had just come on board. It showed he was willing to be a team player. His personal problems with his previous supervisor obviously did not interfere with his professionalism or his passion for his work.

George and his wife, Elizabeth, had joined Michael at the Calbert’s for cards over the weekend. Michael was instantly taken by the couple, who was open and fun loving. George was not at all shy about explaining to Michael that Elizabeth had been pursuing a teaching career in university before they got married, and gave up her schooling in favor of having children. She showed no regrets, though Michael could imagine Elizabeth’s brother being upset at the situation.

George brought up a display on the DMR.

*

Mineral Content: Aluminum, Calcium, Carbon, Cobalt, Copper, Helium, Iron, Magnesium, Nickel, Silicon, Sodium, Sulfur, Titanium
— Percentages Unknown

*

“What’s important is the Mineral Content. At a casual glance, there is nothing out of the ordinary. All of these elements have been discovered on other asteroids; some rocks have additional elements, and some are not as inclusive as this one. We decided to go element by element, and compare it with other asteroids in the SMD mine catalog, checking against anomalies, but although we were on the right track, we were on the wrong train, if you take my meaning.”

He brought up another display.

*

Site 1: Aluminum, Carbon, Cobalt, Copper, Iron, Magnesium, Nickel, Silicon, Titanium

— Percentages Unknown

*

Site 6: Aluminum, Calcium, Copper, Helium, Iron, Magnesium, Nickel, Silicon, Sodium, Sulfur, Titanium

— Percentages Unknown

*

Site 14: Aluminum, Calcium, Carbon, Cobalt, Copper, Helium, Iron, Magnesium, Nickel, Silicon, Titanium

— Percentages Unknown

*

“This is representative of all thirty-eight sites conducted by the Manez’s on Macklin’s Rock. The differences between the different sites showed us nothing. There was nothing at site 14 that was not found at any other site.

“We were left with nothing, until Paul noticed an anomaly in site 14 itself. Not a variance between it and another site, but between its own reports. I want to show you the following three time-sensitive reports.”

*

Site 14: 13:12:23 GMT

Aluminum, Calcium, Carbon, Cobalt, Copper, Iron, Magnesium, Nickel, Silicon, Titanium

— Percentages Unknown

*

Site 14: 13:12:24 GMT

Aluminum, Calcium, Carbon, Cobalt, Copper, Helium, Iron, Magnesium, Nickel, Silicon, Titanium

— Percentages Unknown

*

Site 14: 13:12:25 GMT

Aluminum, Calcium, Carbon, Cobalt, Copper, Iron, Magnesium, Nickel, Silicon, Titanium

— Percentages Unknown

*

“Each of these reports was generated one second after the other. The final report was generated an instant before detonation. Do you notice a difference between the three?”

Michael blinked. “Helium, of course. But—”

“Helium is not an uncommon element in all celestial bodies, although not as readily found in asteroidal forms. The sun itself is composed of 25% helium. The thermonuclear reactions in the sun that provide us with light and energy turn the 75% hydrogen content into helium. Now, helium has the atomic number of ‘2’, and a weight of about ‘4.’ That means there are four protons and/or neutrons in the nucleus—in this case, two of each—and two electrons in the K-shell. Specific gravity of 0.00018—”

“Yes, yes,” Michael said impatiently. “I know it’s been a few years since high school chemistry, but I do recall my periodic table.”

“Actually, this is all new to me. Peter was kind enough to give me a crash course late last night.” He nodded to his colleague. “But you’ll soon realize that the second report was, in fact, in error in determining helium as one of the elements found in the drill site.”

“What?”

“Even I know that elements are usually identified by mass spectrometer, the instruments are so common that every geologist and physicist here has a small pocket spectrometer alongside their calculators. Going back over the reports, the large spectrometer at the Nelson II site initially identified the substance as helium not because it detected a color that indicated helium, but because it identified two electrons in a questionable element, and temporarily assumed it to be helium rather than an isotope of hydrogen or lithium. The spectrometers we employ on surveys use a free electron count to bolster our identification process to help determine isotopes as well as basic elements.

“Then, in the third sampling, the spectrometer did not find a color to match helium, or any isotope of hydrogen or lithium, discounted the electron count, and dismissed the element as unidentifiable.”

“Unidentifiable? Hydrogen usually is found in pairs—” Michael suggested.

“No, the spectrometer showed nothing even remotely in that spectrum.”

“What about two lithium atoms sharing an L-shell electron?” “No.” George smiled knowingly. “The spectrometer reading is completely out of that range.”

“Then what good is this information?” Michael demanded.

“First of all, we know that whatever this element is, it has two electrons, so obviously we thought it is an isotope of helium, say, a heavy helium to some degree. At first, we dismissed these findings because of the impossibilities of it. First, with a mass of .002 per cent of 10,000 teratons, give or take, would mean about 200 billion tons of helium. At a specific gravity of .000018, that would mean a volume of about 360,000 cubic meters. Initial drill samples indicate the pocket to be no more than 10 cubic meters.”

“What does all that mean?”

“Well, a rough estimate would be an isotope of helium with a nucleus, or atomic weight, of about 271, a specific gravity of about 210 grams per cubic centimeter.”

There was a stunned silence in the room, until Michael said, “Impossible!”

“Certainly…but then, so is luminous or super-luminous speeds.”

Michael rubbed the palm of his hand across his mouth and chin. “All right, for the sake of argument, say this is possible. Either this is a super-heavy helium—”

“Which is beyond the laws of physics,” added Paul, “even more than the impossibilities that we’re discussing now.”

“This, in turn, would mean that we had a super-radioactive helium isotope on our hands. About a thousand times more radioactive than uranium.”

“—Or,” the director prompted.

George nodded. “Or, we have an element that is supposed to have upwards of 271 electrons floating around it. Something with anywhere from 110 to 271 protons in the nucleus, missing its electrons. A super-positively-charged ion.”

“That would be…”

“Anti-radioactive. Although not so far-fetched. It could be compared to solid-state technology that currently exists; like semiconductors and superconductors; though this would be the most pure form found naturally; a supraconductor, if you will. The core temperature of the asteroid is probably what keeps this super-superconducting material so pure. The elemental atoms would want to absorb as many electrons as it could from any source.”

“Or neutrinos, or even photons from gamma rays,” Paul added. “Any available particle. We won’t know until we have a sample.”

“Right, and, Newton’s Law of Physics states, every action has an equal and opposite reaction.”

“Absolutely. So if this new Element absorbs the photon, the energy of that traveling photon is translated as…”

Michael finished for him. “Electricity, heat, light…or…motion.”

“In those amounts, translated at just under the speed of light. There would be a time delay, such as the thirteen seconds between detonation and launch of Macklin’s Rock, while the atoms fill to capacity. Once that has been achieved, the only thing left is, as in any radioactive reaction, for the massive energy to be released. Perhaps through the natural valve created by the Nelson II site drill, or, we think more likely instead of the propellant theory, these photon-charged atoms travel on an anti-magnetic propulsion basis, perhaps even in relation to the sun. A kind of super quantum reaction. We won’t know for certain until we have some of this element for tests.”

“But that kind of sudden acceleration! Wouldn’t that have crushed Alex?” Michael supposed.

Paul spoke up. “Normally, yes. The most-pressure a person could sustain for any length of time is about 8 G’s of force. At 8 G’s, it would take a thousand hours—five weeks or so—to achieve luminous speeds. There is an old theory about light: that it, in and of itself, has no weight. We’ve played with the physics of the Macklin’s Rock phenomenon, and all we can surmise is that, in some way, Element X operates in such a way that everything that piggybacks on it assumes a kind of superluminosity. It would, therefore, feel no effects of the acceleration, even at the supposed five million G’s of force the asteroid would have had to sustain over the course of the first minute. That would have pulverized even diamonds into fine dust.

“The Rock, the TAHU, even Alex, would have taken on an accelerated molecular condition, which could have left the cells of his body in a semi-charged state. This would prove the unofficial theory you presented last week that he is somehow able to manipulate electrical pulses in his immediate area—this phenomenon is not uncommon to people who have been struck by lightning. They, themselves, have become living ions.”

“This all sounds impossible.”

“Rationally, it seems so, but we’ve half a dozen theories that prove it on paper.”

Rocking back and forth in his chair, Michael thought about it. “For the time being, forgetting about the theories… How do we go about finding more samples, and if so, how to we keep it from reacting? What you’re saying is that this thing was in a pocket of minerals, surrounded by…” He looked to Gary, who held up a sheet of paper.

“It was a titanium pocket, if the Nelson II depth indicators were accurate. Our present Nelson II’s allow a small gap of open space between the core of the drill hole and the surface of the asteroid…more than enough room for photons to breach.”

“Then, when the drill pierced through, photons from the sun entered, and—”

“Reaction—or, should I say, anti-reaction.”

“Like the hypothetical tachyon, on this side of the speed of light.”

Michael raised an eyebrow at the possibilities.

“Right. We’ve discussed this with the engineers at CSE, and they think they could easily rig a Nelson II with a vacuum drill. We use a similar drill in the clean rooms when we don’t want samples contaminated.”

Michael knew that, but his mind was buzzing with the new information and theories. “How do we go about determining the location of this…what shall we call it besides Element X? That sounds so mysterious, and we’re already on the road to solving this particular mystery.”

George Markowitz cleared his throat, already prepared for the question.

“Well, unofficially, we’ve been calling it the light-heavy element, as a kind of joke, but I’ve discussed this with a few of the others on the team, and when the time was right, we were going to put forward either the name, Manezum—” He waited for Michael’s reaction. “—or ‘Kinemet.’ “

“Kinemet?”

“Kinetic metal.”

“Appropriate.” For a few moments, Michael considered. “Well, traditionally, the discoverer of an element has the honor of naming it. Since those discoverers are not with us, then I think the task would have to fall to the theorists who first identified and classified the element. In honor of the Manez’s, we could call the anti-reaction ‘the Manez Effect.’ For the element itself, ‘Kinemet’ it is, and I will make a memo of it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Michael waved his hand at him. “How do we find more of this Kinemet?”

“Well, the most obvious, though hardly the most reliable, method, is to look for anomalies in the masses of charted asteroids when compared to their volumes. Anything that throws the specific gravity of an asteroid to above, say, ten or fifteen—depending on how stringent we want to get—then we give it a closer look. A specific gravity of seven is what we have found as the median of the asteroids in our catalog, with fluctuations between about four and twelve with those rich in heavy metals. But with Macklin’s Rock, we’ve calculated, based on composition and size, and preliminary mass readings without the space tugs, that it had an overall specific gravity of forty-eight.”

“Forty-eight?” Michael could not believe that.

“Yeah. That throws the estimated mass of Macklin’s Rock up to over sixty-eight thousand teratons. Based on that, there must be a number of pockets extant. Only problem with Macklin’s Rock is that it’s about six billion kilometers away.”

“Have you told anybody about this? About the theory?”

“No. When we contacted NASA and went through the SMD mine catalog, we found a number of asteroids with similar anomalies, summarily dismissed as faulty data. We’d like you to propose a follow-up survey to these asteroids.”

“Of course. As soon as you give me the mine numbers and the vacuum drill, I’ll have a survey team there ready to dig. We’ll postpone informing NASA until we have some evidence; then they can go through their catalog and try mining their asteroids.”

The director took in a deep breath.

“So, then, if this is all true, we have to ask ourselves one question…and while we’re discussing impossible theories and new rules of the Laws of Physics, I think I know the answer to my own question.”

“What’s the question?” Calbert urged.

“Why did Macklin’s Rock stop? What acted as a dampening rod to stop the luminous reactions?”

The men gathered in the room were, by nature, the best physics theorists Quantum Resources could hire. They did not waste time in stunned silence pondering a question that had not yet occurred to them.

Immediately, Peter suggested, “Dis Pater?”

Michael shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think Dis Pater is nothing more than an indicator, a gauge to measure estimated times of arrival, put there by another space-faring race—whether for our benefit or theirs, that is yet to be determined…

“No, something else stopped the Rock from hurtling out into interstellar space, and I want you to include this possibility in your report.”

The scientists in the room pondered for a few moments before Michael supplied his supposition.

“I think, somehow, Alex stopped it.”

__________

Luna Station :

Luna :

Once the pirate ship reached docking port at Luna Station, Alex was summoned to the bridge, escorted by First Mate Chung.

He had been keeping his mental eye on the ship’s approach, reveling in the sites that seemed so much more exhilarating than pictures on a holovid; there were not many people who could claim first-hand eyewitness to the docking of a space ship.

At first, he wondered how they had managed to negotiate their landing without the docking governor informing the authorities of the nature of the ship, but then, Alex realized the governor was just a computer that carried out instructions. Whoever programmed the governor was probably in the pay of the pirates, or the pirates’ masters.

On the bridge, Alex faced Captain Gruber for the first time since being brought on board. The bridge, although Alex had surveyed it with his clairvoyance, seemed more ominous and foreboding in person, mostly because the command crew were consciously ignoring him, and the captain was glaring at him as if deciding whether to chew him up, or skin him alive.

Trying to avoid making eye contact under the captain’s glare, Alex flicked his gaze over the DMRs and stat monitors.

As far as he could tell, most of the controls and stations were identical in function and presence as onboard the Orcus 1.

On the Orcus 1, Alex had studied each station and its purpose, and was confident that he could identify them on the pirate ship’s bridge—or any other space vessel, for that matter.

“Alex,” Captain Gruber’s voice grated in dire warning.

Alex snapped his attention back to the command chair, though did not lift his eyes to the occupant.

“Yes, sir?”

“We are going to depart the ship now, you and I. I’m going to be taking you through the port where there will undoubtedly be other people. You might think about running, or shouting for help, or something equally stupid.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gruber shook his head. “I advise you against it. I could threaten to kill you, but our client has expressly forbidden that kind of action. However, he said nothing about killing civilians.” He pulled out a lasrod; it looked lethal. “If you run from me, I will shoot one person at random until you return. If you shout at someone to help you, I will shoot that someone. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Alex’s eyes narrowed. He knew now that these were true pirates, callous and mean. The Doc might be something of an anomaly, but that might have something to do with the fact that he was a doctor, trained to save lives; he had still thrown in with these brigands. Alex suddenly hated every one of them.

He would go along complacently, and not try to escape. He would not, however, fully cooperate if he could help it. He had been on the verge of spilling his secrets to the Doc, explaining about the clairvoyance, and about the other thing.

A few days before, in his weekly allocated shower, Alex noticed a small clump of hair clogging the drain. When he pulled the hair out of the gap, he was shocked to realize it was his own. Since then, he had found strands of his hair everywhere. He was a ten-year-old who was slowly going bald.

As alarmed as he was by this revelation, he knew he had been wise to keep his mouth shut. The less information the doctor had, the better.

“I said, do I make myself clear?” Gruber repeated in a tone that brooked no disobedience.

“Yes, sir.”

Going along with the captain would not only provide for the safety of innocent bystanders, but would allow Alex to see for himself who had contracted their services; if he ever got away, he could report the man behind the kidnapping, with a full description.

“I won’t try anything,” Alex assured the captain.

“Good.” Gruber holstered the rod. “First Mate Chung and the Doc will accompany us. I don’t want to hear a word from you for any reason from now on, got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

Gruber’s eyes turned hard. “What was that?” he demanded in a growl, his teeth grinding together.

“Y—” Alex stopped himself from speaking another word, held himself still.

“That’s better,” Gruber said. “Let’s go.”

__________

Luna Station :

Luna :

The bartender gave her patron a confused glance when she ordered an iced tea, no ice. Justine was more than accustomed to people blinking at her request in restaurants. Iced tea went down better when it was warm.

The lounge was full, every chair taken, so Justine nursed her drink as she slowly neared the observational domed windows. She was wearing a Lunar vest, the fabric lined with metal shavings that increased her apparent gravity by a factor of six; large magnagrays had been installed in the foundation of Lunar station to help counteract the effects of long-term exposure to light gravity on the moon. Weightlessness and near-weightlessness over time caused bone deterioration, calcium deficiency, and muscular atrophy, among other things, in many people.

Free-fall had many benefits that balanced the dangers, but with Luna established as a base of commerce, every precaution was taken to provide an Earth-like environment, to minimize any dangers.

The antigravs on a ship could not be used on the moon; the expense was far too great.

Justine passed by a few people she knew, nodded or exchanged pleasantries, but quickly moved on. Hoping to catch a glimpse of Earth from the radiation-shield window, she was disappointed. A small digital counter on a support beam indicated it was three hours to Earthdawn.

Because of the moon’s synchronous rotation, the Near Side always faced Earth, and the Far Side always faced away; however, there was a slight variation in its orbit of five degrees. These variations, called librations, allowed the Earth-view terminator—the line that separated the near and far sides of the moon—to fluctuate.

It was in the median of that fluctuation that Luna Station had been erected.

The reason for this was as a compromise between astronomers, who wished an unadulterated view of the sky; and the United Earth Corporate Council merchant traders, who, it was found, were psychologically ill-at-ease conducting business out of sight of the Earth.

A Lunar “day” was about two weeks in length. Currently, the sun was in the northern Lunar hemisphere, shining brightly as it did for fourteen days straight out of every twenty-seven-and-a-third days, though this did not affect the apparent color of the sky from Luna Station. The moon had no atmosphere, no molecules of nitrogen, oxygen, carbon dioxide, water vapor and other trace elements and particles for the sun’s light to catch and scatter in the many shades of orange, purple, and blue that bespectacled the Terran firmament.

Justine sighed, and took a sip of her iced tea. She had spent the last two days since landing on the moon doing nothing but going over and filing paperwork and reports. The liaison from NASA demanded much of her time; each of the crew had been segregated with their respective agencies and departments. They had had no contact with one another.

The little spare time Justine found, she used to avoid all the bureaucrats and functionaries who descended upon her relentlessly; as well as the media who pursued her like sharks to blood.

The news of Alex’s kidnapping, and of Macklin’s Rock, still hadn’t reached any public channels, although the NASA attaché had informed her that the country corp. governments who had participated in the Orcus project where well apprised of the situation.

The media wanted a quip on Dis Pater. What did she think it was? they asked her relentlessly. Did aliens put it there? For what purpose? Did she think aliens would be arriving soon? Did she think they looked like the popular representations in the holovids? Did she think the aliens would want to have sex with her? And on and on, each question more ludicrous than the last.

She hated the media, and what they stood for. Vultures, all of them. They made her want to scramble back to the refuge of the humorless bureaucratic monotony.

In a way, though, she was glad she had things to occupy her mind. Otherwise, she might sink into a morass of guilt over having failed to bring Alex home safely. The kid had gone through more than most adults, and had bore up considerably well, even though he had not been offered any comfort from Justine or any of the other crew: their lives were based on science, not sociology.

She glanced at a chronometer, remembering that she had another meeting in a few minutes, and set down her empty glass for the servobots to fetch, and made her way out of the lounge.

Traversing the warren of halls and corridors, her keen sense of location kept her from losing her way. Her mind tended to wander in an attempt to try to forestall thoughts of the upcoming meeting, but her alertness sharpened when, out of her periphery, she thought she spotted a familiar form.

She turned her head to see the backs of three men and a boy rounding a corner. They were gone too quickly for her to be certain. What made her think it had been Alex? The thought was ludicrous. Alex could be halfway across the solar system for all she knew. Stopping, she debated with herself for a few precious seconds. The attaché would be uncompromisingly furious.

“Ah, they can start without me.” Her curiosity had to be satisfied.

She quickly backtracked to the public corridor where the four had entered, and squinted her eyes to scan down its length.

The four must have gone off on a side corridor. Justine stepped up her pace to try to catch up.

At every intersection, she looked one way and then the other. At the third cusp, she thought she spotted a recognizable jacket, and hurried, jogging.

By the time she reached the elbow of the corridor, the forms were disappearing again behind yet another corner. At the last second, one of the men glanced behind him, and Justine got a brief look at an oriental man. He did not see her.

Throwing caution to the wind, she broke into a run, but when she rounded the corner, the four had disappeared from sight down a long passage decorated with red trim near the ceiling junction. There were two guards barring her way. She glanced at the map on the wall.

She was at the People’s Republic of China section of Luna Station. Whereas most country corporations allowed free passage to anyone, practically inviting them to visit their PR information booths and facilities, it was still each country corporation’s right to privacy. It was a long-standing tradition that PRC did not encourage uninvited guests.

Justine pulled out her identification badge.

“Captain Justine Turner, NASA,” she barked at the two guards holding flechette rifles and giving her stony looks. “I wish to enter; a friend of mine just passed through here, and it’s urgent I speak to him.”

The one Oriental shook his head. “Sorry. No.”

She thought about trying once more, then realized that if the Chinese were behind Alex’s kidnapping, there was no way she could wheedle or bluff her way into the PRC hall.

“Very well. Good day.” Turning on her heel, she stalked off.

*

She was still worked up, and when she backtracked and found her meeting room, the NASA liaison immediately asked her what was wrong, detecting the flush in her cheeks and the quickening of her breath.

“Are you all right?” There was a trace of an East Sussex accent in his voice.

He was tall, English-born, with a thin mustache and a receding hairline. In England, they called him Duke Wexhall, but since his mother had been American, he held dual citizenship, and had used his American status to gain employ with the National Aeronautical Space Administration, a boyhood dream he told her when they first met.

With his natural charm and approachable demeanor, Clive Wexhall waited patiently for Justine to explain why she was so upset.

The internal debate whether to tell the liaison took a few moments. “Either I’m going crazy and seeing things or Alex Manez is being held here at Luna Station. I think the Chinese have him.” Succinctly, she gave him an account of the morning’s chase.

Before she was through, Clive was EPSing a message to NASA. “It may be nothing, but I think we can’t be too thorough in our search. Holding him here would explain why Earth Space Traffic Commission has no trace of them yet. I also find it odd that you mention the Chinese.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, I didn’t want you to be alarmed, but ever since you landed, I haven’t been able to contact Sakami Chin for debriefing. The Chinese consulate refused to answer my calls as well. Washington will have to become involved if we don’t get any cooperation from the Chinese. If both sides start getting their back up on this…”

He shrugged, leaving the obvious conclusion unspoken.

“Shit,” Justine said after a moment.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

__________

Quantum Resources, Inc. :

Toronto :

Canada Corp.:

Determining the specific gravity—or density—of a sample element on Earth is a relatively easy task; not so for an asteroid floating free in space, even a smaller one that has an estimated radius of 4.3 kilometers, such as the spherical one on the top of Calbert Loche’s list for the Quantum Resources team to re-evaluate.

On Director Sanderson’s orders, the complete survey on SMD #1596 was to be repeated from scratch, no mistakes. It took sixteen hours for the astronautics team to arrive at the asteroid from the Canuck Flyer orbital.

Work began immediately.

Given that the specific gravity, or density, of an object is the ratio of the mass of a given volume compared to the mass of an equal volume of water at a temperature of either 4°C or 20°C, measured usually in x grams per cubic centimeter, the survey team first had to determine the volume of SMD #1596, using a laser topographer to determine surface area.

With area a given, the mean radius could be inferred with the formula of 4πr2; in this case, the asteroid had a surface area of 231.2727 km, and a mean radius of 4.29 km. The volume of a perfect sphere would have a formula of (πD)/6, but with the imperfections of the surface, the craters formed through impacts with other asteroids and meteors, and any oblongs jutting from the surface, the scientists could determine the volume of SMD #1596 with an error factor of plus/minus one percent. SMD #1596 had a volume of 330.72002 km3 ±1%.

Once volume was determined, they had to calculate mass. As there are no scales in outer space, another method had to be used.

Given that one Newton of force acting on one kilogram of mass can change its velocity by one meter per second every second, as specified in Newton’s second law of motion, this was where the pilots with the space tugs came in. Using telemetry to study rotation and eccentricity of orbit, they also determined the asteroid’s velocity in orbit, which was 31,215 meters per second, similar to Earth’s, though it had a much longer distance to traverse around the sun to complete one orbit.

The tug placed itself behind the asteroid, and using its propellant engines, pushed on the asteroid until the acceleration gauge registered a constant of one meter per second per second, and how many Newtons of force were expelled to do so. With acceleration predetermined at 1 meter per second, and the Newtons measured at 6,945,120,423,298.4 N, that translated as 6,945,120,423,298.4 kg, or 6,945.12 teratons, compared to Luna’s 74 million teratons, or Earth’s 6 billion teratons.

Adjusting for the temperature difference, the asteroid’s 6.945.12 terratons in a volume of 330.72002 km calculated down to approximately 21 grams per cubic centimeter, or a specific gravity of 21 ± 5%.

Gold has a specific gravity of 19.3, and since the top layer of asteroid SMD #1596 was made primarily of iron (Sgrav=7.89) and nickel (Sgrav=8.9), there was a large discrepancy which could be accounted for by the presence of a heavy element, such as the asteroids entire interior being pure gold…or a portion of it being Kinemet.

*

Watching on the DMR screens at Quantum Resources, Michael was about to nod approval to proceed with the massive vacuum core drilling campaign to determine the location of the pocket of Kinemet everyone conceded had to be present, when the fire klaxons sounded, and a voice came over the intercoms.

“Please do not panic. This is Major Bernard Nally of the Canadian Armed Forces Army, CFS Petawawa, on authority from CEO Dolbeau of Canada Corp. to secure this building. Please remain calm, stay where you are, and do not transmit any EPS or fiber opt messages from this building until you receive further orders.

“Thank you, more information will be forthcoming.”

__________

Luna Station :

Luna :

He had a plan, and had been prepared to wait decades to see it through. Chow Yin was nothing if not a patient planner. However, recent developments could accelerate his strategy by several years, even decades.

The first phase of that master plan was being effected before Yin even woke that morning.

Six months ago, Yin’s people, having access to all incoming and outgoing EPS messages received or sent out through the LS antenna array, had intercepted perhaps the most important byte of intelligence that could have ever been forwarded to him. One of those EPSes they routinely had monitored concerned the disappearance of Macklin’s Rock.

It had been a message from USA, Inc.’s NASA headquarters to the attaché posted to the American sector. Without leaving any ghost traces, Yin’s prodigious computer hackers had copied that message and transferred it to Yin’s attention. Almost, it had been overlooked, but with careful planning, Yin had shifted events to his favor.

After the Macklin’s Rock incident, he slowly gathered more and more information about the occurrence, and how it was related to Dis Pater, having sent out an interception satellite to record the EPS echoes sent from Orca 1 to NASA Houston, and researched the remarkable ten-year-old survivor of the first luminous flight.

Yin, as had key personnel on Earth, quickly and effectively put together the pieces of the puzzle.

He grasped the import of this intelligence as keenly as he realized that the outcome of this adventure bore directly on his continued survival, and his future control of the solar system.

If interplanetary space was opened up with FTL—or, almost as fast as light—travel, then the moon could be bypassed by the country corporations of Earth. Those tariffs and fees that kept Yin in luxurious comfort would be diverted to other stations on the nine planets, and to outposts that would quickly be erected on the other thirty-three official moons of Sol System. Luna Station might still retain some influence through its proximity to Earth, but the resources that Yin had enjoyed would hereto forward be severely restricted.

Unless…Yin himself held the technology of FTL, and licensed it out under front corporations. There could be quadrillions of dollars involved, power enough to control the Country Corporations of Earth (behind the scenes, of course).

Or…enough capital to launch his own interplanetary real estate development project, build those stations on the planets and moons under his own banner. Earth would belong to the Terrans, but the rest of outer space would be his. And those who wished to leave the safety of their little blue planet would have to pay dearly for the privilege.

He knew that acquisition of more of the FTL element was paramount to control of the interplanetary industry, and he had two teams of researchers working on it; one team of spies well-placed in various space organizations: ESA, PRC, CSE, and NASA.

Another team was using the information gained through subterfuge, and were attempting to apply it in finding their own deposit of “Kinemet”, the term the researchers were adopting for the element.

But the key to solving that element crucial days or months before anyone on Earth—something that had evaded the scientists on Earth to date, as far as Yin’s intelligence could discover—the key was in young Alex Manez. Yin knew this as certainly as he knew that his leg would ache when he rolled out of bed and put pressure on it.

Whoever could study Alex first would have a head start on opening up the secret of Kinemet.

Yin was determined to have Alex; and his plan to capture the youth, if the memorandum on his personal computer console was accurate, had come to fruition. The pirate ship he had hired to kidnap the young boy had just docked at Luna Station.

Yin had given orders to have the boy brought to him immediately. He wanted to see for himself that the child was undamaged.

Then, the research would begin, and his domination of the solar system would be assured.

Fate had denied him Earth; he would turn his back on that ancient Nemesis, turn the tables on destiny, and take the universe for his own.

__________

Quantum Resources, Inc. :

Toronto :

Canada Corp.:

“What the hell is going on?” Michael roared.

Calbert Loche stared at him dumbly, at loss to an explanation as anyone else in the room.

One of the techs turned in his seat. “Sec cam shows five men in the lift. They’ll be here any minute.”

In anticipation, everyone turned to the doors, awaiting the new arrivals much like barracudas in their lair ready to spring on anything that came within view.

When the doors opened, three men dressed in army fatigues and holding sub machine guns entered the room in standard military fashion, deploying themselves one on either side of the door, the third entering halfway into the room. All stood at the ready, their SMG’s held vertically across their chests.

The fourth military man entered, his narrowed eyes assessing the room strategically, expertly. He wore the dress uniform of a Major-General, his branch cap and collar badges showing him to be attached to the infantry corp. His cool assessment of the room seemed to pass right by Michael and the others.

He turned around and said to someone beyond the doors, “Secure, sir.”

“As if I expected otherwise, General,” said Alliras Rainier sardonically. He strode into the room, and despite the tone in his voice, gave the military man a nod of concession.

Ignoring the looks of cool detachment with which he was being regarded by Michael, he stepped up to the CEO of Quantum Resources, Inc., and held out his hand.

Michael took it, but kept his silence, forcing his old friend to explain himself and the presence of armed men on private property.

“Michael,” Alliras addressed him. “For the time being, I would ask that you suspend all communications to and from this site until I can debrief you.”

“What is going on? We’ve got a team, for all intents and purposes, stranded and cut off from all communication almost five hundred million kilometers from here—”

“We should talk in private.” Turning, the Minister’s eyes found Calbert Loche. “You might want to hear this, too.”

Making up his mind immediately, Michael nodded approval for Calbert’s participation, and then said to Raymond Magrath, “I’d like you to join us as well, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

A concerned mien fell over Alliras, but he did not protest as he followed Michael and the two other men into one of the attached conference rooms.

Inside, they quickly took their seats, though Michael had the urge to stand and pace. He looked to Alliras to begin.

Because of the Minister’s position, and his long-standing relationship with Michael, he gave Alliras the benefit of the doubt, and a certain degree of respect. With any other person, Michael would have not been able to check his impulse to shout and badger.

As CEO of Quantum Resources, Michael was technically a part of the private sector, and although his company was accountable to the Canadian Space Exploration department as well as NASA, that did not preclude his deferment to them, or allow for any surprise inspections or unexpected takeovers. Alliras’s explanation would have to be very good.

“The USA, Inc. has gone to Defense Condition Two,” was the first thing the Minister said, and that was sufficient to grab Michael’s full attention. “Canada Corp. followed a few minutes later.”

“What?”

“Unofficially, of course. It’s the Chinese.”

“The Chinese?” Calbert protested. “Again?”

“I thought we had treaties in place. There hasn’t been any serious trouble with the Chinese in over a year!” Raymond furrowed his brow. Michael recalled that Raymond’s wife’s grandmother had been born in Hong Kong before the reversion to mainland China a century earlier, and had immigrated to Vancouver shortly thereafter. China was the only bastion of communism left in the world, after the death of Castro in the Cuban Papal Revolution that had led to that country’s pledge to democracy and joining the United Earth Corporate many decades before.

The Minister of Energy, Mines and Resources, the official Canada Corp. attaché to Quantum Resources, sighed.

“Two days ago, the Orca 1 landed on the moon. The captain, one Justine Turner, was touring the station this morning, and because of her close involvement with the Alex Manez affair, came under the impression that the young boy was on the moon with her. She thought she spotted him under escort of three men, one of them decidedly Chinese. Following after, she saw them enter the Chinese Sector of Luna Station, and was refused admittance to the area. She reported this back to NASA.”

Before anyone could pose any questions, Alliras continued, “Also, this morning, Dr. Sakami Chin was scheduled to report for debriefing under arrangement with the Chinese Government. Standard procedure. Both he and his governmental representative failed to show up. Now, in the political spectrum of things, such an occurrence would not necessarily precipitate any kind of military response—it is a minor infraction of our treaty with the Chinese Republic.

“When the USA, Inc.’s Foreign Secretary approached the PRC for comment, he was stonewalled for most of this morning, then, the Chinese Consulate in Washington issued a statement to the effect that NASA was responsible not only for the kidnapping of the valuable world resource of Alex Manez in an attempt to monopolize the technology he represented, but went so far as to thereafter kidnap two Chinese nationals, Dr. Chin and his governmental representative.”

“What!” Michael cried out. “That’s preposterous. They think we kidnapped our own citizen as well as one of theirs?”

“Not as preposterous as the fact that the Chinese have also declared that the United Earth Corporate has conspired and effected the takeover of their allotted sector of Luna Station.”

“Their—? You mean—”

“Yes. The Chinese seem to have lost communication with their people on the moon.” Michael shook his head. “You know what this suggests to me?”

“Of course. A third party interest. The politicians are negotiating with the Chinese as we speak to form a joint investigative committee. The Chinese know well that it wasn’t NASA or any of the other country corp.’s, but their foreign policy requires they cover their own ass first. We’ll get to the bottom of this soon enough; but for now, we have a rogue element that is obviously tapping into secure links with our space operations.”

“Speaking of which,” Michael reminded the Minister, “our team in the asteroid belt is probably starting to feel like they’ve been abandoned.”

“Not to worry. I’ve already commissioned a skimmer from the Canuck Flyer to rendezvous with your team and explain that we need a blanket on communications until we resolve the lunar crisis. They should arrive in a matter of about twelve hours or so. I’m sorry, but your operation will have to be temporarily suspended.”

Michael shared a conspiratorial look with Calbert, and then said to the Minister, “What if I can promise you an absolutely secure communication with our team? Could we continue then? Every moment we delay costs us a lot of money and resources. Our team will have to be replaced if this goes on for a few days or more, and knowing politicians, it just could. If I can clear security with you, may we proceed?”

Alliras was on the verge of summarily rejecting the proposal, and then he caught himself.

“How?” he asked.

“You remember the charity last summer, when I got the message about the Macklin’s Rock incident?”

“The code you and Calbert worked out. Messages on plastic and such.”

“Yes. Public thoughtcomm is mimocorded as standard procedure. This is the same kind of situation, only at a longer distance.”

“You can’t send a plastic memo five hundred gigs in any reasonable amount of time,” the Minister protested.

“Right. But the regular EPS is being monitored, just like thoughtcomm here on Earth. Even if we used just our code, there is always the possibility that it would be cracked. It’s not the message that has to change, it’s the medium.”

“What? The only methods we know of sending messages is radio. Electronic Pulse Signal can be intercepted at any frequency, if the hackers know where to send out their nets.”

“This time you are wrong. There are an infinite means of sending messages. Radio broadcast is only one of them. How do you think we keep up-to-the-minute account of our craft in the asteroid belt? Radio or EPS is too broad a frequency, too cumbersome. We track our ships with optical radar. Lasers. It’s just a matter of programming to piggyback a message on the beam in either direction. As far as security is concerned, any attempt to intercept the laser beam will register on our monitors; we can then change our code.

“Although the ships used by us are charted from CSE and NASA, Quantum Resources members all know our codes and rotations. I can guarantee a secure up- and down-link to the asteroid mission. Any attempt to intercept the beam would be known immediately by us. I would think that, given the current political climate, any positive discovery of Kinemet would be in our mutual best interest.”

Michael let the Minister ponder this for a few moments. He was fairly certain Alliras would agree, and he was not disappointed when his old friend finally nodded.

“All right. I’ll trust your techs. But I have to leave the guards here and downstairs as a matter of SOP’s.”

“Of course.”

They stood, and Michael accepted Alliras’s offered hand. They shook, and exchanged slight smiles.

“And I hope you keep me updated on Luna Station. I have a vested interest in Alex Manez, and more than just because of his connection to Kinemet. His parents were under my sphere of responsibility.”

“I understand,” the Minister told him. “I’ll keep in touch.”

The four men exited the conference room, and with little more than a nod to Alliras, Michael got right down to business.

“Calbert, initiate laser 1 protocol. I’m sure there are more than a few of our fellows up there eager to hear our voices.”

“Yes, sir. Initiating protocol,” was the reply as the control room burst into activity.

__________

Luna Station:

Luna :

Alex was marched through a maze of corridors. Finding his way out would be impossible: the halls all looked the same and the only markings on various doors were written in Chinese characters. The pirate captain on his left was grim-faced. It was as if he knew he was selling Alex’s life over to whoever had hired him, and though it left a sour taste in his mouth, was determined to see the contract to the end.

Alex suddenly realized that the games he played on sim were nothing but fantasy. There was too much dichotomy in real life; translating that reality into a game would take all the fun out of it. Nova Pirates was much easier to play when the lines between good and evil were easily defined.

The captain was on the side of evil, but so was the doctor who had tried to be nice to Alex, and make him feel comfortable. But were they any different from Justine and the people back on Earth? They all wanted Alex for his powers, for his relationship with Dis Pater. Did anyone, good or evil, truly care for Alex himself.

The long walk finally came to an end at a non-descript freight elevator. They entered the elevator, and the pirate punched the lowest button; since the buttons were inscribed with Chinese characters, Alex could only assume they were heading for the basement.

Not a word was spoken on the short trip down, but Alex looked up at both of his escorts; neither would return his glance.

The elevator door opened to opulence. The sight before him was so grand that it was a good minute before Alex the absence of artificial gravity in the room; the magnetos were not operating this deep below the surface of the moon.

It was as if this were a whole new world within Luna.

Alex had never seen such luxury displayed before him except in elaborately produced DMR vid-flicks.

The room was large enough to dock a mid-sized space freighter, though it would be crowded with all the furnishings and draperies covering the floor and walls of the room.

Settees, couches, antique chairs, vases that must have dated back centuries, as well as fine works of art Alex recognized from cultural reference adorned the room. Four thick pillars had been erected at geometric points within, though only for decoration; the polysteel used to construct the station was strong enough to support itself without the use of any kind of pillars.

Dragons hung from the ceilings. Red, Gold, Green, and Purple, they were embroidered on long banners of silk and satin.

Any kind of wood was almost as expensive as gold on Luna, when including the cost of transport, but in the middle of the far wall of the room there stood an enormous oak desk, waxed to a brilliant shine, its legs embellished and carved with images from Chinese mythology.

From behind the desk, a figure dressed in a robe of richly woven red and gold silk slowly stood. There was a satisfied smile on his oriental face as he shuffled around the desk and toward Alex and his two captors.

“Greetings, gentlemen! Greetings. Welcome to my humble little slice of the universe.” He spread his arms open in a welcoming gesture.

As if he hadn’t spotted Alex the moment the boy stepped out of the elevator and had not moved his penetrating gaze from the object of his obsession, he said, “Ah, I see you have brought me my prize. For which—I believe this is how they say it in those pirate vids—you will be handsomely paid.”

As if struck by an out-of-place sense of conscience, the captain said, “You’re not going to hurt him—”

The Chinese man looked deeply offended. “Hurt? Why, I would sooner cut out my own heart. Young Alex here represents the world to me. Nay, shall I even say it? He represents the entire Universe. Hurt him? On that account, my dear swashbuckler, I can assure you, your fears are completely unfounded.

“I have received the datavise sent by your ship’s doctor, and the results are everything I expected. You have honored your end of our pact to the letter. Now, if you would be so kind as to leave Alex and me to get acquainted, my assistant Dexter will see to your generous reward.”

From nowhere, it seemed, a teenager with bad acne appeared and gestured for the pirates to re-enter the freight elevator.

“I thank you, gentlemen, for your service to me. You have no idea how you have benefited me, and yourselves, for I shall remember the alacrity with which you have completed your objective.

“Good day.”

The pirates were immediately dismissed from his awareness, all his attention focusing uncomfortably upon Alex.

Feeling his heart beat a few pulses per minute faster, Alex had no choice but to await the other man’s lead. He had briefly contemplated making a break for it, but to where? The pirates would not offer him sanctuary. And he would very quickly lose himself if he ever managed to find his way out of this room of opulent splendor.

He blinked when he realized there was an open hand thrust out before him. “Good day, Alex. My name is Chow Yin. I’m sorry that we had to put you through that terrible, terrible ordeal, but I assure you, it is for your own good.”

Alex debated whether to shake Chow Yin’s hand, or bite it and try to run. Demurely, he extended his own hand to his new captor.

“Good. It seems you are not only a fortuitous youth, but one who has intelligence as well. That is good. Come, Alex, and make yourself comfortable.”

Chow Yin led Alex to a voluminous couch placed in front of a short table covered with fruits and pastries and glass carafe’s of juice—one-hundred percent pure, if Alex had to guess.

“Help yourself, if you are hungry.”

“Thank you,” Alex managed to say as he helped himself to a macaroon.

Any normal ten-year old would either be completely terrified in Alex’s situation, or completely oblivious. Alex was neither. Although he felt some trepidation when contemplating his future, the knowledge of his own powers helped comfort him. If the circumstances turned malevolent, he knew he could plunge the entire room into darkness. With his vision, he did not need light to see. He doubted Chow Yin could match that skill with all his money.

And he did not doubt that Chow Yin had paid for his capture precisely so that he could plunder that ability from Alex. He had to form a plan of escape. He saw no way out, and for the moment, he could only bide his time.

Chow Yin sat upon the couch very close to Alex, too close for comfort, really, but Alex had no room to move farther away. He paused in mid chew as Yin put a thin hand upon the boy’s shoulder.

“Now, Alex. I brought you here for reasons you might at first suspect, but rest assured, I have your best interests in mind. My best interest as well. I will not hide that fact from you. Yes, you have some special abilities that could benefit me in ways that would change the very face of the solar system. Oh, how I’ve longed for those changes.

“You see,” he said, “I am exiled from Earth. I cannot return. Oh, not for any reasons political or criminal, I can tell you. It’s because of a twist of fate.”

The oriental pulled up the silk leg of his pajama to show Alex the wreck life had made of his leg. Alex couldn’t swallow the half-masticated piece of chocolate and coconut sweet in his mouth, and nearly vomited it out, but somehow managed to keep it right where it was.

Yin dropped the pant leg, and mercifully covered the mass of scar tissue.

“My bones are brittle. They could not hold up my body weight in Earth’s gravity. Even the artificial gravity on the moon here that they have installed in the last ten years is too much for me; that is why I have had to retreat to my little haven here under the surface. Even Luna Station is forbidden to me. I am trapped.

“But space…ah space…now that is wide open.

“Up until now, there have been so many physical limitations on exploring space. What! A trip to the asteroid belt takes upwards of a month. Insane! And costly. Too costly. Why should it be that only the ultra-rich country corporations can go and plunder the incredible wealth in the belt? The rest of us grow relatively poorer as they grow so much richer. It is a story that has been repeating itself for centuries on Earth.

“It is time to change that. If quick, cheap space travel is provided, then anyone with a little entrepreneurial spirit could start up their own asteroid prospecting business. How many people grew wealthy in the Alaskan Gold Rush? Entire families pulled themselves from the muck of poverty, and became powers unto themselves, able to determine their own futures, instead of being the puppets of their governments.

“You, Alex, have the ability to cause greatness to come once again to our universe. Once we determine the extent of your ability, for I am certain it is in you, the key to light speed travel, the mysteries of the element they are calling Kinemet. Yes. Once we have explored your powers, all you need do is to share your secrets, and everyone would benefit.”

Chow Yin smiled benignly upon Alex, but the boy was not looking at his captor. His determination to say nothing was breached with a thought. He had to be sure, be certain that Chow Yin was truly malevolent, and wanted the information inside Alex’s head all to himself.

“Why can’t I just share it from Earth?” he asked the man. “It would be easy enough to go on the newsvids and tell my story.”

Chow Yin shook his head disapprovingly. “But then you would be mobbed by a thousand different organizations, all demanding that you submit yourself to their tests. You would spend the rest of your life under glass, an animal in a zoo. Is that how you envision your future?”

Without waiting for a reply, Yin stood and waved his hand to encompass the room. “Why not share your secret from here, and live in luxury? You would have my protection; I will keep away all the crackpots and unreasonable organizations that would only want to tear you apart to see how you work.

“Stay here with me, and you can choose when and where you share your information. I will be your agent,” he suggested. “Your guide, your mentor. Your friend.”

“Agent?” Alex had to ask, “Why would I need an agent if I share the information freely?”

“Oh Alex, you have so much to learn about people. If you give someone an ounce freely, they will demand a pound of your flesh, if they take you seriously at all. But if you require that they pay a nominal fee for the license of your information, and a small royalty, then they will be more inclined to deal with you on a professional, serious basis. You will cut through ninety percent of the riffraff.

“I will guide you through this confusing process. You won’t have to worry about anything. I will take care of all that needs to be done, present a proposal to the world, and deal with those who are serious enough to line up in wait for your wonderful gift.”

Alex could barely believe his ears. It sounded like a speech rehearsed from some bad vid. Did Chow Yin really think Alex only had the mind of a ten-year old? The body, perhaps, but Alex was far more intellectually advanced than that. And he had more insight into people than most pre-adolescents could be credited with.

He had to be careful in dealing with Chow Yin. The man had achieved his incredible wealth somehow, and there was no indication that the means was legitimate. He had hired pirates to kidnap him, attacking a NASA vessel. The man was unscrupulous, and very dangerous.

Best to play along.

“I guess,” he said in that offhand agreeable way that most young, naive, children had. “Could I have my own room?”

Chow Yin broke out in a big smile. “Of course.” And rubbed his hands together.

__________

Quantum Resources, Inc.:

Toronto :

Canada Corp.:

“Michael!”

It was Calbert.

Michael straightened from the desk over which he was leaning, trying to figure out coordinates for a secondary Kinemet survey mission. His assistant’s eyes were wild, exhilarated.

“What is it?”

“We did it!” Calbert replied. “We struck Kinemet. They have positive spectrometer readings, identical to the ones George discovered on the Macklin’s Rock data. The MS can’t define the element, but the characteristics are exactly the same.”

Michael never thought this moment would happen. Macklin’s Rock was a fluke, he had said to himself half a dozen times a day. An astronomical anomaly. Isolated phenomenon.

But it was true. It was real. It was here.

Kinemet.

“Are you sure?”

Calbert waved a digiscreen report. “Read it for yourself.”

Michael had to, in order to completely believe. He was so excited, it was difficult to keep his concentration, and he had to start again three times before he read the entire finding report.

“If the number of asteroids on our list of candidates is only partially valid, there will be more Kinemet out there than we know what to do with!”

It was the time for decisiveness. “All right, begin the excavation procedure as we discussed. I’ll talk to the colonel, and get Ottawa on the comm. If this is it, we’re going to need max security on this. From now on, everything is top shelf. Need to know. I don’t want any screw-ups, especially if our communications are being monitored.”

“Gotcha, boss.” Calbert pirouetted, and was off at a run, a big grin on his face.

Michael undertook the task of finding the colonel, who was in charge of Quantum Resources, Inc.’s security. He was in the coffee room talking with a couple of his lieutenants, discussing what seemed to be the security of the perimeter of the Quantum Resources outbuildings. He looked up from his conversation when he noticed Michael approach.

“Aces,” Michael said, his face caught between a professional stoicism, and a juvenile grin. “We have confirmation of the existence of Kinemet, and I’ve just ordered the team up on the asteroid to being excavation. It’s time to put your security contingency plan into effect.”

The colonel glanced at the digiscreen, raised an eyebrow, and wasted no more time. His implanted comm speaker turned on with a movement of his tongue, and he began issuing orders to his men.

Michael practically vibrated, awaiting the colonel to complete his directive so that they could contact CSE and EMR in Ottawa, and plan a conference to coordinate their security with NASA and the USA, Inc. military.

Before the colonel finished his briefing to his men, he blinked twice, his face taking on a surprised look for an instant. Then his eyebrows furrowed and his chin set in a hard vice. It was obvious he was getting a private comm on his ear implant receiver.

Trying to contain his anxiety, Michael waited patiently until the colonel’s eyes focused on him, his communication terminated.

“Michael, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but we’ve been ordered a complete cease and desist of all operations until further notice.”

“What! You can’t be serious. Not right now! We’re on the brink of the most important confirmed discovery in the entire history of the world. We—”

The colonel cut off his growing tirade with a sharp chopping motion.

“There’s been an incident on Luna. And,” he added with a twist of his mouth, “some politician put a comma in the wrong place in a memo, and pissed off a communist.

“Michael, we’re now officially at war with China.”

__________

Luna Station :

Chinese Sector :

Luna :

Klaus Vogelsberg was in deep concentration.

His DMR screen was aglow with explosions as he tried to maneuver his Starspear through the mass of enemy warships and battle cruisers. If he couldn’t get past the globule defenders this time, he swore he was going to kick in the damned computer’s casement.

It was a long game, and he hadn’t beaten it in eight tries. Each attempt, he had spent hours every night for a week to get to the globule level, only to be defeated. He had never taken so long to beat a computer game. When he mastered this one, he was going to celebrate with a huge toke he’d been saving for just the right occasion.

He was approaching the final vectors of the globule cluster when the door to his room swung open and Marty Middlefield flicked on the overhead lights. Klaus’s eyes, unaccustomed to the brightness, were momentarily blinded.

“Hey, jerkoff. Enough time for play.” Marty cackled in pleasure.

Klaus leaped out of his seat, the thoughtlink patch falling to the floor as he bunched his fists.

“You little pain! That’s the last time—”

“Stuff it. The big cheese wants you; probably to take a bite out of your bitter ass. And on the double, slacker!”

Klaus hurled a half-full glass of cola at him. The glass, which had no metal content—and thus contained no attractors to Luna Station’s magnagravs—sailed out into the hall straighter than any arrow, flying at its target. Marty ducked out of the doorway an instant before the projectile would have impacted with his head. The glass shattered spectacularly against the door of the room opposite Klaus’s, the shards falling impossibly slowly to the ground.

“Asshat!” Marty shouted as he ran down the hall.

“I’m gonna make you cry for your mama!” Klaus yelled after the kid, who was three years younger than he was, and had been a constant sore point the past few weeks. To himself, Klaus swore, “If I get my hands around his neck, he won’t be dishing out too many of his little comments, I tell you.”

But the message Marty had delivered was more important at that moment than the messenger, however much Klaus wanted to throttle the newcomer.

Yin wanted Klaus. There was no delaying.

Pushing his rage to the back of his mind for future use, Klaus turned off his game, careful to save it, and headed out to Yin’s offices, making sure to lock the door to his little room behind him. He didn’t want any of the others crawling around his personal space. His room was the only thing he could call his own.

All the while he made his way through the underground complex of Yin’s secret empire, Klaus swore to himself. Things had been getting worse and worse over the past few months. Once it was brought into public knowledge of his near-screw-up with the Alex Manez - Macklin’s Rock affair, he had been treated with disdain by the others who worked for Yin.

Trying to distance themselves from him if the figurative meteorite ever hit the dome, the others had treated Klaus as an outcast, a pariah. Wherever he went, the disdainful glances and mocking comments followed like vultures to carrion.

Klaus had tried to broach the problem with Yin himself, but the old despot had laughed and told him that if he couldn’t handle his own problems, he would have to take away Klaus’s position and seniority.

A week later, a fistfight with one of the other guys over the incident resulted in a severe reprimand from Yin, and a revoking of certain privileges and Klaus’s status as senior monitor. No longer would Klaus be able to create the shift schedule, which had given him the opportunity to dole out to himself the best times; now, he had to take orders from Rick Janzen, a hacker a year younger than him. That grated on Klaus like a sandpaper enema.

In the last month, Marty Middlefield had been brought on Yin’s team of adolescent outlaws, and quickly learned that he could tease Klaus Vogelsberg with impunity. Nobody would defend Klaus, or allow the older boy to exact his revenge on the newcomer.

Klaus had nearly had enough. He had, in fact, even gone to the lengths of carefully planning every stage of Marty’s murder, right down to the celebration he would throw after the little brat was no more than a red stain on the carpet.

A few days before, Klaus had been wandering the main floor of the station, and followed a security officer on his way to dinner. Placing himself at a table nearby, Klaus watched the man withdraw his flechette holster and put the weapon on the table while he dined.

With a patience of dire purpose, Klaus waited, praying mantis-like for any opportunity, and was rewarded when the officer dropped a utensil, and got up to get another one.

Adroitly, Klaus palmed the flechette and holster, and casually found his way out of the diner, and back to his room.

The flechette was the only projectile weapon officially allowed on the station. A bullet, even from a .22, packed enough power to damage any of the protective shells that domed the station and kept out the vacuum and radiation of space. Even Yin proscribed against illegal firearms; Luna Station was the only home he would ever have.

The flechette was loaded with a clip of fifty small needle-like projectiles, each containing a small amount of tranquilizer, enough to immobilize a fugitive for up to fifteen minutes.

If Klaus decorated Marty’s body with all fifty flechettes, that would be a definite end to the little brat’s continuous harassment. That was a fact.

Putting his thoughts of murder on hold, Klaus entered Yin’s main office, stood at the doorway until he was noticed and acknowledged.

“Ah!” Chow Yin said when he looked up. The old coot actually looked pleased to see him. “You have arrived.”

The potentate stood from his couch, and it was only then that Klaus saw a young boy present and sitting on the couch beside Yin patiently.

At first, Klaus did not recognize the youth, but after a moment, realized who he was looking at before Chow Yin introduced him.

“Come on over here for a moment, Klaus. I have someone I would like you to meet. I am sure you have already heard of our guest, by name as well as reputation. You have intimate knowledge of our most honored visitor, since it is by your own devices that he has joined us today.

“Klaus, I would like to present to you, for the first time in the flesh, young Alex Manez. Alex, this is Klaus Vogelsberg, my young ingénue who so aptly discovered you, as it were. Even though you have never met, your destinies have been intertwined for the better part of this last half a year. I do so hope you will enjoy each other’s company.”

Klaus took a few steps into the room, because it was expected of him as well as to get a better look at this kid who had sent the entire world—the entire solar system, to wit—into turmoil.

Unimpressed by the kid, Klaus pursed his lips. He glanced up at Yin and blinked.

“Company?”

“Yes.” Chow Yin smiled in his patrician manner, and folded his hands in front of himself expectantly. “You see, I am placing you directly responsible for our young charge. He has agreed to enter into a joint venture with us to mutual benefit, and until his potential can be realized to its full fruition, I would like you to see to it that Alex wants for nothing.

“Treat him as a prince; treat him as you would…me, for instance. Cater to his every whim. I want you to be his personal guardian, Klaus.”

Without waiting to see Klaus’ reaction, Yin turned immediately to Alex Manez, and began reassuring him that he was in the best hands with Klaus Vogelsberg, but Klaus could hear nothing above the roar in his ears.

Guardian! Baby-sitter was more like it. To a freaking ten-year old! Take orders from a little brat!

It was too much to take. The abuses that had been piling up on Klaus were reaching critical mass. This was no straw on the proverbial camel’s back!

The outrage that Klaus felt at that moment threatened to sent him into a psychopathic fit, but somehow, he managed to get a reign on it.

Yin was speaking to him once more. “All right, Klaus, see to Alex’s accommodations, will you? And bring him around for dinner around seven-thirty. He and I have much to discuss. Much to discuss, indeed!”

At least Klaus’ father had been direct with his intentions of brutality. Klaus had almost trusted Yin, almost come to respect him as fellow soul, a fellow victim. But now, it turned out Yin was no better than Klaus’s own father. Worse, even, for he employed trickery.

It was everything Klaus could do to keep his mouth shut; he had to bite down on his tongue to stifle the cry of indignation that longed to well out of him. The acrid, metallic taste of his own blood served to calm him. A cool wind of icy purpose settled over his thoughts.

Like an automaton, Klaus nodded acknowledgment of Yin’s decree. “All right.”

Without a word to Alex Manez, Klaus turned on his heel and headed out of Yin’s master chambers, leaving the kid to follow as he would.

“Oh,” Yin called after Klaus, simultaneously giving his newest prize a gentle nudge forward, “ensure that the other boys do not mistreat young Alex. Should he come to harm of any sort, you can be certain you will receive a severe punishment of the sort only found in your darkest nightmares.” He grinned sublimely. “I trust you will take every care with your little ward.”

Klaus paused only long enough to reply, “I will treat him like my one of my own.”

“Good. Now, off with you two youngsters.” Yin waved paternally to them.

Klaus smiled, but it was motivated by a private thought. Yeah, I will treat him like one of my own—like my alcoholic father treated me.

Outraged at Yin, Klaus turned to Alex as he led the boy silently down the hallway. You, he thought, will regret the day you were born.

*

When Klaus got to his room, it was in chaos. The door he had locked was busted wide open, his bed was disheveled, the mattress turned over, and all of his personal belongings were strewn all over the floor.

It took Klaus a moment to realize that his computer had also been the object of the vandalism. The screen was on, even though Klaus had turned off his DMR before he left.

His personal cyberscape, which he had spent months designing, was not on the DMR casement. Instead, the default factory desktop was shown. With a feeling of dread, Klaus approached his console, and opened his data manager.

He prompted it to show a list of his files, and saw right away that all the data in his personal folders had been erased. His games, his letters, his notes, his journal, everything.

For a half a minute, he stared at the screen, as if willing this all to have not happened. The earlier rage he felt in Yin’s apartment was nothing compared to the anger that welled in him now. At first, he did not even noticed the slight hand that tapped his shoulder.

“Are you all right? What happened?” Alex Manez asked him.

Klaus turned around slowly, and looked at the little kid with eyes that could have been dead.

“Fine. Just fine.” He stared at Alex for ten full seconds, not seeing the boy for all the thoughts and plans that went through his mind.

It had to have been Marty Middlefield. Trying to get even, or pulling one of his great jokes at my expense. That’s all right. I’ll play a little joke on him.

And Yin, threatening ME! Telling me that my ass is grass unless I sit up and play nice like a good little doggie. Well, I show him that this dog has more to it than a sharp bark.

I’ll fix this little upstart brat, too. He’s the root of my problem; but I’ll deal with him last.

The plans began forming in his mind, like crystals in a jar of sugar water. How to deal with Yin, Marty, and the little kid behind him.

An evil smile pulled at the corners of his lips as he donned his thoughtlink patch and opened his meshmail account. All his saved messages, both the ones he had received and the ones he had written, were erased, but Klaus didn’t care at that moment.

He wrote a quick memo, and posted it on the Luna Station’s Public Bulletin Page, marking it:

*

!!! URGENT !!! OFFICIAL !!!

*

Not bothering to turn off his computer, Klaus stood up from his desk, and fell to one knee beside his bed, where he reached underneath and behind a pornographic magazine he had tossed there. When he pulled his hand back out, the flechette pistol he had stolen was in his firm grasp.

Alex backed away, eyes widening. “What are you going to do with that?”

“I’m just going to set a few ground rules.”

With that, he strode out of the room, a determined set to his jaw, his eyes probing the compartment complex. The anger fired deep within him translated easily to his facial features, and some of the other hackers who encountered him on his way stepped back, eyes wide and fearful.

Some followed, but Klaus didn’t care. He was past any point of caring about the rest of them. They were all losers, anyway.

As stragglers gathered courage in numbers, and slowly gathered in Klaus’s wake, the noise level of the group grew to a jumbled murmur as they speculated what was on Klaus’s mind. A few knew about the room being trashed and giggled nervously.

“Marty’s gonna get it. Just watch,” one said. It only confirmed Klaus’s suspicion, and hardened his mind.

Someone asked who the new kid was, but the group was more excited about the fight they saw coming; no one had yet noticed the flechette in Klaus’s palm.

When the entourage reached Marty’s room, Klaus, ignoring them, kicked in the door, already ajar, and nearly knocked it off its hinges.

“Marty,” Klaus growled. “I really enjoyed your last practical joke.”

Marty, who had been sitting on his bed reading a cybercomic on his digipad, was at first startled, and seemed on the verge of trying to make a break for it, even though his only exit was blocked.

At Klaus’ words, Marty’s fear was quickly masked by his cockiness. He grinned like a hyena. “I thought you might.”

Klaus struggled to remain calm for a few moments more.

“I don’t think you understood exactly what I said,” he told the younger boy. “I said: I really enjoyed your last practical joke. Because, you know, it really will be your last.”

“Oh, don’t threaten me, you—”

“The time for threats are over. The time for promises is here.”

Before Marty could wrap his small mind around Klaus’ meaning, Klaus raised his arm straight out, as if to point an accusing finger at the younger boy.

It was then that Marty, and some of the others, saw the flechette.

Marty’s shouts of “No!” were matched by some of the other boy’s, but no one thought to try to stop Klaus before he shot a half a dozen needle-like projectiles into Marty’s writhing, screaming body.

Somebody tried to jump Klaus, knocking Alex fully into the room, but Klaus, powered by his rage, threw the assailant off, and turned on the group.

“Anyone else tired? Want to sleep for a while? I hear they can revive you from toxic shock if they get to you in time, but you’ll be holding conversations with vegetables for the rest of your life.”

Everyone backed away.

Reaching out to grab Alex Manez by the collar, he pulled the ten-year old roughly to his feet.

“Two down, one to go. And you’re coming with me!”

He dragged Alex behind him as he made his way through the unresisting crowd.

Thoughts dwelling on the brutal act he had just committed, Klaus did not think about why Alex Manez, who should have been weeping with fright or struggling to get away, simply followed along without a word of complaint or resistance.

Instead, Alex had a contemplative smile on his face.

__________

Luna Station :

Chinese Sector :

Luna :

Justine paced. Occasionally, she snarled as she contemplated the Chinese Sector’s stalling. Loud expletives shot out of her whenever she mentioned the Chinese Republic, and their adamant refusal of cooperation, even though they, too, had lost all contact with the Chinese Sector on Luna Station.

“Calm down, Justine,” Clive said to her, an attempt at placating the wild beast in his office.

“I can’t, Dammit! There has to be something we can do! Something!”

“I’m sorry.” The diplomat shrugged eloquently. “I’m afraid that our hands are quite tied at the moment. All that can be done, has.”

“We have all our soldiers watching their soldiers, their soldiers watching ours, and neither side actually looking in the right direction. What makes you think that’s going to do any good?”

“Do you have another suggestion?”

“Yeah! Let’s go in there, get Alex out, and worry about diplomatic relations later.”

Clive pressed his lips together disapprovingly. “That might end up worse for everyone,” he interposed. All he received in reply was a scowl and a colorful retort.

“I’m not just going to sit on my hands, here.”

He offered Justine a smile of reason. “Our countries on Earth are working on it as quickly as possible. China has long been under the gun at the United Earth Corporate for their centuries-old track record in poor humanitarian relations. Of course, they’re reluctant to treat with us. Sakami Chin was something of an olive branch; now, he’s gone missing. If, say, Dale Powers had been on assignment in China, and suddenly disappeared, wouldn’t your defenses be up as well?”

Justine’s scowl turned into a grimace. “Yeah, you’re right again, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like it.”

“That’s diplomacy. Give it time, Justine. We’ll get their cooperation. I’m certain China is just jockeying for a better seat for the interstellar age. Alex is a valuable asset right now, not just because he’s a kid, or a representative of ‘our’ side, but in the potential for space exploration. Everybody believes that boy is the key to interstellar travel. Right now, there isn’t anything else to pin our hopes on. That’s why the poor child is being fought over like a bone.”

“I know. It stinks.”

Clive Wexhall wisely made no rebuff to Justine’s opinion. He wasn’t in the business of opinions, anyway. Smoothing things over, calling for cool heads and objective thinking was his forte.

“Here, I’m calling down for a few sandwiches and drinks. Do you still drink iced tea with no ice, or would you like something with a bit more bite?”

Blinking, Justine was forced to think, however momentarily, about something other than the Chinese Sector and Alex. Clive smiled up at her, pleased to have distracted her turbulent thoughts.

“Uh, no, I’ll stick to the iced tea, thank you.”

“Certainly.” Clive flipped his commlink on, pressed the autodial to the cafeteria and put in the order. Before he could turn off the commlink, an urgent flag began blinking on his meshmail account.

Opening the mail, he read the first few lines, and exhaled.

“What is it?”

“You’ve got to read this for yourself.” He made room at his desk for her to read the correspondence over his shoulder.

*

To: All Luna Station Account Members

From: A Hostage!

Help! I am being held against my will in the Chinese Sector of Luna Station, along with about two dozen others from different Country Corporations. We are being forced to commit larceny, forgery, theft, and various other international crimes through the EarthMesh by Chow Yin, an expatriate who has taken over the Chinese Sector and falsified political attachment to the People’s Republic of China.

Please, help!

*

Underneath, there were links to various documents that, when opened, showed the extent of Chow Yin’s criminal activities. One document also showed that Chow Yin had forged the identity of the Chinese Consulate, the actual personage not existing anywhere except in computer records.

“Holy Damn!” Clive swore in exhilaration, a wide grin spreading over his face. “We’ve got it!”

“What? That doesn’t do us any good, except as evidence for a trial later on…or does it?”

Clive, barely able to suppress himself, said, “Do us any good! Of course it does! It proves that there is no official Chinese Government representative present on Luna Station.”

“So?”

“Part of the Luna Station Charter specifically states that, in order to maintain claim to the individual sectors of the station—since it is a combinative station, accessible to all—that there must be, at all times, a valid representative of each respective government. If there is no Chinese Consulate, and has not been for the past few years, that means that the Chinese no longer have a legitimate claim on that sector until they actually place someone on the property.

“In the meanwhile, we have a legal ground for going in; backed up by reasonable suspicion of international felonies.”

A brief instant passed as Justine absorbed all this. Then, she blinked once. “What are you waiting for? Call in the army!”

The Captain of the Orca 1 did not linger while Clive Wexhall made the call to the military adjutant on the station. She turned on her heel, and ran out of the room, full bore, heading for the Chinese Sector.

She was determined to be on hand when Alex was rescued, and protect him from further predicament.

*

By the time the army arrived in the Chinese Consulate, and invaded the Sector (backed up by warrants as well as weapons) they discovered from some of the “hostages” that two of the boys in Chow Yin’s adolescent harem of outlaws were missing. One of them, Justine knew by their description, was Alex.

One boy said, “I think they were heading for the airlocks.”

Leaving the army to clean up the mess of the Chinese Sector, Justine ran in the indicated direction at a run.

She was damned if she was going to let Alex get away now, when he was so close.

__________

Lunar Surface :

Luna :

The surface of the moon had a calming effect on Alex. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what brought on his reaction, but the gentle rumbling of the electric motor in the ATV, combined with the rocking motions as the vehicle headed overland called to mind a certain serenity that Alex found ultimately appealing.

Beside him, driving the vehicle, was a lunatic; only seventeen years old, but a maniac nevertheless. Alex should have been trying to escape this young psychopath’s influence, railed against his captivity, fought against the inevitable conclusion of this misadventure, that Klaus wanted him dead. Instead, Alex found himself willingly accompanying the older boy.

There was something beyond his mind’s grasp, urging him forward, urging him on.

The moon seemed almost like home, to Alex. It was barren, desolate, and uninhabitable by anyone unless safely wrapped in the cocoon of technology. And yet, Alex was at peace with it. The vastness of space, horrible to most, was a black blanket of comfort to him. And the moon was the signatory of that unimaginable expanse.

The Earth represented suppression, claustrophobia, everything inherently opposite that of outer space. Alex never wished to return there. Even though they had spent most of their life on Canada Station Three, Alex’s parents still called it home sweet home. Alex’s only memories were visiting Earth irregularly on yearly vacations, holidays and such. It was as much an alien planet to him as was Jupiter.

…And it would be nothing more than a prison if Alex ever returned there.

Suddenly, Alex realized why the moon inspired such tranquility in him, beyond the murderous intents of his companion.

The voices in his head no longer made demands of him, no longer stalked his thoughts. Instead, the melody of their words was that of a comforting lullaby.

Soon, they promised, you will be made aware of all that is. We have no need of haunting you into action; you are already firmly set on your course of destiny.

Be calm. Soon, you will return to where you belong.

Alex turned his head slowly towards Klaus, and smiled benignly.

*

Klaus nearly veered into a small crater when he glanced to the side and saw his captive grinning back at him like some kind of retarded baboon.

“What the hell are you smiling at, kid?” Klaus hissed after he regained control of the ATV and put the vehicle back on course.

They were going way too slowly. Klaus didn’t want to take any chances. If the damned yahoo Americans hadn’t used his message as a political loophole to invade the Chinese Sector and take down Yin’s empire, then Chow Yin was going to be on the warpath for Klaus. When Yin wanted revenge, he didn’t waste time about it. There would be a dozen ATVs after him and Alex, each carrying men with real guns that fired bullets, not poison-dipped flechettes.

And even if the Americans had gone through with their task the way Klaus hoped, they would soon learn about him, and that he had kidnapped Alex. Their prize would be too great to ignore for long. Any way he looked at it, Klaus was going to be a very wanted person.

Because of Alex.

He looked the kid square in the face for a moment. Alex hadn’t replied to his question, nor had he ceased his smiling, although he had turned his attention to the Lunarscape ahead.

“Quit that grinning, you fool. What do you have to be so happy about. You know that I’m going to kill you, don’t you?”

Alex slowly rotated his head. “No, you’re not.”

Klaus’s nerves caused him to jerk the steering bar of the ATV a bit, not enough to put them in jeopardy, though. Damn the kid. How had he known that Klaus had changed his mind about offing the little kid?

Over the past fifteen minutes, Klaus had also been taken with the tranquility of the lunar surface, and had done some thinking.

Revenge was good and all, but if he continued his spree of violence and mayhem, there was only one possible end to the whole affair: his own death. People would not put up with that sort of behavior for long, and would quickly organize to stop Klaus’ rampage.

Alex was a valuable commodity, despite his ethnic origins. Perhaps even the most valuable commodity in the solar system.

And at the moment, Klaus had complete control of him. Yin had schemed to use Alex to gain personal wealth, and that would have been due solely by Klaus’s efforts. What would Klaus have gotten for his troubles? Nothing.

But now, Klaus could use Alex to his own gain. No partners, no bosses, no fathers, nobody but him.

He had no aspirations of mining the depth of Alex’s reported abilities. He didn’t have the time or the inclination. Instead, he would settle for a modest ransom. The Americans or the Canadians would surely pay up. Klaus was not greedy; a few million dollars would keep him happy for the rest of his life.

Klaus knew exactly who he could turn to, to help him: The very same smuggler who had pirated Alex from the Orca 1, his uncle, Trent Gruber. Captain Gruber would have to help Klaus. He was willing to offer his uncle a healthy percentage. If that didn’t work, and the smuggler was unwilling to participate, Klaus had enough blackmail material on him to send him to United Earth Corporate prison for the rest of his natural life, relative or not.

Gruber, brother to Klaus’s long-deceased mother, had a small base on Luna, a few hundred kilometers away from Luna Station. That was where Klaus was heading.

But how had Alex known that Klaus’s intentions had changed?

“What do you mean, I’m not going to kill you?”

“I won’t let you,” Alex replied simply. “I have far too great a purpose to allow that to happen. I need you to help me, though.”

“Help you? What for?”

“That is my business. I can tell you no longer want to murder me. You have something else in mind. Extortion, ransom, something like that. I’ve read enough space opera to guess that you’ve got a plan for squirreling me away. All I want is for you to bring me to your hiding place, and keep me there for a while. Help me, and I guarantee you will be rich.”

“And what if I don’t happen to want to go along with your stupid little plan, pipsqueak?”

The answer came in a form that was a thousand times more effective than any verbal threat. The ATV’s electric motor ceased to fire, and the vehicle slowly came to a standstill. “What the—?”

Klaus’s breathing apparatus slowly stopped pumping air into his helmet. Klaus was soon inhaling the same air he was exhaling, and the oxygen content was dropping as fast at the carbon monoxide level was rising. He would quickly poison himself if he didn’t get any air.

Panicking, Klaus began flailing about, desperate for a lung full of clean, life-giving air.

He had the presence of mind enough to realize he could get air from only one source. “All right! All right! You win! I’ll do whatever you say, only give me some—”

The influx of oxygen was like cool water washing over a feverish forehead, a warm fire in the arctic cold.

Klaus took several deep breaths, remembered that he shouldn’t inhale so deeply, or the oxygen itself would adversely affect him, and slowly, slowly, evened his breathing.

The ATV’s motor flared to life, and Alex said, “Come on, Klaus. Let’s get going.”

“You know,” Klaus said once he had his breath back and had his nausea firmly under control, “you are really a little shit.”

__________

SELECTED ARTICLES :

FROM WORLD ASSOCIATED PRESS :

JULY 2091

In an historic move, United Earth Corporate has abolished the long-standing Luna Charter in favor of a direct administration. Spurred by recent events involving a Chinese expatriate who managed to usurp most of Luna Station’s resources and property, an act which nearly brought the UEC to the brink of an international incident with China, the UEC has penned a new charter nullifying all land claims on Luna Station by country corporation and individual corporations. An official explained that the Station will be independent of any country corporation’s political influence, and in the future, will lease space on Luna Station on a yearly renewal basis.

*

JULY 2091

The Chinese Ambassador is in New York today, in the first of six scheduled meetings attempting to bridge the gap between Western Corporate philosophy, and the long-standing Republic philosophy that has been a cornerstone of Chinese politics for centuries. In a statement issued prior to the first meeting, the ambassador reasserted that his government would not hold NASA or any other agency responsible for the kidnapping of Sakami Chin on Luna Station seven months ago. He also expressed an interest in continuing to build a dialogue between the two great nations in order to further the newest science of Kinemetics. China, who owns more than a hundred asteroid mines, has revealed their suspicions that one or more of their asteroids may have the faster-than-light supraconductor element called Kinemet.

*

AUGUST 2091

The second Pluto mission has successfully launched this morning at 06:23 local time at Kennedy Space Port. The Orca 2 is a joint mission between NASA and CSE with a mandate to further explore the artifact known as Dis Pater, and study its relationship to the Kinemetic influence known as the Manez Effect. With pressure from the European Space Agency as well as the Japanese and South American Organizations, NASA has begun organized a third Pluto mission, Orca 3, and has invited representatives from every nation to accompany the flight to our farthest planet. Captain Justine Churchill Turner, Captain of both the Orca 1 and Orca 2, is scheduled to helm the third mission as well.

*

NOVEMBER 2091

NASA has announced in a press release today that they have discovered a small cache of the FTL element Kinemet on their small asteroid, Nimow. According to preliminary tests, Dr. Caven Oahe estimates that the hundred and two kilogram find contains enough potential energy to send a ship to Alpha Centauri and back. Although the Jet Propulsion Lab, in conjunction with Quantum Resources of Canada Corp., has not yet released a timetable, sources indicate that designs for such an interstellar craft are in the works. Physicists and Engineers at the University of South Carolina estimate the first FTL ship could be ready within four years.

*

MARCH 2092

In today’s technological society, organized religion has long been relegated to history books and small gatherings in basements. But in Central America, there is a growing religious movement that some say are a doomsday cult. The Mayan Spiritists, who have been gaining in number over the past year and a half, foresee the end of the world’s civilizations as they stand. When asked, a high-standing member of the organization indicated that, as the Mayan Culture was once the most advanced society in the world, it will once again inherit mastery of the Earth.

*

MARCH 2092

Scientists from the Orca 2 have not been able to discover the origin or intent of the Plutonian artifact, Dis Pater. After weeks of investigation, members of the Orca 2 mission are no closer to solving the puzzle of the huge monolith on the Dark Planet. A NASA spokeswoman says this is not unexpected. The last time the artifact showed any kind of activity was during the first Orca mission, when it responded to the triggering of the FTL element, Kinemet. The Orca 2 mission is not mandated to conduct any Kinematic experiments; instead, that will be reserved for the Orca 3 mission, an undertaking which will be shared by all active space agencies of the Earth. The Orca 2 will takeoff from Pluto tomorrow morning, and is scheduled to arrive on Luna in an estimated six months.

*

AUGUST 2092

Quantum Resources Inc. of Toronto, Canada Corp. has released the latest results of their joint research project with the JPL of NASA. The mystery of Kinemet, once referred to as Element X, has been solved. With recent discoveries of Kinemet deposits on more than twenty asteroids in the past year, research has been shifted into high gear, and has yielded fantastic results, says a Quantum Resources spokesman. “It is only a matter of time before we can outfit an interstellar ship with a Kinemet-powered engine.” The complete report on Kinemet can be found on the Quantum Resources Meshsite, mirrored at NASA.

*

NOVEMBER 2092

The Orca 2 has returned to Earth, and its seven-member crew is in debriefing in Houston. NASA and CSE declare the mission a success, even though very little new information has been accumulated on the artifact, Dis Pater. A complete sensor array was left behind on Pluto to document any future reaction from the artifact.

*

JANUARY 2093

NASA and CSE have announced the upcoming schedule for the test launch of the first interstellar spacecraft. The Quanta, as the ship has been dubbed, is a one-man ship designed without a payload. Its primary mission will be to achieve the first recorded FTL flight. The ship will travel from Luna Station to Pluto, where it will rendezvous with the Orca 3 mission for the jet-propelled return trip. A date for the launch has not been announced, but analysts from the Canadian Astronomy Association say the next window for a flight to Pluto will be October 2094, landing on the farthest planet seven months later, approximately May 2095. The most probable date for the FTL test flight will be then.

*

OCTOBER 2094

Major Justine Churchill Turner is on her way to Pluto for the third time. The Orca 3 successfully blasted off Luna Station early this afternoon. Three and a half years ago, Major Turner played a key part in the capture of international criminal Chow Yin on Luna Station; she is something of a celebrity there, with a planetarium named after her. Of historical note, Major Turner is a descendant of Percival Lowell, the astronomer who first theorized the existence and possible location of Pluto.

*

MARCH 2095

NASA has announced the name of the pilot who will take the helm of the first FTL flight. Captain Mitchel Kincardine of Canadian Space Exploration has been selected from nearly three hundred qualified applicants to undertake this historic mission. Capt. Kincardine, father of two, has long been a pilot for CSE.

*

APRIL 2095

The Quanta, NASA/CSE’s interstellar spacecraft which is scheduled to make the first FTL flight next month, is en route to Luna Station where it will be outfitted with a Kinemet engine and tested in zero gravity a few thousand kilometers above the moon’s surface. Captain Kincardine is accompanying the ship, and has been quoted as saying that he is looking forward to seeing his name written alongside Christopher Columbus, Yuri Gagarin, and Neil Armstrong.

__________

Luna Station :

Luna :

The unrelenting chorus repeated itself in his mind, and had been for four long years.

The sounds of the planets were slowly driving him insane with their message of urgency.

Come to us, Alex. Come to us.

He was working towards that as fast as he could, but he had to wait for others.

Wait.

Always wait.

Watching every move, reading every word published, communicating with others who could provide him with any scraps that would help him complete his task.

They had announced a date, and he had to shift his preparations into high gear.

The music of the spheres told him so.

Come to us, Alex. Come.

__________

The Quanta :

Luna Station :

Luna :

May 2095

Alex Manez took a deep, agonizing breath and ran his fingers through the thin wisps of his hair, once long and luxurious.

The fourteen-year old then strapped himself into the leather-back pilot seat of the space craft and began systematically flipping switches, turning dials, and pressing specific buttons on the panoramic console surrounding him in the cockpit. Every so often, he took readings from the various meters and consulted the computer monitor, rechecking this figure or that.

He had to be sure that everything was running smoothly, at this stage of the game, since he was on his own on a project that would ordinarily require the input and coordination of hundreds of personnel. Alex was undertaking this task of his without the permission of those hundreds.

Alex was stealing the FTL ship they had dubbed, The Quanta.

The vessel, highly experimental, was owned by the United Earth Corporate, each member country having invested heavily in the project in the hopes of reaching the outer planets of Sol System in a matter of hours, rather than the months that it took at present.

Because of the unusual mission assigned to The Quanta, the only means of piloting and navigating the craft was via the onboard computer—the mission control’s part was only an observe-and-assist position.

Because he could manipulate electrical machines, it was child’s play to create enough distractions in the lunar hanger for him to pass unnoticed.

Once Alex had snuck onto the ship where it had been temporarily docked in Lunar Station’s port—all the while ensuring no one else was yet on board—it had taken him only a few minutes to orient himself and take command of the vessel.

The first thing he did was to disconnect all on-line communications with the mission control centers on the Station and on Earth. The only link he kept alive was to the docking computer, which, in turn, he had already fixed with a virus that would recognize launch requests from him, but disregard any abort command from any other source.

Then he secured the hull, locked the ship electronically, and, finally, after obtaining the proper launch permission from the Lunar Station docking computer, he fired the ship’s main engines. He had to do this before setting the trajectory and acceleration controls; the ignited jet fuel of the mundane engines would keep the security force that just arrived at the port well away from The Quanta while Alex went through the rest of the preliminary launch procedures. Oxygen control, cabin pressure, launch stats; all checked. He reset diagnostics one more time, and aligned the launch trajectory to put him in a gosling orbit following Mother Moon once he lifted off. He could not rely on the mission control computer. Access to that resource was denied him.

As Alex programmed the ship, and prepared for takeoff, he smiled. It was the first time he had smiled in years, ever since returning to translunar space from Pluto.

Getting aboard The Quanta and pirating it had been easy; it would have put the Nova Pirates to shame. Nobody paid attention to a fourteen-year old wandering about.

He was certain no one would recognize him.

Four years ago, once the search for him had been exhausted, the world had turned their attention to developing Kinemet and their precious FTL Quanta spacecraft. He had been left at the wayside to sink or swim on his own.

It was a simple bargain he had made with Captain Gruber and Klaus. They sheltered him in their station for the duration, and he loaned them his services. Alex did not participate in their illegal activities, but he was the perfect early warning system for when security patrols gave surprise inspections. And with his ability to scan the entire solar system from inside his mind, he often detected wrecked vessels and other salvage which Captain Gruber could lay claim. It was a profitable arrangement for both parties.

It was only after a few months of his stay when Alex had started to develop the debilitating sickness in his bone marrow. Lunar gravity had helped prolong complete dysfunction, so long as he avoided the any area powered by gravitrons, but it was only a matter of time before a single step would shatter his bones.

Like Chow Yin.

It was the exposure to Kinemet that had done this to him. He knew it as well as he knew that to drink a liter of strychnine was to ensure you did not see tomorrow.

He also knew that in order to save his own life, he needed once again to come in contact with Kinemet. Over the past years, his powers had faded somewhat, but even being within a hundred meters of the fantastic supermetal now on board The Quanta, he was already feeling rejuvenated.

The launch countdown began, the numbers displaying on his DMR Casement.

*

10 – 9 – 8 – 7 – 6 – 5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1 … Launch.

*

Alex tried to imagine the looks on the faces of those few hundred people at Mission Control, as well as those observing from the Lunar Station lounges as they watched the eighteen billion dollar Quanta being hijacked on its maiden voyage. Alex wasn’t mischievous by nature, but just to see the surprise on their faces…

The Quanta, all thirty meters and twenty-nine point eight-two metric tons of it shuddered as the mundane jet-powered rockets started pushing the vehicle up and out of the launch port, giving off enough thrust to accelerate the ship above the 2.4 kilometers per second required to escape the moon’s gravitational influence.

The ship picked up speed at an alarming rate.

Below, he knew, people would be scurrying about in a panic. They would try to figure out how he had overridden their security redundancies and; how he had cracked the internal security codes.

They would puzzle how he had managed to interface with both The Quanta’s computer and the Lunar Station port computer without alerting the electronic alarm reticulums from Mission Control or from Luna Station itself.

Most of all, they would try to figure out how he had gotten onboard the craft, timing it just when the ship had been vacated for a mere five minutes while the ground crew offloaded, and the pilot had been preparing to come onboard.

Yes, the electropathic power had faded, but it was still there, to use as he wished. And little diminutive Alex had used that power.

The Quanta required 737765 kilopascals of thrust, just to escape the moon’s gravity. Ordinarily, a ship of comparable size would need less than half that output. The extra thrust was needed because of the Kinemet store in the Kinemetic engine attachment, which increased the ship’s overall mass by nearly 175%.

All of the requisite information of the mission and operation of The Quanta was ingrained in Alex’s photographic mind—another side-effect from his exposure to the Kinemet on Macklin’s Rock; the exposure that had cost his parents their lives.

It was almost second nature, even though he had physically never performed the operations himself, to guide the ship out beyond the gravity well of the moon. He drifted out and away, and slowly decreased the engine thrust until he fell behind the moon’s trajectory around the Earth. Once he had attained an orbit around the Earth mimicking Luna’s, he increased thrust to match the moon’s 3,700 kilometers-per-hour velocity.

When the onboard computer confirmed a stable orbit, Alex cut the engines, took a deep breath and reveled in his accomplishment.

Even if it ended here, he would be satisfied. How many fourteen-year-olds had successfully flown a spacecraft by themselves, and achieved a stable orbit around the Earth?

But there was so much more to do.

Alex leaned back into his seat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. Already the null-gravity was taking much of the pressure off his laboring lungs, and his bones seemed to be getting stronger every minute. He was in his environment; he could never leave the Kinemet for any extended amount of time; that was a fact of his life, now.

Glancing at the digital chronometer on the console, he noted that the entire procedure had taken less than six hours. To Alex, every second he was free of the Earth and the Moon was an eternity to be cherished forever. The familiar comfort of the Kinemetic influence so close to him was enough to make him cry with joy. He could already feel his bones knitting, his health restored to him. If he wanted to make it all count for something, he couldn’t quit now.

Running his fingers expertly over the keyboard, he brought up the current flight stats and requested a quick diagnostic scan of internal systems. Everything was up and functional.

For the next part of Alex’s plan, however, he had to contact Mission Control on Luna Station. Even though he had cracked into their computer and downloaded every byte of information stored within, the fact that so many countries had worked together on this project—countries that were by nature untrusting—had precluded the omission of many of the more sensitive mission objectives and data.

He needed those to continue with the mission; more specifically, the cooperation of the Director of NASA, William Tuttle, who had temporarily traveled to Earth’s moon for the occasion, along with many other top-shelf space executives from differing agencies. Michael Sanderson, Lassen Kruger, Vic Tong, Tung Jo, Henry Franks, to name a few.

It would be nearly impossible to persuade them, but there was no other option. Alex had to convince them of that.

Alex reached over to the console and flipped the AV switch. Indicator lights came to life, and abruptly, two-way communication was established with the Mission Control center on Lunar Station.

His DMR casement revealed a frantic Ops room. Dozens of administrative clerks, techies, comp operators and even a few Canadian, American, and Japanese soldiers were rushing around in a heated frenzy of activity.

It took a few moments for one of the technicians to notice that his monitor was active and showing the smiling face of a fourteen-year-old boy seated in the command chair of The Quanta.

The man hastily thrust his earmask on and started flipping switches and pressing buttons. He leaned in to his microphone.

“This is Lunar Station Mission Control for Operation Quanta chartered under the authority of the United Earth Corporate. I hereby order you to cease and desist all activity and prepare to be boarded by a tug which we will shortly be sending to rendezvous at your position. Young man, you are in deep shit!” His face was bunched up with rage.

Alex cocked his head, deciding not to take offense at the man’s inflammatory remark. “Please get someone with authority on the line,” he requested politely. “Preferably Director—”

A new face popped into view. Michael Sanderson, the Director of Quantum Resources, was aging by the minute. His shirt was bereft of a tie, and the top two buttons were undone. Sweat glistened off his face, and the look on his face was a mix of desperation and outrage. He was getting up there in years. The trip to the moon had cost him.

*

Michael looked shocked for an instant as he recognized Alex as the hijacker, rather than some industrial spy or foreign agent they had obviously all suspected. Since the Alex’s kidnapping four years before by Chow Yin, when the Chinese felon had pirated the Orca 1, relations between the People’s Republic of China and the rest of the world had been more than strained.

Michael quickly recovered his surprise, and donned an earmask as he struggled to find his voice. “Alex Manez. You remember me?”

“Yes, Director. Quite well, as a matter of fact. I have nothing but respect for you; I know you tried to do right by me. It is not your fault. I don’t blame you for my parents. I just wanted to let you know that. What I’m doing now is motivated by none of those things directly.

“—Well, if I had never come in contact with Kinemet in the first place, none of us would be in this position today.”

“So are you taking the ship hostage for some reason? I assume this is not just a joy ride.” The edge to his voice betrayed his conflicting emotions. It was as plain as the nose on his face that he was having a difficult time trying to come to grips with the fact that an adolescent had just stolen a multi-billion dollar space craft right out from under his watchful gaze.

“No,” Alex confirmed. “This is no joy ride, I assure you. It’s a matter of survival.”

“I see.” The Director put his hand over the microphone and started dispensing orders to the dozen people that had congregated around the DMR casement. Finally, he turned back to Alex.

“You seem to know a lot about computer security, space travel, and this mission in particular.”

“You’d be surprised what you can find on the Mesh.”

Cocking his head in a conciliatory gesture, Michael replied, “No, I wouldn’t be. But that still doesn’t explain how you obtained access to sensitive mission parameters. There are no hard copies, and the only electronic copy is stored on my portable.”

“Do you remember the big splash about my clairvoyant ability, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I never revealed the extent. It has waned somewhat, but—”

“Somewhat?”

“I don’t have my full capability, but the ability still exists. It is difficult, but from a room away, I can easily peer over someone’s psychic shoulder and see what they are reading on their portables.”

“Oh.” Michael seemed to be trying to place exactly when and where Alex might have been in close-enough proximity to perform the task he had just described, but the fact of the matter was that on Lunar Station, the opportunities were cornucopia.

“I apologize for putting you all in this position, but there are facts that I have that you don’t.”

“All right, then why don’t you fly that spacecraft back here and land it. I will ensure a team of specialists, including myself, gives you ample opportunity to present your facts to us.”

“It’s not as simple as that, sir. You see, I’m dying. My bones cannot stand any more gravitational pressure. The very Earth that has borne me has rejected me. It is the Kinemet, sir. None of your test pilots has ever been exposed to it when it is active in space. Only three people have that dubious distinction, and two of them, my parents, are dead as a result.

“The Kinemet offers wonderful things to whoever accepts its embrace. Clairvoyance, electrokinesis, eidetic imagery with no retroactive inhibition; all the skills necessary for FTL flight. You’ve tried to compensate with redundant computer profiles and even put an untested pilot onboard to physically return power to the ship once the flight has terminated.

“I assure you, Director, all these precautions will end in disaster. You do not yet comprehend the power of Kinemet. Compared with simple atomics, Kinemet is like trying to describe color to a blind man. My eyes have been opened by Kinemet, and I can’t tell you what I’ve seen.

“I can guide others to the light of this power, but there is a cost, which I am paying every day and with every codeine pill I swallow. I am exiled forever from Earth, and from every planet that has any significant gravity well.

“You should know this already, but in your ignorance, you’ve overlooked the facts.”

“I’m sorry, Alex. If you would just come in, perhaps we could try to—”

“You still don’t get it, do you!” he shouted at the Director. Taking a moment to compose himself, and get his emotions under control, Alex breathed deeply. “I don’t blame you, sir. You can’t understand. You have nothing to relate this to. That’s why I have to take matters into my own hands.”

“What do you plan on doing, Alex?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” the young man replied.

Michael shook his head. “No. I’m sorry, but it isn’t.”

“I plan on fulfilling your mission. I know everything about it, even the classified aspects. I know that there is more involved here than what you have released to the public—I know where you are sending this space ship.

“Of course, both of us realize that The Quanta is perfectly capable of withstanding the FTL flight, capable of harnessing the small amount of Kinemetic energy it will release, that your precautions to safeguard the small payload will bear fruit, and that this mission has a better-than-99% chance of succeeding.”

Alex lowered his voice as he continued.

“However, I also know that under your mission parameters, the ship will never return to Earth, and neither will the pilot.”

He paused for effect, his face growing serious. “Your pilot has a family, Mr. Sanderson. I know, he does not have a wife or children, but he has a mother and a father, grandparents, a sister in Tacoma with a husband and three kids of her own; two nephews and a niece that will never see him again.

“I have nothing to lose, no family, no ties; and everything to gain—my life, my future, my own personal survival. Secondly, if this mission fails, you know as well as I that the political situation on Earth will preempt any subsequent missions by at least a decade, or perhaps forestall them forever if war breaks out. Everyone is trying to claim the discovery for themselves, vying for position out among the stars when they have not even left the comfort of their armchairs. If there is going to be FTL space travel, the piloting can only be undertaken by those like me. Those directly exposed to the radiation of Kinemet without the protection of an ion-nullified protection receptacle.

“So you see, I am your best option.”

“You can’t be serious!” blurted the Director. “You can’t understand the ramifications, the—”

“I understand completely, Mr. Sanderson. You should know that as well as anyone.

“—As I have told you, Kinemet offers wonderful advantages. But the cost is much higher than you can understand. Given a choice, I would take my parents back. But I’m up against the wall. I don’t have the resources to live in null-gravity for the rest of my life; and this mission will be a disaster without me—unless you wished to postpone until you can expose one of your test pilots to the effects of unshielded Kinemetic radiation. And that would permanently damn him, exile him from all Earthbound living.”

Michael averted his eyes from Alex’s balding head, his pigmentless face, and the atrophy his muscles showed. “No, we cannot postpone the flight.”

“It seems to me that it is in your best interest to cooperate with me on this.”

“What if we do decide to abort?”

Alex shook his head. “As I have said, without this, I have nothing. It would be better for me to point this ship at the sun, see how much of a tan I can get.

“However, if you let me undertake this mission in place of Capt. Kincardine, I will cooperate with you one-hundred percent, and you will get everything out of this experiment that you had hoped for. You may think I don’t know what I am doing, but let me assure you that I have read and memorized—and ‘understand’—every byte of information that I could find.”

The Director just stared at him for a long time. Finally, he spoke.

“Alex, I think we need a few minutes here to confer.”

“Of course. The flight window will stay open for another fourteen hours. Take all the time you need.”

*

Alex turned off his casement, terminating communication.

He took a deep breath to calm himself.

They would be racing through his file trying to find some foothold on him, some way to rationalize all of this, find some way to convince him not to go through with his madness. Everything about Alex, his parents, his life, was in that file, he knew. But no matter how many different ways they tried to sort the information, they would have no choice but to accept that Alex’s offer was the only option they would have. His back was to the wall, and so was theirs.

Nevertheless, Director Sanderson would try to talk him out of it. Alex was ready for the argument.

He reached over and took a heavy three-ring binder labeled “TOP SECRET” off a hook on the edge of the console. The manual contained the specific instructions and procedures for the safe operation of The Quanta. It also contained mission directives for the pilot once his destination had been achieved.

Alex had not had access to this manual before, since it was never kept on computer file, and the only two copies had been kept on board the ship for security reasons. He decided to take advantage of the time and read it.

First, he checked the monitors to ensure the ship was still on course in stable orbit following the moon. Satisfied, he leaned back into the pilot’s chair, and opened the manual to the first page, memorizing the book word for word, as he read.

*

Halfway through the book he noticed a light flashing on his console indicating an incoming call from the launch control center. He flipped on his monitor to reveal Mike Sanderson once more.

“I assume you’ve considered my proposal,” Alex said, tossing the manual onto a shelf—it began floating away, and he hastily snatched it out of the air and hooked it on the wall again before the Director noticed.

Sanderson ran his fingers through his mussed hair before answering: “Yes. We’ve discussed this at length.”

“Then you see why you have no choice, why you can’t talk me down?”

“Yeah,” the Director sighed. “But I still can’t allow you to go on with this.”

“Why?” Alex demanded. “You know I’ll suicide!” he threatened.

“Yes, we are all aware of that”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I have superiors—there are the authorities—a dozen reasons: like you’re unqualified, underage, and possibly insane—oh, Alex, why don’t you just come down from there? Nobody here in their right mind will let you go through with this!”

“NO!” shouted Alex. “If you don’t have the authority to approve this, then get someone who does! Get the damned President and Prime Minister if you have to!” he demanded.

Michael looked at Alex with a sympathetic look that Alex did not want.

Grasping for straws, Alex added: “Don’t you realize that at the very least I am saving the pilot’s life by taking his place?”

“Alex, that pilot is fully aware of the risks he is taking and fully cognizant of all of the factors involved.”

“So am I!”

“No, you’re not!” the Director yelled in frustration. A hand on his shoulder stopped him from saying anything more. Somebody whispered in his ear and he turned back to Alex with a haggard sigh.

“Director William Tuttle is coming up to Ops; he wants talk to you as soon as he gets here.”

Michael leaned closer, as if everyone in the center could not already hear every word that had passed between the two. “Alex, I’m sure you won’t get in very much trouble if you just come down right now. You’ll save all of us so much hassle.”

“No. If it’s all the same to you, Mr. Sanderson, I think I will wait and talk with the Director.”

“Fine,” answered Michael, and in frustration he turned off the monitor.

Alex had time recheck the flight stats, as well as go back into the cargo bay to make sure he had enough food and water, and also had time to finish off the manual before he got a call from the Director of NASA.

While he was reading that manual, he looked over at the pull-ring in the wall many times—it was the final test in this mission, the final test that would bring Alex to the apex of his life—but first he would have to win past the Director of NASA.

He turned on the monitor when it blinked to notify him of an incoming link.

“Hello, Alex,” said an older man. He was sitting next to Michael with another headset on and smiling disarmingly at Alex.

Alex immediately grew wary. “Hello, Sir,” he answered, a bright smile on his face.

“Oh, you just call me Bill, son,” the Director offered in a sprawling Georgian accent. “Now, you’ve got an awful bunch a folks here up in arms ‘bout you, uh, appropriating that vehicle. Now, why don’t you just bring it back down here and give these nice folks a break?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Bill,” Alex replied in a condescending tone to match the Director’s. Tuttle kept his unwavering smile as Michael started whispering in his ear. The microphones couldn’t pick up what was said, but Alex knew just the same—they were talking about him.

When Sanderson finished his monologue, the Director focused his smiling attention back on Alex.

“Hmmn! It seems here that we have what my folks back home would call a dilemma! But I’m gonna make an administrative decision here and, considering your case and the situation at hand, I’m gonna instruct Mission Control here to go on with the operation as if you were the regular pilot. However,” he added in an aside to Michael, also meant for Alex’s ears, “since nobody but ourselves in this here room knows what’s just transpired, we’re gonna keep it hush-hush. No one is to know ‘bout our li’l switcheroo.”

“What?” Alex demanded, nearly jumping from his seat. His head fogged a little as he saw his name being wiped from all future textbooks. No one would know him, no one would know what he had done—and that was half the reason why he had undertaken this project of his in the first place! But now it would be all for naught!

“Oh, sorry, son,” the Director said quickly. “But we are just like a little mouse forced into a corner by a cat. We have to let you do this, else we stand to lose an awful bunch of the taxpayer’s money. But if the public ever got wind that we let a fourteen-year-old on such a mission, why we’d never hear the end of it.”

“But—” Alex began, eyes wide, brimming with tears.

The Director raised a hand to quell the protest. “However, we have to come up with some name to satisfy the history books—especially since our other pilot will be about and alive. I’m sure the Director here can quickly make up a pilot file under the name ‘Alex Manez’. And I’m sure that Michael’s people at the Government in Ottawa will be more than obliged to change your birth date officially to make it seem as if you were old enough to go on this here mission. I’m sure I can get NASA and the Pentagon to come ‘round. Now, will that satisfy you, son?”

Alex sank back into the pilot’s chair in relief. The main reason he was doing this was for his parents’ benefit. They had lost their lives for Kinemet. If Alex could make use of the new element, make it a success, then his parents’ deaths would have meaning to him. But that hadn’t been the only driving force behind his decision, that hadn’t been what had forced him across the final length of the Lunar tarmac and into The Quanta.

The past few years he had been nothing but a freaky little kid who limped like an old man—a spectacle, a sideshow attraction to be goggled at for a few minutes, then discarded. No one paid attention to him. He wanted the world to know his name as a person, to know it was he, a person, who had changed the course of history. If he was just passed over again with no one to remember him, he might as well have just pointed the ship at the sun!

But even if posterity remembered him as a slightly different, slightly older Alex Manez, then all was well. He would be known, and his parents’ deaths would have meaning.

“Yes, Sir,” Alex answered finally, “that’s all right by me.” Alex knew the Director did not give a damn about him, and only acted with the propensity of an administrator trying to meet an end. That suited Alex just fine.

The Director smiled even wider. “Alright, then.” He turned to Michael in an aside that Alex could hear. “I trust you can take matters from here?”

“Yes, sir,” came the muted reply. The Director removed the head set and, with a nod and smile to Alex, moved out of the way of the technicians and controllers to let them get on with the experiment.

*

Because of the nature of the new element, the Kinemetic reaction would disable all electronic systems on the ship. As with Macklin’s Rock, there had been no energy left to even power the security receptacles. This phenomenon had been studied at length, and, the techs thought, solved.

Alex stared at the pull-ring placed a few inches below the manual.

The techs had surmised that a kick-start could return power to all systems. Once he reached his destination, the pilot would have about ten seconds to grab that ring and pull it…

Or so they thought.

Alex knew better. The kick-start would not be enough to overcome the Kinemetic influence. The pilot would die out in space from lack of oxygen, or lack of heat, whichever got to him first. Although he would be exposed to the Kinemetic power, and become clairvoyant and electropathic as Alex was, the pilot would not have enough time to orient himself, and develop that ability. It had taken Alex a few days to be able to grasp the power and wield it effectively.

Only someone with the electropathic ability could restart the power generator. Someone like Alex. He would explain this to Mission Control later, when he had proved his theory.

He got a signal from ground control: they were beginning the secondary countdown.

*

10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…

*

Alex took a deep breath and closed his eyes as they reached the number 1…

…and then he was struggling for reality.

His vision doubled, faded, tripled, doubled, refocused; his hearing echoed, muted, expanded; his sense of touch was beyond description.

Time was nothing.

Four hours to Pluto?

It was merely four instants for Alex.

__________

USA, Inc. Exploration Site :

Mission Orcus 3 :

Pluto :

Justine stood on the edge of the solar system with bated breath. For the first time in four years, Dis Pater was reacting once again.

With the exception of Sakami Chin, who had been recalled to the People’s Republic of China after his capture and subsequent rescue from Luna, the entire crew of the Orcus 1 had returned for the Orcus 3 mission to witness the first planned FTL flight from Luna to Pluto.

Helen, George, Henriette, Ekwan, Dale and Johan were joined by Allan Yost, a South African whose credentials surpassed their previous planetologist’s qualifications.

The eight of them were dressed in their suitshields and standing in a protective outbuilding they had erected as close to Dis Pater as Justine would allow. Once again, as with the first time, Ekwan called out the changes.

“Surface temperature rising. The monument is changing color as well.”

It was as if they had gone back in time and were replaying the events of five years previous again, reciting lines in a play.

Nevertheless, it was just as exciting as the first time, and Justine could barely contain herself.

Ekwan’s voice rose with excitement. “It should be here in less than thirty seconds.”

Helen looked up. “Captain?”

Justine had wandered near the door of the outbuilding. She laid her hand on the latch release.

“I’m just going to get a look from out there,” she replied.

George Eastmain cocked his head. “You’ll actually get a better view of The Quanta from the monitors here.”

“It’s okay. I want to see if I can spot it myself. Besides, you don’t need me until it’s time to send in the reports.” She smiled.

Dismissing her from his attention, George focused his eyes on the monitors.

Justine cycled the lock and stepped out onto the icy surface of the dark planet.

It was just her and Dis Pater who would truly witness the culmination of the last decade of her life’s work, as far as she was concerned. Everything she had done, everything she had sacrificed was for this moment, and she was not about to watch it second-hand from a monitor.

In her earmask, she heard Ekwan’s voice over the static. “Ten seconds.”

Despite herself, Justine felt butterflies in her stomach. She was as nervous as the night of her high school prom.

She looked up into the night sky in the direction she estimated The Quanta would arrive. Of course, she wouldn’t be able to see the vessel itself; it would be too far away to spot with the naked eye. However, Justine hoped she would see some kind of trail, a distortion of light and space that would mark the ship’s progress.

Beside her, Dis Pater, the monument that represented almost exactly the atomic model of Kinemet, had turned its final color.

Justine scanned the skies.

“Three,” called out Ekwan.

Almost, Justine thought she saw a smear in the firmament of the heavens.

“Two.”

There was a faint streak of multicolored light that appeared in the distance, as if some giant invisible artist had painted a swath through the dark blanket of outer space.

“One!” Ekwan called out.

The heavens exploded.

Justine screamed and collapsed on the ice.

*

“Are you all right?”

Justine regained consciousness slowly. “What happened?” she asked. As she stood, she quickly steadied herself. A preternatural calmness settled over her.

Dale Power’s voice filled her earmask. “It didn’t stop. It kept on going. The Quanta is, by now, racing for the Oort cloud at faster than light speed.”

Helen, concern visible in the expression on her face, spoke next. “You screamed and fell down. When we got to you, you were out like a light. What happened to you?”

Justine reached for the clasp on her helmet and undid it. She slowly pulled it off her head.

“I was looking right at it when it passed,” she told them, her voice quiet and even.

Helen, who stood right in front of Justine, cocked her head. “Captain, what’s wrong with you. You seem to be looking past me?”

“Sorry, Helen. But you know how they tell you not to look directly at an eclipse?”

“Yeah.”

“I looked directly at The Quanta as it passed. I should have stayed and watched it from the monitor like Dale suggested.

“Helen,” she explained to her second-in-command, “I’m afraid I can’t look at you because I’m blind.”

__________

The Quanta :

Pluto :

Once he reached Pluto, Alex did not stop.

He knew, instinctively, that Pluto was not his destination; it was merely the jumping off point.

All he knew was that the artifact, Dis Pater, was there, a beacon the starry blankness of space, and then it was gone.

He was past it.

Past the limits of the Solar System.

Out there in that vastness between the stars.

From one point of view, the years ticked by.

From Alex’s point of view, it was merely another instant.

And then…

Then he could detect another beacon, a twin to Dis Pater.

Come to us, Alex.

Over here.

This is where you are heading.

We are waiting for you.

__________

The Quanta :

Alpha Centauri :

Four Years Later

Somehow, Alex knew that there was no such thing as time, but he also knew that he was over four years older chronologically—though his body had not changed. He was an eighteen-year-old in the body of a fourteen-year-old.

It was as if he had taken a detour through another dimension, a dimension without distance, depth or time. A second Dis Pater, this one on the outer planet of another solar system, registered his arrival.

(one second)

But now his ship had re-entered reality in another sector of outer space—Alpha Centauri, or Proxima Centauri as some called it…

… the problem was that he wasn’t following! He was bordering in that alternate reality and tangible reality. He was there, sitting in the cockpit

(two seconds)

trying to reach for that pull-ring with a hand that was not part of reality.

(Three seconds)

He was a ghost.

(Five Seconds)

No, he wasn’t a ghost. He was something—somewhere? somewhere?—else.

(Eight Seconds)

He kept trying to grab that pull-ring, but his hand only went through it. He started panicking—he was going to die!

(ELEVEN SECONDS)

He had forgotten! The pull-ring did nothing. It was he who had to…

(!!!TWELVE SECONDS!!!)

Alex screamed as…

(!!!!TWELVE POINT FOUR SEVEN THREE SECONDS!!!!)

…the ship…

__________

Quantum Resources, Inc. :

Canada Corp.:

Toronto :

August 2103

A little more than eight years had passed since Alex Manez had stolen the world’s first interstellar spacecraft. Michael Sanderson was celebrating his sixty-fourth birthday, and his upcoming retirement, at home when there came a knock on his door.

After receiving the message from the young army private, Michael hurriedly pulled on his jacket, retrieved his briefcase and followed the man into a waiting car without a word to his family or guests.

As he was being driven to the Center, Michael Sanderson opened his briefcase and read over the file on Alex Manez and The Quanta for perhaps the thousandth time in the last two years.

Everyone at the Center involved with the project had all but forgotten about Alex and The Quanta, and had dismissed the possibility of success.

The original mission plan was a light speed trip to Pluto. When The Quanta shot past the outermost planet, every astronomer and astrogator on Earth raced to plot its course. Alpha Centauri was the inevitable destination.

Assuming there was a twin to Dis Pater there, and also assuming The Quanta would stop once it reached Alpha Centauri, and also assuming Alex Manez was able to stop The Quanta from exploding, Michael had every available space telescope aimed at Sol’s closest neighbor, hoping against hope for any sign of Alex’s ultimate fate.

They should have had some result a several months earlier—even a signal that the ship had exploded in Alpha Centauri space—but after weeks and months of waiting with no signs, they had finally given up. It seemed that their news release of the failure of The Quanta and the death of Alex Manez had been correct after all. Or perhaps they would never know what had happened.

But now this.

What was this?

The unmanned outpost on Pluto detected an anomaly and would be relaying a full report to Earth.

Was it a bona-fide message from Alpha Centauri from Alex, or a pick-up of an explosion that had happened over four light-years away, nearly six years ago? All the young private had known, indeed, all that anyone knew was that the station had received some kind of signal from the nearest solar system to them.

Michael did not want to become optimistic, but his mind kept going over the details of the project, and Alex’s part in it.

Kinemet was the key to interstellar travel, but no one had expected it to happen for decades. There was too much research to be completed first.

The secret of Kinemet was that, when it was ignited, it randomly converted mass to energy and energy to mass, making anything it came in contact with into a quanta, a spectrum of light.

The science teams from the ten space agencies around the world had worked on containing that energy and harnessing it. The result was The Quanta project. The Kinemet would convert the ship into a light wave and send it out to be received by Dis Pater on Pluto. Once the alien artifact had snared The Quanta into an orbit, the Kinemet would reverse its electronic polarities and convert its energy back into its original mass. The only loss of energy would be in the Kinemet itself, thus theoretically leaving the space ship intact.

They had tried to perform this experiment with unmanned spacecraft but there was a difficulty—once the craft was reconverted to mass, any residual Kinemet left in the fuel tanks would re-ignite and destroy the vessel. They could not rig up an electronic trap to discharge the Kinemet before it reacted since electricity could not work while the reacting Kinemet was present—it was a Catch 22.

From the data they had received, they found there was an average twelve-second delay from the time of mass reconversion to the time the Kinemet re-reacted. Just enough time for an astronaut to discharge the Kinemet fuel bays manually.

But this was not what Michael Sanderson had been worried about. He was confident that Alex Manez, if the matter-energy conversion had not killed him—which was a possibility, but then they would have word, wouldn’t they?—would be able to flick that switch and keep The Quanta from exploding. What he was worried about was something he had read in Alex Manez’s file three years after the young man had began his journey. And that something might be an even more significant factor in the success or failure of this project—but Sanderson would only know for certain once he found out if the signal coming in was an explosion, or a message from Alex.

Sanderson sighed and looked out the window of the car. He watched the landscape whip by him for a time before flicking his eyes heavenward.

“Hurry driver!” he ordered the private. The driver nodded sympathetically and pushed his foot down on the accelerator, getting the Director to the Space Center in record time.

*

White knuckles was the contagion as Center officials, video-paper reporters, and Michael Sanderson all waited for the message to be relayed from Pluto and be decoded.

Sanderson didn’t even notice as a rather slight figure sidled up to him. “Sure is a whole whack of people here waiting for word from our young Mr. Manez!”

Sanderson turned his head to see Captain Justine Turner give him a big smile. She wore sunglasses, even though they were indoors, and in her slender hands she held a white cane.

He replied: “I didn’t know if you would make it.”

Justine let out a throaty laugh. “I need to be here. Nothing could have kept me away.”

Michael nodded his head, and then, because she wouldn’t be able to see the action, said, “I know how you feel.”

The two of them had kept in contact over the past eight years, as colleagues, and as the only remaining surrogate parents of Alex Manez. They both had a vested interest in today’s outcome.

After returning to Earth, Justine had had to hang up her pilot’s wings, but instead of retiring from NASA, she had taken up an instructor’s position.

“Once I got the message, I hopped a hypersonic with a student. I think we broke Mach 10.” She laughed. “We’ll have to call Guinness on that one.”

“What’s with the cane?” he asked. With the advent of the second-generation thoughtlink technology, Justine had a very limited ability to see. Sensors in her glasses measured space between her and objects around her, and translated the information directly into her brain as impulses. It was primitive, but Justine was able to navigate a crowded corridor without assistance.

“I don’t know. I got so used to it those first few years; it’s like a safety blanket now.”

Michael was about to reply, when a klaxon rang.

“Message incoming. We are decoding it now,” the female voice of the communications officer sounded over the intercom.

“I never thought—” Michael could barely form a sentence, the anticipation was so high.

All the voices hushed as the result of eighteen-billion dollars and almost fifteen years of work and waiting came to a head.

The communications officer’s voice was recalcitrant, and everyone’s eyes and ears were unwilling to believe the words she spoke.

“Confirmed: The Quanta exploded twelve and a half seconds after reestablishing mass and orbit around Alpha Centauri.”

Statistics began scrolling up the screen detailing, in numerical figures, what had happened.

A thousand voices rose in astonishment and dread, but one penetrated above the multitude: “Then why did it take so long for us to get word? We should have received this information months ago!” Michael called out in a demanding voice. A dozen people began pouring over the computer data trying to find the answer to that question.

His grief and sense of loss was not of The Quanta but of Alex, who had died nearly six years ago. The realization just came home to him. It was as if Alex had died the moment the words were spoken over that impersonal intercom.

“I’ll be in my office!” he informed them. Without waiting for a reply, he turned about and stormed away. He did not notice Justine following until he was already in his office with the door closed.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, losing all sense of civility.

The former astronaut shrugged and gave Michael a wide smile, as if she were completely unaffected by the tragedy.

“A lot of time has passed,” she began, inviting herself into a chair on the other side of the Director’s desk. “I had plenty to think about over the past few years. The world is different from when I stood out there on the end of the solar system, looking across the miles of space to watch Alex Manez and The Quanta pass me. I never had a child of my own, and I probably never will. Alex is the closest thing I will ever have to a son.” she said, then fell silent for a time.

Michael strode over to a water cooler and poured two cups. He gave her one which she took automatically and sipped.

She said, “At one point in my life all I cared about was being a pilot, or an astronaut, or the first person on Pluto, or a dozen other milestones that people would kill to list on their resume. But since that day when Alex became Earth’s first interstellar traveler, my entire perpective on life shifted. My world shifted polarities.”

“I’m sorry about what happened to you.”

“I’m not. I may be blind, but for the first time in my life, I can finally see. Achievements are not what are important. What is important are the people in our lives, and how we are remembered by those we love. Alex may be dead, but I will always remember him as that unique individual who stole a spaceship, and as the brave little boy who so completely changed my life.”

Sanderson opened his mouth to speak, to console, to say he finally understood, but the phone on his desk rang. Annoyed, he picked it up, leaving the general to his own thoughts.

After a few seconds, Sanderson burst out: “What?”

Finding himself standing, the Director fumbled back to his seat as he hung up. He stared at Justine for a few seconds before saying: “I think you should hear this also.”

With that he pressed a button on his office intercom.

A hauntingly familiar voice crackled through…

__________

Copan :

Honduras :

Central American Conglomeration :

My grandson stands by me, tall and proud. It is his eighteenth birthday, and he is trying to act like a man, stoic and wise and focused.

But his eyes betray him. I can see how he glances over to Artek’s granddaughter and tries to hide his blush. Romance blossoms. Thus the world works, thus my line will be continued. It is the same everywhere. And it is good, so I say nothing.

I am getting old. Too old, some say. I know sometimes my grandson thinks so, but I also know that sometimes, like now, he is rethinking his opinions, especially when the big white men in blue and gray suits fly from their important cities in America just to visit an old man like me.

I am too old to go to them, so they come to me; this, my grandson respects. He is finding his wisdom slowly, but it is there, and I am happy to see that he will make a fine leader of our people when I am gone.

The entire village has come out to the council courtyard to see the white men and their special visitor arrive in our humble community. I see a few faces as old and familiar as mine; most are new, some I do not even recognize. They must have traveled from other villages to see also. That is good. Perhaps Copan will one day return to its splendor of a millennium ago.

Perhaps that is just the wishful thinking of an old man.

My grandson hears the roar of the white men’s cars long before my old ears pick up the rattle of engines and pings of rocks from our gravel roads.

Turning my head, I see their rented vehicles. Ten of them, all filled with white men in suites.

All but one.

I disregard the white men. They think they are important, but in the greater skein of life, they are no more important than anyone else.

The only important one slowly exits the middle car.

He is short compared to the men from NASA, with jet black hair, and a deeply tanned, round face. He appears young, even younger than my grandson, though he bears himself like a council elder.

To honor the village, he is wearing the ceremonial dress of a Maya priest, which is right and good.

As he approaches, I reach out for my grandson to help me out of my chair and to the ground, where I kneel before the visitor.

The white men gathered round shuffle uncomfortably. They think I am just an old man who knows nothing.

It is they who do not know anything, and their confusion only increases when I pay my respects to the visitor.

I speak in both Mayan and Spanish, so that the villagers can also understand me. One of the white men translates for his fellows.

“He said: Greetings Colop U Uichkin, welcome to our humble village. Your mercy is our salvation.’

“—I think this Colop,” the man whispers, though loud enough for me to hear, “is their god of the sky.”

I laugh deep in my throat at their poor translation. Colop means Sky Traveler in our language.

Colop ignores them. Their purpose was only in bringing him back to us, and that has been served.

Smiling, Colop beckons me back to my chair.

“Please, Grandfather,” the Sky Traveler says respectfully as the white man translates, “rest your old bones. Do not kneel on my account.” It is so with the kindest of men.

Colop and my grandson helps me back to my seat. My knees crack and pop, but I manage to find the chair and fall into it.

“Everything will be all right now,” Colop tells me, “I am here, and your job is complete, Grandfather. Our People on this world are well prepared for the return of the People of the Stars. Your Cousins will have many stories to tell you when they arrive. They look forward to meeting you.”

It is then that my grandson speaks out of turn. Alas, I have not taught him as well as I should have. It is obvious that he now believes in my stories; but he is still young, and has doubts.

My grandson looks down on this visitor from the stars who looks like a boy, and says: “Colop. You must answer me a question. When our People were taken to the stars, why were us few left behind? Did our ancestors displease them?”

“No, cousin. The People who were left here were chosen because of their loyalty and intelligence. The ones who were taken needed to be shown the mysteries of the universe so that they could understand their role in the great skein.

“One day, they would have to return to the world, and their coming would require guides to bridge the gap between the fourth world—the white man’s world—and the People’s culture. That will be your role in the new, fifth, world of this earth, cousin. You will serve as an ambassador between the People of the Earth and the People of the Sky.”

“I am sorry for my impertinence, great Colop. Forgive me.” Thus my grandson makes me proud.

“And now,” I say, “we must feast and celebrate your coming, Colop.”

The Sky Traveler turns to the white men who brought him here, and dismisses them, telling them to return tomorrow when he will discuss the future.

The white men grumble and argue, and they glance at me with suspicion, the mean while reassessing my worth and value in their political minds. It will serve me to keep the peace between our cultures, but for now, it is time for them to go.

“NASA men,” I say to them. “A great change will come upon us in our future. There will be hundred-fold benefits for all the peoples of the world. You need time to think about how you would like that future to be shaped. Perhaps if you went back to your hotels and talked with each other, you could develop a plan and bring it to us, so that both our peoples can talk this over together.”

The white men are fond of talking, and making plans. Almost eagerly, they bustle into their cars and drive away.

Colop, the man in a boy’s body who the white men call Alex Manez, remains with us. He must tell out about his time with the People of the Sky, what he has learned from them, and what they expect from us.

“For a millennium, you and your ancestors have protected the ancient scrolls,” he says to me. “It is in those scrolls where we will find what we need in order for the People of the Stars to accept us into their cosmic tribe. You are the only one who can read those scrolls, grandfather. It is you who must lead us into the next age.”

My grandson looks at me with newfound respect.

I may be an old man, but now, with renewed purpose, I feel young once more.

THE BEGINNING

__________

About the Author :

In true nomadic spirit, Valmore Daniels has lived on the coasts of the Atlantic, Pacific, and Arctic Oceans, and dozens of points in between.

An insatiable thirst for new experiences has led him to work in several fields, including legal research, elderly care, oil & gas administration, web design, government service, human resources, and retail business management.

His enthusiasm for travel is only surpassed by his passion for telling tall tales.

Visit the author at ValmoreDaniels.com