

IN THROUGH THE OUT DOOR

Stories from the Beyond

By

Michael W. Garza

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including

photocopying, recording or by any information and retrieval

system, without the written permission of the author, except

where permitted by law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and

incidents are the product of the author's imagination or

are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events,

locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2020 by Michael W. Garza

All rights reserved.

Proofread by Karen Robinson of

INDIE Books Gone Wild.

The beginning of knowledge is the discovery of something

we do not understand.

\- Frank Herbert

Also by Michael Garza

The Decaying World Saga

The Hand That Feeds

The Last Infection

Tribes of Decay

Season of Decay

Cult of the Elder Mythos

The Elder Unearthed

(A collection of tales)

Vision of the Elder

NeverHaven

Children of the Mark

Rise of the Elder

Drums in the Abyss

The Shadow Gate Chronicles

The Last Shadow Gate

A Veil of Shadows
Table of Contents

In Through the Out Door

It's a Girl

Red Horizon

Return to Sender

The Harbinger

The Long Way Home

A World Apart

Varian Crossing

In Through the Out Door

Greg tossed his legs off the side of the bed and tried to focus. He was sweating, his thick, brown hair matted to his face. He'd had the dream again and was determined to write down what he could remember. He was sure there were some extraordinary things happening, but he couldn't shake the intense feeling of déjà vu.

He grabbed his glasses off the nightstand and fumbled for the lamp switch. Tin foil covered the lone window in the room, blocking out the afternoon light. Greg's hands shook, and it was difficult to breathe. He wiped his hand across his face and felt warm blood trickle from his nose.

The notepad was where he'd left it. A glass of water rocked slightly from the weight of his arm as he grabbed his pen. Greg scribbled away on the small piece of paper with fury.

The dreams started six months ago. The first simple symbols grew more intense over a short period of time and now they were connecting from one dream to the next. Once he could handle the images, his dreams shifted to complex algorithms far beyond anything he'd ever seen.

For most people math was a lifelong struggle. Greg was no exception; his checkbook made a worthy advisory. The dreams didn't contain simple everyday math; it was the complicated problems most people never intend to have anything to do with. This was the kind of math two and a half semesters of community college didn't prepare you for.

"Damn it."

There was a pattern forming with each dream. He wrote down everything he could remember as soon as he woke. The memories lasted for a few minutes and then everything went blank. Greg didn't bother looking over what he wrote. The room was quiet, and he didn't want to know how long it was before he had to get up for work. He tossed the pen down and finished off the water. Not bothering to turn off the lamp, Greg slid his legs back under the sheet and tried to go back to sleep.

♦

The alarm came early and Greg had to drag his short, overweight frame out of bed. He combed his hair, brushed his teeth, and squeezed his pot belly into the mandatory _Philmore Security_ standard-issue uniform. The matching dark blue pants and coat did little to hide his growing waistline. He tossed the notebook by his bed into his backpack and headed out.

The Cyclotron particle accelerator facility was in the northeast area on the campus of the University of California at Berkeley. Greg knew the campus traffic was light because of the upcoming winter break. He pulled off Centennial Drive and on to Cyclotron Road, flashed his badge at the gate, and pulled into the parking lot.

It was eight o'clock by the time he finished his rounds. Greg found his way to the employee lounge. There was only one other person in the lounge as he smiled, tossed his bag down, and pulled out the notebook.

"I had another one," Greg said.

Marcus smiled and motioned for Greg to let him see it. Marcus' afro was particularly big tonight. Marcus was a second-year grad student who was helping with an ongoing high-energy beam experiment at the Cyclotron facility. His afro was a self-proclaimed show of respect to his idol, Dr. J.

Marcus and Greg met a little over a year ago; the two formed an unlikely friendship. In truth, Greg was just about the only other person within the facility after six o'clock, which left Marcus' options for conversation limited. Greg opened the notepad to last night's page and laid it on the table. Marcus looked over the algorithms like he was trying to memorize them.

"What do you think it means?" Marcus asked.

Greg shrugged.

"Are you going to work on it tonight?" Marcus asked.

"Sure am."

Marcus grinned and stood up. He pulled his lab coat around his thin frame. "I have some of the new data from the linear accelerator to work on. I want to see something from you when I get back."

Greg nodded; he pulled the notepad back over to his side of the table as Marcus strolled out of the lounge.

Marcus felt responsible for Greg's sleeping problems. The dreams started after an unfortunate accident in the vacuum chamber in Vault Three. Greg couldn't remember much of it. He knew he was in the main vault area when it happened, in between Cave Five and the Isotope Production Lab. Marcus was supposed to start up the Cyclotron just enough to push the high-frequency, alternating voltage across the electrodes. Greg had a bruise on both of his temples for two weeks.

The first dream came the day after the accident. At the beginning they were too abstract for him to understand and write down. When Greg woke he couldn't find the words to describe any of it before the memory faded. Eventually, he found that as he concentrated on the dreams, gradually they would take shape.

The fire at the church on 16th Street was the first he figured out. The images in the dreams were only of a building and fire, but it was the algorithms that pulled it all together.

Greg wrote them down though they didn't mean anything to him at first. He went with Marcus over to the Berkeley library to find out what any of it meant. It was obvious to Marcus from the beginning that the complexities of algorithms were far beyond his capability. It was in the dreams that followed that showed Greg how to apply the algorithms.

Greg was able to take the long lines of numbers and attach alphabetical meanings.

16th, holy, fire.

That first message didn't make much sense until he read in the paper a day later that the Baptist church on 16th Street burned to the ground. That was the church he attended whenever he woke up early enough on Sundays.

Marcus was terrified that Greg was going to fall over dead one day and it would be all his fault.

"Maybe you're possessed?"

That was Marcus's first response when Greg told him about it. Greg still wasn't sure.

♦

The second message was more confusing than the first. After Greg managed to piece it all together he was left with three new words: _work, fall, cream_.

Both Greg and Marcus were convinced that the message pointed at the accident that took place two days later. A few kids made their way onto the facility compound, and Greg was chasing after them. They managed to spray paint along the south side of the main building before he found them.

Greg knew he didn't stand a chance at catching them, but he had to give chase. One of them, barely a teenager, got into the lobby of the main building trying to hide. Just as Greg found him, the kid slipped on a spilled jar of sanitizer hand cream and cracked his head open on the hard floor.

Greg didn't understand how he was supposed to have put those pieces together. He wasn't sure if he was missing something or not. A full month passed and neither the images nor the algorithms returned.

♦

Greg removed a larger notebook from his bag and laid it on the table by the notepad. As he'd done the last few times he'd had one of his dreams, Greg focused on the numbers he wrote down. With his hand gripped tight around his pen, Greg allowed himself to write. His mind got lost on the numbers from his dream and his hand wrote as though it had a mind of its own.

He didn't notice Marcus coming back into the lounge and taking the chair across from him. By the time Greg snapped back to his surroundings, two and a half hours had passed.

"That freaks me out," Marcus said. "It's like you're stoned or something, just staring at that paper."

They both looked over at the larger notebook.

U = e(w' + a2d)(9 + x' + ad)[x + y' + 6v(t - s)][y + bv(t - s)]U + h' + z'

Fish

"It looks like Riemann's, maybe Collatz," Greg said.

"Maybe," Marcus said. "Why don't you check it out in that book you asked for?"

Greg looked up, perplexed.

Marcus opened up his locker and tossed a thick textbook across the table. "Collatz, right?" Marcus asked.

"Functional Analysis and Numerical Mathematics by Lothar Collatz," Greg read. "How did you know I would need this?"

Marcus shook his head and laughed.

"I don't know what it is you do at home, but it's killing your brain cells," Marcus said. "You asked me to pick that book up from the library yesterday."

Greg couldn't remember asking for the book. It was becoming a peculiar pattern as of late. Several times over the past few months, Greg decided he needed something only to find he already had it or in this case asked Marcus to get it for him. Greg looked back over at his notebook.

"Fish," he said.

The one word was the result Greg was looking for. If the pattern held true, each time he studied what he'd written down from his dream, he would be able to produce a one-word answer. Each time Greg and Marcus tried to guess what a message meant. The process was long and had yet to result in any real answers.

Even with all three words, they still hadn't been able to predict what was going to happen. More important, neither of them could figure out how this gift was going to help them make money.

There were more pictures in his dreams now, but he didn't know where the word _fish_ fit. Greg dreamed of a falling building or wall. He saw someone getting crushed. He didn't see the person, but somehow Greg knew him. There was an impending feeling of doom that came with this dream, which Greg didn't care for one bit.

"Maybe we should go fishing?" Marcus suggested.

Greg shook his head and rolled his eyes.

The mall was a five-minute drive from the Cyclotron facility. It stayed open late during the holiday season and allowed Greg a warm meal. As he stood in line at Boardwalk Dogs, he did his best to forget about the dreams and the numbers; however, something always reminded him.

Greg found himself staring at the fish emblem over the seafood stand next door. He looked back down toward the glass safety barricade close beside the stand, and he could see down to the first floor of the mall.

_Fish_ , he thought.

Somehow he knew he couldn't escape the messages. More and more, Greg was beginning to think they were not random at all. The images in his head felt forced, like someone was trying to tell him something and for some reason they couldn't just come out and say it.

Greg finished up his shift around six in the morning and drove home. He ate his breakfast by the television and tucked himself in early. He felt the calling coming to him, and he knew the only way to appease it was to sleep.

♦

Over the next few days, the dreams returned. Greg completed the algorithms in order to reveal the completed three-word message. He had some help from a copy of _An Introduction to the Theory of the Riemann Zeta-Function_ , which he found on the edge of his coffee table. The receipt for the book was wedged in between pages 108 and 109. Though he was glad to find it, he couldn't remember buying it a week before as the receipt indicated.

Fish, Dragon, Cadent.

Greg and Marcus looked over the words under the poorly lit bulbs of the employee lounge.

"Cadent?" Marcus asked.

"It's Latin for _they fall_ ," Greg said.

"You speak Latin?"

"Nope."

Marcus didn't ask.

"So what does it mean?" Marcus asked instead.

Greg shook his head.

After a few hours of going back and forth over possibilities, Marcus and Greg decided to make their way over to the mall's food court. The crowds were large, something closer to what Greg would expect for the holiday season. He stood in line for his usual New York style big dog and large fry. Marcus was waiting in a longer line at the seafood shop; Friday was shrimp special day.

Greg stared back at the fish emblem above the seafood stand.

"Get me some extra packages of ketchup." Marcus was trying to get his attention.

"You don't need anything else on that breath. The shrimp will be enough," Greg replied with a grin.

"Damn man," Marcus said.

"Dragon breath," Greg said.

Greg froze in place. His brow furrowed and his head tilted slightly to one side like a dog just recognizing some obscure sound.

"Fish, dragon, they fall," Greg said in a whisper.

A loud _wrenching_ sound brought Greg back to the moment. The long overhang above the seafood stand suddenly gave way and fell down on two tables sitting underneath. People dove out of the way as one table flipped over and rolled to the left. The second table hit on its edge, the impact sending it high into the air.

Greg broke into a sprint as the couple in front of Marcus fell backwards. Marcus tripped over his feet and fell back toward the glass barricade as he tried to get out of the way. The table flipped over and over as it came back down. Greg dove, his walkie-talkie and flashlight falling to the floor.

The table came down with a terrible _crash_ , slamming into the glass. Greg looked over from the spot he'd landed on the floor and was sure the table would have taken Marcus over the edge with it. That was of course if Greg hadn't knocked him out of the way.

"Oh my God!" Marcus exclaimed.

"I figured it out," Greg said. "I figured it out before it happened."

He sat up and made sure he was still in one piece.

"Dragon breath," Greg said.

"Damn, I almost died. This isn't the time for jokes."

"No," Greg said. "Remember: fish, dragon, they fall."

Marcus looked back at him with a blank expression. A few moments later, his eyes widened like he'd seen a ghost.

"You're a superhero," Marcus exclaimed. He had several pieces of glass stuck in his afro.

"I don't know about that," Greg said.

Marcus thought about it for a moment. "At least a super security guard."

♦

Greg was excited. It was a week since he'd saved Marcus, and he couldn't wait for the next dream. He found himself going to bed earlier each day. He did anything he could think of to increase his chances of having another algorithm revealed.

As the weeks went by, Greg grew nervous. He feared that figuring out one of the messages ahead of time might have caused them to stop altogether. Even Marcus was worried. Since his near death experience, Greg's dreams took on a new meaning for him. Marcus wasn't in it for the money anymore. He was convinced Greg was destined to become some kind of superhero.

It was a full month before the dreams returned. When Greg awoke, he found he couldn't stop himself from shaking. His fingers trembled; he was unable to turn on the lamp by his bed or pick up the pen off the nightstand. All of the dreams had been detailed and vibrant, but none of them were like this.

When he calmed himself enough to turn on the light, he tried to push his thoughts aside and write. The numbers and symbols flowed from the tip of the pen like a symphony. Greg was amazed at how the algorithm flowed.

He was falling in the dream. There were points of light around him, stars he guessed. The speed increased as he fell; the stars rushed by, streaking against the black canvas of space.

There was no fear in his dream; he'd known he would be all right. Something amazing was going to happen and it was going to happen to him. He felt it would be wonderful and terrible at the same time.

Once finished, Greg stumbled to the bathroom and stood over the sink, looking at himself in the mirror. He could see the images of his dream silhouetted within the mirror. Greg turned on the cold water and cupped his hands, burying his face in the water. His nerves returned to normal, though he couldn't imagine how he was going to get back to sleep.

Excited and nervous, Greg arrived at the Cyclotron facility a full hour before his shift. He wanted to get started on the algorithm before Marcus came in. Greg stepped into the employee lounge, tossed his notebook, pen, and notepad on the table, and plopped down.

By the time Marcus arrived, Greg was lost somewhere deep between the numbers. Marcus didn't want to interrupt so instead he focused on his work. When Marcus was done, he waited across the room for Greg to finish.

"There it is," Greg said.

He looked up from his trance and turned the notebook around on the table.

"Il tempo," Marcus read.

"It's Spanish. It means time," Greg said.

"Time," Marcus repeated. He'd known that.

Greg nodded.

"Does that mean anything to you?" Marcus asked.

Greg thought about it. He thought back to the dream and all of its intensity. He was surprised he could still remember it at all. The sense of falling returned to him. The streaking stars were so real.

"Not completely."

♦

When Greg pulled into his apartment complex parking lot, he knew he was going to have another dream. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was trying to tell him something. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew it was important.

Greg tossed his keys on the kitchen counter and sat down in the oversized chair in front of the television. He kept going back over his dream. Greg found he could recall the images at will. He seemed to have the ability to stop the scene in his mind and look around at the stars.

He was beginning to believe the books, magazines, and random pictures that caught his eye or appeared where they hadn't been before were not random at all. Greg didn't have the answer, but he was sure he was close.

Greg was in bed by seven. He took an over-the-counter sleeping pill just to make sure he would pass out quick. The pill did its job.

Greg awoke drenched in sweat. His body shook with convulsion-like trembles. It was difficult for his mind to break from his dream state. Flashes of bright lights raced through his mind, and he struggled to sit up.

He tried to get to his feet but fell flat on the floor. The strength in his legs was stripped. His muscles ached as though he'd just finished a marathon. His mouth was dry and his throat burned.

It was another hour before he could move again. After getting to his feet, he scribbled the algorithm down on the notepad. With more of a fall than a roll, Greg managed to get back on his bed. In his dream, Greg found himself moving through space and time, the stars racing past him. The immense weight of the entire universe was on him, and he could feel himself being drawn inward.

There was a vision of an opening in the space. Greg knew it was an open way through which he had to go. Somehow the algorithms would help him find this opening. He didn't know how, but he was surer than ever before.

♦

As Greg stepped into his apartment on the following morning, he was nervous. He'd worked through the algorithm the night before.

"Door," Greg said the word over and over.

"Time and door," he said.

Greg had been short with Marcus and felt bad about it. For some reason, Marcus' questions felt intolerable. Greg told himself that he would have to apologize for his attitude when he got back to work.

Today there wasn't time for anything but sleep. Greg had little interest in eating and even less in the television. He slipped into the shower, cleaned off, and got into bed. He poured out a handful of sleeping pills and washed them down quickly.

Greg stared up at the ceiling with his hands resting behind his head. He knew tonight would be the night. The answers to the questions in his mind would be found. He still didn't understand everything happening to him, but he knew that was all about to change.

He could feel the drugs in his system at work. His eyes were heavy and he had difficulty focusing on one train of thought for any length of time. As he slipped away, he did so with a smile on his face.

♦

The dark bedroom filled with a blood-curdling scream. Greg's eyes opened wide with the look of death all about his face. The sound of his heart pounded in his ears as every fiber of his being was excited at once. His mind was unable to translate to words what he had witnessed.

Greg reached over and pulled the notepad and pen toward him. The glass on the nightstand fell to the floor and shattered. Greg felt as though his head were going to tear apart. He could sense each piece of the glass as it flung across the bedroom floor.

In a maddened state, Greg scribbled violently on the pad. The algorithm was long and difficult. It would take some of the greatest minds on Earth a lifetime to find its solutions; it took Greg seconds.

Greg wrote out the final word, though he knew it already. In a dry whisper, he said the words. All three algorithms passed through his mind at once.

"Time."

Greg saw the numbers race across the infinity of space.

"Door."

His eyes rolled back as his body convulsed.

"Travel."

The bed shifted underneath him. The lamp rolled onto the mattress and then fell down onto the floor. There was a ripple in the air above Greg's body like small waves in a pond.

Blackness swept over the room as the light from the clock bent outward. The light struggled against the black recesses; pulling at the fabric of time, reality began to fail. The contents of the room warped like pouring water into the growing blackness centered underneath Greg's body.

The bed pulled away, down into the dark. Greg shook and then the center of him tugged away from the rest. Like warm candle wax, his body drooped down, pulling first from his waist. Stretched at an impossible length, Greg's arms and legs struggled to remain in this reality until they could hold on no longer. With his figure pulled down into oblivion, the fabric of time returned and the bedroom—the bed, the nightstand, and the lamp—lay still. Greg was gone.

♦

Greg tossed his legs off the side of the bed and tried to focus. He was sweating, his thick, brown hair matted to his face. He'd had the dream again and was determined to write down what he could remember. He was sure there were some extraordinary things happening, but he couldn't shake the intense feeling of déjà vu.

THE END

It's a Girl

Travis stood on the moving sidewalk with a wide smile. Today was the day he'd been waiting for for ten years. He'd saved every nickel he could to make this happen, and it was hard to believe it was finally his time.

Taxes were the bane of Travis' existence. With an increase to sixty percent on all purchases, he thought he'd never save enough. So he'd given up a portion of his food rations for a nominal fee and tightened his belt. There were some difficult times, but it would soon be well worth it.

The door to the cryoclinic slid open, and Travis stepped through. The sidewalks were as crowded as ever, and he was glad to get away from the shoulder to shoulder routine. He'd read about times in the past when the Earth was large enough to hold the human population, but he couldn't imagine it.

He'd heard rumors that once there was an equal distribution of men and women. People were free to choose partners and even have children whenever they wanted. It was too impossible to believe, but like most other citizens, Travis wondered what such a place would be like.

"Do you have your authorization?"

The man behind the shielding seemed particularly aggravated. Travis knew that being an employee didn't guarantee someone the chance to take part in what the cryoclinic offered.

"I do," Travis replied.

Travis held his wrist over the scanner on the wall. The man behind the shielding watched his screen with an obvious hope that Travis had miscalculated his payments. The sudden sober expression told Travis all he needed to know.

"Very well," the man said after he checked the numbers three times. "You're in room four."

Travis smiled and headed toward the indicated door. It slid open and revealed a long room. There was a short, pudgy man waiting for him on the other side. The priest was something Travis requested, but the look of the ancient outfit was a little unsettling.

"You've already chosen, correct?" the priest asked.

"Oh yes," Travis replied with glee. "I picked out everything."

"Lucky you."

The priest ran through a series of checks on the data pad he held in one hand. The walls on either side of the hall shifted and revealed an endless row of clear tubes. Once the system matched Travis' choices, it pushed the contents of a tube out on the floor between him and the priest.

Travis could feel his nerves at odds. He was tapping his foot uncontrollably. "I just can't believe this is going to happen," he said.

The priest looked up from the bible he produced from a small container on the wall and smiled. He began a search for the passages he wanted but was having a hard time finding them. It wasn't every day that someone wanted to involve the old book in the ceremony.

_I should have told my mother_ , Travis thought.

He looked over at the figure produced by the tube and realized he hadn't given her a name. Her eyes were open, looking around at everything. From what the brochure said, Travis knew she wouldn't be able to speak for the first hour.

He tried to stand her up. She wobbled but seemed to get the hang of it. The acceleration process had a few bugs, but Travis couldn't complain about the results. She looked tall next to him, at least three inches taller he guessed.

"Mary," Travis said with a smile.

"Excuse me?" the priest asked, looking up from the bible.

"Mary," Travis repeated. "I've always liked the name Mary."

"It's very..." The priest looked for the right word. "Biblical."

Travis smiled, proud of his choice.

"Let us begin," the priest said.

As the priest began the ceremony, Travis thought about how his mother would react to the news. _It's her own fault,_ he thought. Travis never believed she should have gone out to live on the Mars colony.

"And you, Travis..." the priest continued.

_Maybe I should have at least told her,_ Travis thought. The truth was he'd always been a mother's boy.

I'll send out a video letter as soon as we're done.

"I now pronounce you man and wife," the priest finished.

Travis looked up with saucer-sized eyes.

"It's over?" he asked.

The priest was still smiling. "Go ahead," he urged Travis. "Kiss your bride."

He'd waited so long for this. Travis looked at Mary's beautiful face. He'd saved every penny for this. Now he could finally say he had a wife.

Travis pulled Mary close and kissed her lips. Her movements were stiff, but she was still getting the hang of being alive. Mary had an entire life to get used to.

Travis tipped the priest and took his bride out into the world. As they stood side by side on the moving sidewalk, Travis' chest stuck out with pride. He could see the eyes of the lonely men passing by as they admired his new wife.

"Going home?" Mary managed.

"Yes, sweetheart, we're going home."

Travis was so proud. Mary was beautiful, so much so he hoped she could get work modeling in video advertising. Most companies were desperate for real lookers to push their products to off-worlders.

Travis' dreams were coming true. He thought about the future and what Mary's extra income could provide. It was possible, he thought, having her as an added tax break, that maybe in a few years they could buy themselves a family addition.

THE END

Red Horizon

Mission Commander Carl Mathews stood on the forward control deck of the space shuttle _Kepler_. His brow furrowed as his stare hardened. A dark look covered his square jawed face, his pitch black hair a mess.

The ten-person crew of the Mars Lander mission launched from the International Space Station Bravo on schedule at 0600 Zulu, October 3rd 2087. The entire world was filled with an excitement the shuttle program had not seen since the first permanent structure was erected on the moon fifty years prior.

Mathews was nervous.

The flight to the Martian planet went according to plan. There hadn't been a single problem either with the ship or its crew. That was all about to change.

"This can't be right!"

Lieutenant Alexander was a fine pilot and engineer but had a tendency to speak before thinking things through.

"Hold on," Mathews said.

The view of Mars' soft-red, iron oxide rich soil filled the shuttle's forward windshield. The ship was settled in an orbit around the planet. A vast, dry lake bed was visible 252 kilometers below them, just south of the planet's equator.

Mathews held his finger against his lower lip as he looked over the incoming data stream. The forward control deck was quiet, save for the sound of the air circulation unit. Mathews' light blue flight suit hung loose against his body. The repercussion of life in zero gravity was taking its toll on him.

Mathews stood quiet and still, his boots, or "scratchy socks" as most of the crew called them, kept his feet attached to the floor. They made dealing with the lack of gravity much easier.

Alexander couldn't hold his question much longer. "Is it saying what I think it's saying?" he asked.

In stressful situations, Alexander's thick Wisconsin accent was more prevalent. This was one of those times.

"That would depend on what you think it's saying," Mathews said. "If you're saying there is a solid object with some sort of self-correcting navigation capability sitting 284 kilometers from the Marian surface, then yes, I believe that is what the data is saying."

"But that's crazy, right?" Alexander asked. "That's impossible. We've plotted the location of every moving object bigger than a Coke can. And I know for a fact there was nothing out there of note an hour ago."

Alexander worked his fingers across the main data pad at his console. The screen in front of Mathews split in two; half showed the new data on one side and the data from an hour prior on the other.

"See there, nothing," Alexander said.

Mathews sped up the data stream from an hour before. The mass hadn't drifted in slowly or suddenly appeared. It came in at a high rate of speed and then brought itself to a complete stop. Mathews knew the power and thrust it would take to accomplish that was far beyond any current capability.

"You'd better get Duncan and Dr. Yang up here," Mathews said.

Just before Alexander disappeared into the ship's main corridor, Mathews called after him. "You'd better get Dimitri as well."

By the time Alexander returned with Duncan and Yang, Mathews input the information from the onboard sensors into the digital viewer. This hologram projector created a fully 3D replica of all the sensor data. What the viewer produced was enough to freeze everyone in their tracks.

"I would say this changes things a bit," Mathews said.

He stood with his hands behind his back and admired the hologram of a large metallic ship. The ship had a rectangular body and formed a cone at one end. There was no apparent wing structure or windows. There appeared to be cargo bay doors underneath the ship and markings along the side.

"Where's Dimitri?" Mathews asked.

"He's coming," Alexander said.

Mathews shook his head. Dimitri did his best to let Mathews know he couldn't be told what to do. It was no secret that Dimitri believed he should have been chosen as the mission commander. It didn't help that the selection committee created a position within the crew just so Dimitri could come along.

"What an odd design," Yang said.

The oldest of the crew, Dr. Sun Yang was a renowned astrophysicist and one of the first selected members of the _Kepler_ 's crew. What he lacked in social skills, Yang made up for with intellect and an unprecedented wealth of knowledge.

"How so?" Duncan asked.

Side by side, it was hard to guess the two astronauts were close friends. Yang's short frame looked childlike beside Duncan's six foot four body. While Yang's flight suit hung on him like an oversized layer of skin, Duncan's barely contained him. Duncan let his dark skin and long dreads proudly represent his Sudan heritage.

"There doesn't appear to be any stabilizing structure. Look here," Yang said. He pointed at the rear of the ship as the hologram spun.

"What type of propulsion would allow such control?" Duncan asked. His east African accent was thick.

Yang pushed his thick rimmed glasses up higher on his nose. Mathews kept quiet. He liked to observe first reactions to situations. He admired people like Yang and Duncan whose minds could see something so profound but not be overwhelmed by it.

Mathews watched Yang and Duncan study the ship and bounce ideas off one another until he caught site of Dimitri as he entered the control deck.

"And what is so important?" Dimitri asked. "I am preparing for the landing and don't have time to..."

Dimitri's voice trailed off as he peered over Yang's shoulder. The Russian was speechless. Mathews nodded as Dimitri looked over at him and then back at the hologram of the ship.

"This is what you found?" Dimitri asked, his voice much lower.

"It found us may be more appropriate," Mathews replied.

Within fifteen minutes, the entire crew was on the forward control deck. Opinions about the ship varied. Every manner of theory from invading aliens to a secret mission from a country yet to admit its involvement was discussed.

Mathews watched everything play out. There was a good deal of brainstorming going on, which he didn't want to stifle.

"There is only one real question," Alaina Dubois said. She spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. "What are we going to do about it?" she asked.

The room fell silent. Everyone turned toward Mathews. He was studying Alaina.

She was a Bioengineer and the crew's primary payload specialist. She was responsible for the Mars habitat unit and a good deal of the experimental equipment the crew was going to transport down to the surface of Mars. She was a tough competitor when it came to debate, her good looks often an unfair advantage. Mathews had a difficult time hiding his fancy for the much younger French woman; a fact his wife had noticed on several occasions prior to the crew's departure from Earth.

"We have strict protocols. Our mission plan cannot be diverted from under any circumstances or we risk the timeline to fulfill that mission," Alaina said.

"You can't be seriously listening to this, Mathews," Dimitri said. "Unless someone else can come up with a realistic explanation as to why a ship would suddenly appear here," he made grand sweeping gesture with his hands as he spoke, "then this is the greatest discovery of our or any lifetime. To hell with Mars."

"Hold on," Mathews said. He held up his hands in defense. "This is far beyond the scope of my authority." He looked at the mission time calculator on his wrist. "I will relay everything we have to mission control. It will be up to them on what we do about this, if anything."

There were a few concerned faces from the crew.

"Alexander," Mathews said.

"Sir."

"In the meantime, you bounce as many communications off that ship as you can," Mathews ordered.

"Yes sir."

"And I know the rest of you have more to do than stand around here," Mathews said.

Mathews spun around and left the control deck. Once he reached his quarters, he closed the door and switched on the communication system. He tried to think how he was going to relay the information back to NASA mission control and the Mars project command center. There were good reasons for Mathews to consider speaking directly with the U.S. ground commander first and then letting them determine how much, if any, they'd pass on to their mission team mates. Mathews decided to do just that.

♦

Mathews didn't reappear from his quarters for another two hours. He'd had the opportunity to leave earlier, while command processed the new information, but he chose to wait it out. Mathews figured he'd be bombarded by the crew with questions he couldn't answer. The row of bodies outside his door told him he was correct.

"Well?" Dimitri and Richard Taylor asked at once.

Taylor was an engineering specialist. At times he followed Dimitri around like a lost puppy.

"Let's get everyone in the galley," Mathews said.

Dimitri and Richard smiled. Mathews didn't care much for Taylor but wasn't sure if that was based on merit or Taylor's close association with Dimitri. Both Dimitri and Taylor hurried off in the direction of the galley. Dr. Edward Winsler nodded and walked off toward the command deck. Winsler was the mission's medical officer. He was the quietest member of the crew and generally kept to himself.

"Mind if I walk with you?" Duncan asked. He was the last of those who waited for Mathews to reappear.

"Sure," Mathews said.

Neither of the two spoke as they walked. Duncan seemed willing to wait to hear the news along with everyone else.

The first arrivals in the galley filled in the chairs around the center table. The stragglers leaned up against the wall around the outside. Mathews didn't see any reason to hold back so he just came out with the news all at once.

"As of this moment we are to stand down on all planned operations with relation to the surface of Mars."

Mathews paused. He scanned the faces of his crew. Of all of the expressions, Alaina's was the darkest, Dimitri's the brightest. Mathews expected both.

Alaina spent the better part of her life at work on and design of the Mars habitat unit. It appeared from her first reaction that even the discovery of a ship that might come from somewhere other than Earth was not worthy enough to interrupt what she'd set out to do.

"So what's the plan then?" Alexander asked.

Mathews shook his head. "Not sure yet. I'm awaiting further instruction, but I think it's a safe bet that we need to start looking at all the options we can come up with for getting access to that ship," Mathews said. "I assume we've had no response to our communication attempts?" he asked.

Alexander and Captain John Miers nodded. Miers was the shuttle's technical support officer.

"There's nothing going on inside that thing," Miers confirmed. "Unless there's some kind of power source at work here that we just can't comprehend, it's pretty dead over there."

"All right, people, I know you may not agree with this," Mathews said. "But let's be ready with options when command gets around to telling us what they want us to do."

The group scattered and went to work.

Over the next couple of hours two significant things took place: first, the ghost ship, as the crew began to call it, was pulled into orbit around Mars, and second, Mathews received orders that all communication between the shuttle's crew and Earth was to cease immediately. He knew the communication order wouldn't go over well.

"Wait a minute, Mathews, your people have no right to this discovery," Dimitri said.

"He's right, commander. This is a multinational mission represented by several countries," Duncan said.

Alaina was about to give Mathews her two cents, but he cut her off.

"Look, I understand what this looks like, but let's just give them a chance," Mathews said.

From the looks he received, it didn't seem anyone was buying it.

"Well, it looks like they aren't going to give us the option to argue about it," Alexander said. He spoke up above the roar of the crew.

"How's that?" Mathews asked.

"Our entire long range communicating system just shut down. Except for the short range stuff, we've got nothing," Alexander said.

"That's not possible," Miers said. He sat down at the control seat next to Alexander. "Ground control doesn't have that capability," Miers said. "They can't override any part of our systems without some assistance from us."

"I'm just telling you what I see," Alexander said.

"Convenient," Dimitri said. Dimitri's voice was low, near a whisper.

Mathews ignored him.

"All right, let's get focused," Mathews said. "Alexander, you and Miers have the communication issue. Everyone else, give me your inputs and ideas on the ghost ship."

As they worked through the plausible ideas, one came to the forefront. They would need to get the shuttle close to and aligned with the ghost ship. Once aligned, they could use the shuttle's limb as an extended guide to maneuver people back and forth. The limb was already designed to transport personnel from the shuttle to the scout ship docked in the shuttle's bay.

It was another hour before Miers was able to run a complete scan of the shuttle's communication system. Miers rechecked everything he could but discovered there was nothing wrong with any of the shuttle's equipment. All equipment read normal and functional. It was as if the shuttle's equipment ceased to recognize anything outside a few meters in any direction.

Mathews turned Miers' and Alexander's attention toward the ghost ship. They focused on two possible entry points: one on the side of the ship facing away from the planet and a larger possible site underneath.

"My guess is the larger is some kind of cargo bay," Miers said. He pointed at the hologram as he spoke. "And the side here is probably our best bet."

Mathews sensed a growing concern from the crew. No one had outright challenged him yet, but Mathews knew it was only a matter of time. He knew he was never given any specific permission from command to attempt to reach the ghost ship. Mathews wanted to give everyone on the crew the opportunity to state their opinions. He felt it might fend off any brewing ideas of conspiracy. The truth was Mathews had no idea why the long range communication system shut down. He had a concern that the proximity of the ghost ship might have something to do with it.

Most of the crew voiced their concerns. Soon after, Mathews noticed one by one, the scientific curiosity of each of the crew members took over. Even Alaina, who was the most disgruntled by far, focused her attention on the makeup of the ghost ship. In a short time, she was able to locate a small panel just to the side of what they were now calling the ship's personnel door.

The shuttle's digital viewer was able to lock in on the small panel and get a detailed close-up view. The panel was made up of three rows of nine round buttons and a small patch of material beside the buttons that appeared different than the ship's external hull. The close-up view was detailed enough to see small symbols on each button. The symbols were boxy in design and closely resembled Egyptian hieroglyphics.

"Well, so much for a long lost, secret ship from Earth," Yang said.

"We don't know that for sure," Mathews said.

"So you would rather believe that some country decided to label the buttons of its most technologically advanced spaceship with symbols that none of us would know the meaning of?" Yang asked.

Mathews didn't answer.

"Let's be honest with ourselves here," Yang continued. "We are dealing with a ship from some other being, some other planet, maybe some other solar system."

The elder scientist stood still and quiet for a moment looking at Mathews. He pulled his glasses off and found the small handkerchief in his pocket. He cleaned off the lenses and held them up to the light for confirmation. The crew waited to see if he had any more to add.

"I'm not sure what else you want me to say, commander. I'm only pointing out the obvious. Whether any of you want to believe it or not is up to you," Yang said.

Alaina spoke up. "The limb is designed to transport crew members," she said. "We can move one at a time. It won't be a problem."

"Hang on, Alaina," Mathews said. "We don't have authorization for anything yet."

"Come on, Carl," Dimitri said. "What do you think they're going to say?" Dimitri's face showed clearly the frustration he was having with the conversation. "What do you think they're going to say? 'Hey, let's just leave the alien ship be, we'll check it out next time'?"

Again Mathews remained silent.

"I hear what you're saying," Mathews said. "And I will take it all into account. We'll wait to see if communications can be reestablished. Let's not forget, if we lose communication for good, we're in a far worse spot than you're considering. In the meantime, Alexander, I want you to launch Deb."

Deb was a communication satellite which could be used as a relay with Earth. Mathews wasn't sure it would help but decided it wouldn't hurt to try. Regardless, it would buy him some time. He was starting to believe the decision to either attempt to make a connection with the ghost ship or break away would be left to him. The foreshadowing thought of that decision was weighing heavy on him.

Mathews left the forward control deck to return to his quarters. He could feel Dimitri's disapproving glare as he stepped out onto the shuttle's main corridor. Mathews waited until the door to his quarters closed before he let down his guard. He sat on the edge of his bed, his face in his hands. The pale light of the communication screen filled the room.

♦

It was several hours before Mathews reappeared on the command deck. The crew was moving about. Yang and Miers deconstructed the hologram of the ghost ship into several sections. Duncan was the first to look up. His eyes followed Mathews.

"The scanners reveal less than a five percent power output on board the ghost ship," Duncan said.

"If there was life, I doubt it's still there," Alaina said.

"These are as detailed as we can get," Alexander said. He pulled up the full spectrum report data on the shuttle's forward main screen. "There is a trace of matter in this area." Alexander turned and pointed toward one of the rear sections of the ghost ship. "I've scanned it over and over for the last few hours, and there are no variations in the pattern. Whatever that is, it doesn't seem to move."

"This is assuming we're dealing with a carbon-based lifeform," Mathews said.

"Yes, of course," Miers said.

"Alaina, what's the status of the limb?" Mathews asked.

She'd watched him since he entered the command deck with an excited expression. "It's fully operational," she replied.

Mathews noted each crew member's face was filled with the same excitement as Alaina. He held a determined stare as he looked from one face to the next.

"We go."

There was a collective sigh of relief on the command deck.

"Is Deb out?" Mathews asked.

"Yes, sir. She's out a good distance, but I've got no reply," Alexander said.

"Keep a watch on it and notify me the moment command comes back up," Mathews said.

"Commander, you're going across?" Alexander asked.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked back up at Mathews.

"I am," Mathews answered. "And Alaina, Dr. Winsler, and Dimitri are coming with me."

No one spoke.

"It will be your decision to go, of course," Mathews added.

Dimitri smiled and nodded. Winsler followed suit. Alaina hesitated.

"It's your choice, Alaina. I thought your expertise might be needed."

Alaina nodded. Her facial expression didn't change.

"How are we on the personnel door?" Mathews asked.

"We ran a scan of the symbols, but there's really nothing to it," Alexander said.

"We could work through this and look for patterns, but I can't say how long that would take," Duncan said. "Or if anything would come from it at all."

Mathews thought about it for a moment. "I'll go across first, alone," Mathews said.

"Commander."

Both Miers and Dr. Courstin objected at the same time. Dr. Courstin was the ship's psychologist.

"I have the most spacewalk time. I'll use the limb and inspect the door," Mathews said. "There's a good chance that's all we'll be able to accomplish."

Mathews wasn't interested in Courstin's or anyone else's objections. This was his command and he was going to make the call.

"Alexander, keep your attention on Deb; Alaina, Winsler, and Dimitri, come with me."

Mathews suited up first. His suit was form fitting to give him the maximum amount of freedom to move. As Dimitri assisted him to pull his helmet down and lock it in place, the two men came face to face.

Dimitri smiled and shook his head. "This is crazy you know," he said.

"What about heroic or adventurous?" Mathews asked.

"Sure," Dimitri said. "But mostly crazy."

Alaina suited up with some help from Winsler. She accompanied Mathews out through the air lock into the shuttle's cargo bay. Dimitri and Winsler suited up next with help from Taylor and Duncan.

Once inside the cargo bay, Mathews and Alaina hooked themselves to the lifeline along the wall. A dim row of lights illuminated the scout ship centered in the bay's open floor. Mathews and Alaina edged their way toward the rear of the bay. Without the use of the connector boots, they relied on the small thruster system of their suits to keep them grounded.

Alaina was the first across. She locked her boots in place at the footpad in front of the limb's manual control center. Mathews brought himself down close behind her. The two touched back to front as Mathews grabbed hold of Alaina's sides. He pulled at her suit to get her to turn around.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want," Mathews said.

He could barely see her face. The dim light of the cargo bay reflected off her face shield.

"I want to do this, Carl," she said. "You stay focused and be careful."

The two looked at each other for a long time. They were interrupted by the sound of Taylor's voice.

"Everything looks good in here."

"Open 'em up," Mathews said.

A faint mechanical whine signified the opening sequence had begun. A long beam of light broke through the dim interior of the cargo bay as the main bay doors split apart. Alaina and Mathews looked up to watch as the beauty of space was revealed to them. The door spread slowly apart as the darkness of the cargo bay was filled by the reddish glow of the Martian planet. The multifaceted patterns of reds and browns blanketed the planet like fallen leaves.

Just beyond the shuttle bay door lay the ghost ship. The ship's odd design was more dramatic in person. Dark, sleek, and metallic, the ship almost disappeared, wrapped in the darkness of space. The ghost ship's basic shape was little more than a rectangular body coming to a cylinder on one end. It looked about half the size of the shuttle _Kepler_.

Alaina wasted little time turning back to the limb's control panel. A few moments later, the limb was fully extended. She'd managed to maneuver the end of the limb over the personnel door of the ghost ship.

Mathews connected his safety line to the limb's pulley system. He gave one last look to Alaina, winked, and gave her thumbs up.

Mathews relaxed as best he could. Slowly the limb's system came to life and pulled Mathews out through the shuttle's bay door. Mathews' stomach churned as his body was pulled out over the open space between the ships. The amazement of the moment was not lost on him. Above him lay the vast darkness of space, below the surface of Mars, and in front of him the ghost ship.

"Your video system is on line," Alexander said. His voice filled the inside of Mathews' helmet.

Each of the crew's spacesuits was equipped with health monitors, an oxygen support system and personal video. The feeds could be brought up by the forward command deck.

"Roger that," Mathews said.

Mathews took in one complete side of the ghost ship. He noted a stale darkness to the ship's exterior that he could not explain. There was a sense of depth and age to the metal that he thought was far beyond his understanding. As the limb pulled him closer, he felt a sudden and frightening urge to go back.

"Three meters," Mathews said.

He had a full view of the personnel door. Following the outline of the door with eyes, he guessed it was four meters by four meters.

"Two meters."

Mathews could see the small panel beside the personnel door.

"One meter."

The limb slowed to a crawl.

"Let me know," Alaina said.

"That's it," Mathews replied.

He was only a foot away from the side of the ship. The door panel was in front of him. He looked over the three rows of buttons and examined the symbols up close. He reached out and ran his hand over the buttons closest to the personnel door's edge. Mathews found that the small round impressions were not buttons at all. Though they didn't depress, each one lit up a bright blue color for a moment as he ran his finger over them.

"Are you getting this?" Mathews asked.

"We're seeing it," Alexander answered.

Mathews turned his attention to the small discolored plate beside the symbols. He studied it for a moment and then reached out and placed his hand on top of it. The bright blue light returned, this time from underneath the plate. The light intensified and then faded away. A moment later, the edge of the personnel door shifted.

"Uh oh," was all Mathews could manage.

The personnel door slid to one side. A soft blue light filled a small interior area just beyond the door. Mathews looked in but kept his distance. He noted an identical three rows of symbols and plate beside another door on the opposite side of the small open area.

"I think it's some kind of entrapment area," Mathews said. "Like an airlock."

There was a long silence that followed.

"Are you sure you want to go in there?" Alexander asked.

Mathews gave it a thought. There was a side of him that didn't want to wait for the communication system to come back on line. He didn't want command to tell him that the ghost ship was off limits. There was a part of him that considered this his discovery.

Without answering, Mathews released himself from the limb's safety line and floated into the entrapment area between the doors. As he hovered over the interior floor of the ship, the light intensified underneath his feet. Mathews panicked as the light grew so intense he could no longer see.

"Commander Mathews," Alexander said.

"Carl," Alaina called.

Mathews felt a sudden intensity of weight. He dropped to the floor with a solid impact. The light in the entrapment area dimmed. It took a moment for Mathews to realize what had happened. He discovered he was lying on the floor.

"Gravity," he muttered.

"What was that?" Alexander asked. "Are you all right?"

"Gravity," Mathews repeated. "I have gravity; I'm lying on the damn floor."

Mathews picked himself up. He found he could walk around with ease. He even risked a jump into the air. Mathews turned and looked back at the shuttle _Kepler_ through the open personnel door.

"Send 'em over," he said.

♦

It took more time than Mathews wanted, but Alaina, Dimitri, and Winsler got across on the limb. As each one reached the entrapment area, the light returned, intensified, and then applied gravity. What was more impressive was the fact that the gravity was applied to the person rather than the entrapment area.

When all four members of the team were across, Mathews placed his hand against the small scanner beside the interior door. The pale blue light returned. The exterior door closed shut and then the interior door slid opened.

"Alexander, can you still read me?" Mathews asked.

"We read you loud and clear. We still have full visual from all of you."

Mathews was the first to step through the interior door. The gravity field stayed constant, and he had little difficulty moving around. Mathews stepped into a nondescript walkway leading off to his left and right. He knew the cone-shaped area of the ship was left of their location. They'd assumed that was the control center of the ship.

There was a haunting quiet to the ship's interior. The silence consumed them. There were no flashing lights or fantastic alien technology, just cold dark surfaces. The walls, floor, and ceiling were metallic; the only light came from blue lines that radiated from the grooves where the walls met the floor and ceiling.

"You're not going to believe this, commander," Alexander said. "But the readings off your suits show the interior of the ship is full of oxygen."

"Repeat," Mathews said.

"Nitrogen and oxygen to be exact. It should be breathable," Alexander said.

"Incredible," Winsler said.

Before anyone could stop him, Winsler unlocked his helmet and slid it off.

"He's right. This is amazing," Winsler said. He took a deep breath.

"You damn fool," Mathews said.

Mathews grabbed hold of the doctor's suit and glared.

"You have no idea what type of contaminants may be in here, germs and bacteria our systems couldn't possibly understand," Mathews said.

He was yelling.

Winsler cowered.

Mathews held his glare on the doctor for a moment longer and then turned back toward the others. Winsler put his helmet back in place and secured the latches around his neck.

"No one does anything without my permission," Mathews said.

No one argued.

The small hallway to their left opened to a wide control room. There were no chairs, control panels, or distinguishable controls of any kind. The only noticeable features were a waist-high podium at the room's front and a cylinder as tall as the podium in the center of the room. There were no windows or view screens, nothing at all to reveal the space outside the ship.

They stepped through the room and moved toward the front. Dimitri stopped at the cylinder while the others continued through.

The cylinder was as round as a baseball bat and came to a flat surface on the top. He found detailed grooves carved into the top surface.

"Alexander, has anything changed with the heat sources of the ship?" Mathews asked.

"No sir," Alexander said.

"Dimitri, Winsler, go check out the rear of the ship," Mathews said.

Dimitri looked agitated while Winsler looked fearful of the idea of separating the group, but both did as they were told.

Alaina stood in front of the podium and found its smooth metallic surface plain and void of detail. The slant of the podium's top gave her the impression that someone would stand behind it and face toward the ship's interior. Mathews came up and stood beside her. He took a cue from the personnel door scanner and placed his hand palm down in the center of the podium's surface. The same blue light returned. A moment later, the entire control room filled with light. Springing from the top of the cylinder in the center of the room was a display of countless points of light about the size of a pen's head hovering in the air all around the room.

Alaina stepped out from behind the podium and into the display. She reached up and tapped on one of the points of light. The entire display zoomed in to a detailed system of shapes. There were five spheres of different size and color all circling around a larger ball of white light at the center.

"It's a map," Mathews said.

"A what?"

"A map," Mathews repeated. "Look, this is a star." He pointed at the larger ball of light. "These must be planets within its system."

Mathews stepped around the podium and over to near the large star. The planets moved in an elliptical orbit. Mathews tapped the star with his finger. The display reverted back, refilling the room with the points of light.

"This must be an extended view, like a snapshot of some part of the galaxy," Mathews said.

"And if we tap on one of these," Alaina tapped on another star close to her, "it gives you a close-up view."

The new scene revealed a much larger star in the center of the room about the size of Mathews' fist. There were only three planets circling the star; the closest moved at a blistering pace.

"What about those lines?" Miers asked. His voiced came across their headset.

Mathews tapped the star with his finger and brought the galaxy view back to the control room.

"See, there it goes," Miers said.

Mathews and Alaina saw it at the same time. Several lines streamed away from a star near the podium, heading off in different directions. One of the lines was red and stood out from the others. Alaina went to tap on the star the lines began from, but Mathews waved her off.

"Let's see where it goes," he said.

They followed the red line as it crossed the entire control room to a star hovering about eye level with Mathews.

"Look at the distance," Mathews said. "It must have taken the ship thousands of years to reach us."

"If not hundreds of thousands of years," Alaina said.

Mathews tapped on the star the red line ended at but was surprised by what was revealed. He expected to see a solar system quite familiar but instead found a system with a star even more massive than the last. This star gave off a harsh white somewhat lavender colored light. There were only two planets around the star, both close to its surface.

"Well, I'm not sure I—" Mathews said.

"Mathews," Dimitri's voice cut in. Mathews could hear the fear in his voice at once. "You need to see this."

"What is it?" Mathews asked.

"Mathews, you need to see this," Dimitri repeated.

Mathews turned back toward Alaina.

"Are you going to be all right here?" he asked.

She nodded. The look on her face told him she'd heard the fear in Dimitri's voice as well.

Mathews didn't run, but he didn't walk either. He hurried past the interior entry door and farther down the hall toward the rear of the ship. He passed two large cylinders against the wall but found nothing else of note. He reached two open doorways opposite one another on the hall. Dimitri stood in one of the open doorways and Winsler stood in the other. Before he could ask what the commotion was about, it became obvious to him.

As he looked past Dimitri and then Winsler, he found the contents of each room identical. The walls ran back toward the end of each room several meters wide and deep. Thin poles extended from the ceiling to the floor a meter in both directions, which created perfect rows in between. Hanging between each set of poles was three small, clear cubes, one on top of another.

Mathews stepped further into Dimitri's room. His mouth was open, but he hadn't found the words to speak. The pale light from the room illuminated the cubes and the clear liquid within. In the center of each cube was what Mathews could only describe as a fetus.

"What?" Mathews asked. It was all he could manage at first.

"That's what I said," Dimitri said.

"Alexander," Mathews said.

"We're getting it," Alexander said slowly.

Mathews stepped farther into the room. Dimitri and Winsler moved in behind him. The fetuses were pale and reddish in color, the skin nearly transparent. Large heads sat atop a thin body. Each had the bud stems of two legs and two arms. Two dark round eyes were set in the center of each head, each full fetus no bigger than the palm of a hand.

"Dr. Winsler," Mathews said.

"I don't know, two, maybe three months."

"Two or three months of what?" Dimitri asked.

"Mathews, you have to see this." Alaina's voice came over the helmet system.

"We're kind of in the middle of something here, Alaina," Mathews said.

"Trust me" was all she replied.

All three men walked back to the control room. Mathews wasn't sure he was ready for another "you have to see this," but he knew Alaina wasn't someone who got worked up over nothing. They found her near the center of the room, the galaxy light shining all around her.

"Wow," Dimitri said.

"Wait," Alaina said.

A moment later the lines spread out away from the star near the podium. Alaina walked alongside the red line.

"I think you're right. I think this line represents this ship's path. It looks like the people who built it sent out as many as they could," Alaina said. She motioned to all the other lines. "This is where it went." She tapped on the star the red line stopped at and the expanded view of the system enhanced. "But it's obviously not our solar system."

"Alaina, this is interesting and important for sure, but they came across something back here—" Mathews said.

"Wait," Alaina interrupted. "Just watch."

A few moments went by before one of the two planets circling the star disappeared. Alaina tapped on the star and brought back the galaxy display. She held her finger up to cut off Mathews before he could interrupt again.

"Watch," she said again.

The red line reappeared, this time moving away from the destination star back in the direction it came from.

"What if the intended planet was no longer there or no longer habitable? Whatever the reason, what would the ship be programmed to do?" Alaina asked. She waited for the red line to reach the original sphere that all of the lines began at. She reached over and tapped the light. The enhanced view filled the room. "Wouldn't it go back home?" she asked

All three men held still. Their eyes were filled with confused wonder. Mathews had to remind himself to breath. Hovering in the center of the control room was a bright yellow star. Eight planets revolved around it at a varied distance. The rings of Saturn were quite beautiful to see. The only unrecognizable aspect was a comparison of the third and fourth planet out from the star. While Earth was an obvious light blue and green, so too was Mars.

"The ship wasn't arriving here," Alaina said. "It's returned." She let them take that in. "But wait," she said. "It gets better."

They continued to watch as another blue line pulled away from Mars, this one ending at Earth.

"Are you guys feeling that?" Alexander's voice cut in before any of them could speak.

"You're!...pulling!...get off!"

Alexander's voice kept cutting in and out, but it was obvious he was shouting. A moment later the communication fell silent.

"Alexander, Duncan, can you read me?" Mathews asked.

Dimitri had already turned to run for the personnel door when a bright light pierced the control room. They turned to find the front coned wall of the ship was sliding down. Behind it was a clear shield. What brought them all to a halt was not the shield but the view beyond.

The ghost ship was moving. Mars was wide open in front of them. Though they couldn't feel the force of movement or the downward angle, they were moving at a great speed. All four of them stopped near the podium facing the front shield. The interior lights disappeared, leaving them cloaked in the darkness of the ship and the intense light of the planet below.

Alaina unlatched her helmet and pulled it off. She took a deep breath of the air and tossed the helmet on the ground.

The light on the forward shield intensified as they penetrated the Martian atmosphere. A blinding red, yellow, and then white light filled the control room's interior. Mathews watched as long as he could before he was forced to look away. Alaina slid her hand in Mathews' hand. He grabbed a firm hold of it.

By the time they were able to look back, the Martian landscape was all around them. The ship swooped in with precise movements. The nose of the ship lifted as it slowed down. A landscape of barren hills and rust-colored mountains engulfed them. It was Dimitri who first caught sight of the rift in the ground far out in front of them.

No one spoke at first.

A long, perfect, straight line split the rusty sand in a shallow crater. The ship slowed to a crawl as the line in the sand widened. Blackness beneath the crater grew as the ground parted.

"My God," Alaina said, her voice just above a whisper. "We're going to land."

As the ship lowered closer to the parting doors in the sand, Alaina closed her eyes and began to pray. Dimitri and Mathews looked at her. Both men had the same expression on their face though for very different reasons.

"You realize," Dimitri said with a slight grin as he watched Alaina mouth the words to her prayer. "This could mean prayer is no longer necessary."

THE END

Return to Sender

William Bradford stared at his computer screen with a blank expression. He was hidden from view in cubical 536. There was an endless sea of identical cubes surrounding him. The steady hum of monitors, printers, and copiers filtered in over the shaky office walls.

The fourth floor of building A6 on the Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center was a world away from the new programs drawing all of the attention and budget of the agency. Bradford adjusted his thick-rimmed glasses and thought back to better times. It was the late sixties, and he was a recent graduate who longed to be a part of President Kennedy's dream.

Bradford became one of the founding members of the Voyager spacecraft team. He was in mission control when Voyager One launched off pad B on a cool Wednesday morning. The team accomplished so much over the years. However, new programs came along and Bradford and his crew were left behind.

His attention came back to the developmental sub system diagram on his desk. Bradford wondered what he was still doing here. It was a question he'd asked himself more and more lately. A man of his age could be fishing somewhere right now. He looked at his watch. _Hell, a man of my age could still be asleep right now_ , he thought.

Every morning he woke at four thirty. The pains in his joints were far worse than they'd ever been. But what hurt him the most was after all these years, he'd been left behind. Bradford and all of his accomplishments were tossed aside, and he felt more irrelevant every day.

There was a knock at Bradford's cheap plastic cubical door. "Hey, Bradford."

"Come on in," Bradford said.

He didn't have to look up to know who'd come to visit him. These days there were a small number of people who sought him out.

"You should see this."

The young Parker Wilson sat down in the corner of the cube. He had a youthful face that no one could believe was older than seventeen. In fact, Parker was a brilliant aerospace engineer. He'd started at NASA two years ago with a bright future ahead of him. But his love for less than high priority programs had caused him to fall out of favor.

"This is a type three bogey. I logged it in this morning," Parker said. He held up a printout for Bradford. "It's logged as GRD 47283."

The bogey, a word which Bradford thought was unnecessary, was a comet nudged towards Earth. Parker was a part of the Near Earth Object program team or NEO. The NEO program monitored the solar system for bodies that might impact Earth. It was a tedious task that was mostly ignored by NASA.

"Let's see that," Bradford said. He took the printout and scanned over it.

Most of the older crowd wasn't interested in the NEO program. To be honest, neither was Bradford. He had a soft spot for young Parker. Parker looked up to Bradford and came to him for advice as often as he could. Parker was also the only person who was interested in Bradford's stories about the good old days.

"The trajectory puts it at an 8.4 Lunar Distance away from Earth," Bradford said.

"I already know what you're going to say," Parker said. He held his hands up in defense. "But that's close enough to me. This is a good find."

The two went back and forth over the significance of Parker's discovery for another half an hour. They settled when Parker offered to go get Bradford some coffee, something he did most visits. Bradford wore a smile the rest of the day. He forgot about his frustrations and focused on his work.

It wasn't until Bradford got home that his dreariness returned. The house was dark and quiet. It was a long way from the warm, inviting place it'd been when his Sara was still alive. Bradford found himself in a familiar position. Sitting in his comfortable chair, looking out the front bay window, Bradford sipped on a glass of bourbon until he nodded off.

By the following morning, Bradford's questions about his future returned. He found the confines of his cube felt even more constricting.

"Bradford!"

Bradford was surprised to hear his name yelled out loud.

"Bradford!"

The second time he recognized Parker's voice.

"Bradford!" Parker yelled again.

He was getting closer.

Bradford stood and looked over the top of his cubical walls. Parker's old style crew cut hair bounced up and down as he ran through the maze of offices between the elevator and the rear wall. Bradford stepped out into the walkway. A moment later Parker appeared; he was still running.

"Where's the fire?" Bradford asked.

Parker came to a stop in front of him but found he didn't have the air to speak. The young man leaned over with his hands on his knees.

"You have to—" Parker said. He had to stop for another gasp of air. "You have to come with me. You won't freaking believe this."

Bradford started to chuckle but stopped as he caught a glimpse of Parker's eyes. There was a seriousness to his stare Bradford had never seen before.

"This is unbelievable. You can't imagine—"

"That will be enough." A deep voice cut Parker off.

Bradford looked past Parker at Director Markinson. His dark blue suit was a vision of perfection. Director Markinson stood calmly with his hands clasped in front. His deep red tie held a powerful impression. Bradford didn't care much for the director, but the two military policemen standing behind him had Bradford's full attention.

The director looked from Parker to Bradford. "I will take it from here."

♦

Bradford followed the director to the elevator and then out the rear door of the building. Parker walked behind with the military police flanking their sides. Bradford noted both soldiers were armed. He decided to keep his questions to himself for the time being.

There was a van outside waiting for them. When Bradford peered through the open side door, he found several familiar faces inside. No one was speaking but they all had the same confused and concerned looks about their faces. The military men got in a car behind the van.

The van took off at a high rate of speed and crossed the space center in no time. It was obvious to Bradford and Parker, who was sitting in the passenger seat that the center's traffic had been shut down. This was something else Bradford hadn't seen in a long time.

The van came to a stop just outside a tall building, covered in dark glass, on the southernmost edge of the campus. Bradford had never stepped foot in the building but knew it at once.

"Gamma control," Bradford whispered to himself, but he attracted the attention of everyone around him. He'd always thought it was a silly name for a building. It was a poorly kept secret that a large part of NASA's classified programs were housed within the dark building.

The procession of people was walked into the building like school kids going to lunch. The director led the way. By this point there were several of his expensive suit-wearing cronies walking with him. They all pushed to whisper things in his ear.

Bradford just shook his head. He'd never been any good at the politics of NASA. His current position was a prime indicator of that. Parker appeared at Bradford's side. The young man wore a wide grin.

"And you said nothing would ever come of NEO," Parker whispered.

Bradford smiled back but wasn't sure what he was talking about. They passed through a turnstile entrance point, followed by a metal detector. Half a dozen more military personnel looked on. Bradford's group was led into a large auditorium. Most of its two hundred seats were already full.

There was a buzz in the auditorium the likes Bradford had not felt in a number of years. Parker separated him from the other new arrivals and led him down to the third row, near the floor. A quick scan back and forth revealed several high-ranking military representatives mixed in among the typical government types.

Parker sat on the last seat near the stairs. He was still smiling.

"Okay, you scared me," Bradford said. "What's this all about?"

"GRX 29752," Parker said.

Before Bradford could re-ask his question, the lights in the auditorium dimmed. The massive wall size screen lit up bright red. In the center of the screen in big, bold, white letters were two words: TOP SECRET.

Director Markinson stepped out from a doorway on the opposite side of the auditorium and walked out to the center of the floor space.

"I will start by reminding everyone here of your responsibility to protect classified information," Markinson said.

Bradford couldn't remember the last time he'd had to use his security clearance to access information.

"There will be a brief presentation. I would ask you to hold your questions until the end," Markinson said. He raised an index finger to his chin and stood quietly for a moment. "We are not expecting an answer to simply pop out. But we hope from the minds we have in this room, we can move down a path to realistic possibilities."

As Director Markinson took his seat, Bradford could not have been more confused. This confusion intensified when Parker stood, smiled over at him, and then walked down and out to the center of the floor.

♦

"This represents the extent of our solar system which we know to be true," Parker said.

The large red square on the wall behind him was replaced with an odd view of the solar system. The planets in the picture moved in their correct orbit, but the overall view was truncated. The entire solar system was contained within something that looked like the shape of a walnut shell. The dark space within the nutshell view was a stark contrast to the remaining white of the surrounding screen.

"We know all of this space to be true because we've been there," Parker said. "In a sense." He used a small laser pointer to motion towards the area within the nutshell. "Pioneer Ten and Eleven, Voyager One and Two. The distance between the Earth and the edges of the space within the model here is traveled space."

Bradford sat with his arms crossed, his brow furrowed. Most of the members in the audience held a similar wavering expression.

"The shape of the space represents what we believe to be the heliosphere," Parker said. "I realize this is rudimentary to some of you but with the mixed audience—"

Director Markinson gave Parker a gesture to move along.

"Anyway," Parker said. "Most of the remaining members of the Voyager team are here. Voyager One was believed to have reached the heliopause some three years ago, effectively becoming the first manmade object to leave our solar system."

Parker used his laser pointer to pick out a specific point on the screen. The model changed and had a small circle out on the edge of the nutshell view of the solar system.

"This point," Parker said, "represents a heliographic altitude of 34.7, heliographic rotating longitude of 315.0, and a heliographic inertial longitude of 174.6." The slide switched back to the original view. "Voyager One reached this point, some 133.15 astronomical units from the sun, just over four years ago. As we are all aware, we lost contact with the spacecraft abruptly thereafter."

The screen went red again, the words Top Secret looking down on everyone.

"Here at the NEO program we track things. That's no secret to anyone," Parker said.

Bradford could see the room was beginning to tire of the drawn out explanation of things.

"What brings us all here today is GRX 29752," Parker said. The nutshell model of the solar system returned. This time there were an uncountable number of white pinpoints all throughout the model. "We track these objects in the hope of catching anything that may come close to Earth's orbit. GRX 29752 is one such object."

One of the pinpoints turned red on the model and then all of the other points disappeared.

"As you can see, it's on the opposite side of the solar system from Voyager One," Parker said.

Bradford shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"I tagged GRX 29752 three months ago and paid little attention to it until last night," Parker paused. "That's when GRX 29752 began to transmit a signal."

Parker fell silent. Bradford could see the young man was trying not to smile. He'd obviously played a large role in this and was more than excited to share it with the community. The community on the other hand looked as if it had had quite enough of this nonsense.

"Are you trying to tell me that this comet or asteroid sent an actual signal toward Earth?"

Bradford recognized the owner of the voice without bothering to look over at him. Dr. Edward Brown was particularly pompous and had few social skills. Bradford hadn't run into Dr. Brown in several years. Just the sound of his voice reminded Bradford why he didn't want to.

"Son, I've seen this movie before. Is this really why we're here?" Dr. Brown asked.

Dr. Brown was talking over Parker as he tried to continue his explanation. A loud grumbling rose from the crowd. The noise remained too loud for Parker to talk over until Director Markinson stood up. The director looked back over the crowd and then sat back down. Silence followed.

"The answer to your question," Parker said, "is yes and no." Parker's forehead glistened in the low light. "Yes, I am saying we received a signal from GRX 29752, but I did not say it was a comet or asteroid." Parker wiped his brow with his hand. "We have reason to believe GRX 29752 is actually Voyager One."

♦

The eruption of noise that followed Parker's announcement was surprising. Bradford had to stand and move out towards the steps on the side of the auditorium to keep from being bumped by the people in the row behind him. He saw most of the military and government types in the crowd remained seated. It was the NASA people who were up in arms. Bradford figured the non-NASA people didn't understand the gravity of what Parker had just said.

It took a while for the room to get back in some resemblance of order. Bradford heard the term _science fiction nonsense_ more than once. Parker removed himself from the main floor. No one noticed him work his way up to where Bradford was standing.

A much taller man replaced Parker on the floor. He introduced himself as Dr. Philips, head of the NEO program. Bradford didn't recognize the name or the face, but Dr. Philips had enough clout to quiet the crowd without assistance from Director Markinson.

"Wow," Bradford whispered to Parker when the crowd quieted. Both he and Parker remained standing on the side steps. "You kept this from me?"

Parker grinned. "I didn't know until last night," Parker said. "I was here late when they picked up the signal."

The excitement in his eyes looked uncontrollable.

♦

The meeting carried on late into the evening. Bradford, like everyone else, was drawn into the phenomenon. He could feel an almost forgotten love for the exploration of the unknown.

After the initial presentation, the crowd shifted and gathered in familiar groups. The members of the Voyager One and Two teams found one another. Bradford was pulled in among them. Parker returned to the floor, mixing in with the NEO program personnel. Bradford saw people he hadn't seen in over a decade.

It was obvious that Dr. Philips and his people had no real explanation for the Voyager communication. Some of his team ran through the trajectory of GRX 29752, which they were still calling it. The amazement and disbelief in the room heightened when it was explained that GRX 29752 was on an exact opposite trajectory as Voyager's last known direction of travel, though from the other side of the solar system.

Bradford figured he must have said "impossible" a hundred times throughout the day.

GRX 29752 was currently 1.2 astronomical units from the sun. That put it inside the orbit of Mars. At its current speed, it appeared as if it was on course to intersect with Earth in just over five months. Though its size offered little chance of damage to the planet, everyone agreed the spacecraft must be recovered at any cost. Though no one was willing to say it aloud, it was understood that the impossibility of Voyager One's return opened up a Pandora's Box of contradictions to believed scientific theory.

♦

In the months that followed the initial meeting, Bradford's life was turned upside down. The next day he was moved from building A6 down into one of the basement levels of Gamma control. He was only sleeping about three hours a day. He had a pager, cell phone, and two-way walkie-talkie clipped to his waist like a utility belt, and Bradford couldn't remember being happier.

Operation Retriever, as the government named it, was classified at the highest levels. Bradford was surprised at first that they believed they could keep the return of Voyager One hidden from the general population. He discovered that there were several other nations involved. The forms Bradford had to sign to continue his involvement with Operation Receiver explained:

You will not discuss, relay, or infer to the possibility of life, intelligent or not, outside the confines of Earth.

Bradford thought it was an especially nice touch.

The first few months were spent trying to come up with a plan for retrieving the Voyager spacecraft. Everything from a limb capture to the use of microsatellites was brought into consideration. The most realistic idea stemmed from attaching microsatellites to Voyager and then using thrusters to push it into an orbit around Earth. Bradford found that the concept had already been in operation on another classified program. In a short time, the government folks managed to get some cooperation between the two programs and allow Voyager to be a real time test target. The details were far beyond Bradford's need to know, and he found himself absorbed in other directions.

Bradford was given his own crew to analyze the incoming data streaming from Voyager. Being one of the software designers for the original mission, he was given access to the mission control room. The data his team gathered continued to amaze.

In the latter part of 2007, Voyager One's on board systems began to shut down. This process continued in order to extend the spacecraft's life and more important scientific equipment. Bradford's team found that not only was all of the system's equipment operational but even the solar wind detector, which stopped functioning in 1990, was up and running.

With two weeks, one day, and four hours to go the entire space center campus was buzzing with anticipation. To those in the know, there was a constant state of nervousness. And for those not in the know, there was a constant need to find out what was going on. Gamma control was completely locked down. Over the past months, it had become the headquarters for the entire Operation Retriever mission.

Bradford sat in a small office down the hall from the mission control room. The gold-plated name marker on the door read "Parker Wilson." The young man's stature had grown tremendously over the past four months. He was responsible for a larger portion of the program and answered directly to Director Markinson and the Department of Defense's representative General Howard Greeves.

Bradford was proud of him. He couldn't help but smile at Parker's accomplishments.

"So this is the latest work up," Parker said. He swung the monitor on his desk around so Bradford could see it. "I have input the data from every available source I could find."

The model was familiar to Bradford. In what was now referred to as _Parker's nutshell_ the simulation of known space within our solar system was highly detailed. It still held the basic shape of a walnut, but the outline differed greatly from the original one Parker showed the crowded auditorium.

"I don't know why no one is willing to talk about it," Parker said.

Bradford knew where the conversation was going.

"What if this is all there is?" Parker asked. "What if whoever or whatever designed the solar system never expected us to make it out?"

Bradford frowned. Parker had begun to bring up his questions and theories as often as he could capture someone's attention. While no one could come up with a logical reason as to why Voyager had returned, they weren't willing to go beyond science just quite yet.

"I'm not saying it's not a possibility," Bradford said. "I just think we have a lot of ideas to work through before we make that leap. Let's at least retrieve Voyager and see what clues it may hold."

Parker shook his head.

"Mark my words, Bradford," Parker said. "Voyager Two is going to pop back up in less than a year." He pointed at Bradford. "Then they will have to take what I'm saying seriously."

♦

The final plan was set. After a successful capture and release by the microsatellites, the timing of Voyager One's orbit was calculated and analyzed down to the second. The spacecraft had been in orbit around the Earth for six days. There was a hushed nervousness throughout the program's personnel.

Bradford stood in the back of mission control. The room was filled with people all moving from one station to the next, all trying to check and recheck everything they could think of. Bradford had spent the past few days trying to keep himself busy.

Unlike a majority of the people in the control room, Bradford's tasks were all but complete. His team had analyzed all of the data they could from Voyager and spent a good deal more time searching for anything that might lead to an answer to the question no one wanted to ask. In that regard, Bradford had failed. In all the work his team and others put in, they were still no closer to discovering the riddle behind Voyager's return as they had been the day Parker announced it.

Bradford would have little to do until the spacecraft was retrieved and brought back to Earth. He would then be able to get inside it and see what he could find. He looked forward to it, but he knew there was still no guarantee that Voyager would make it back to the Earth in one piece.

The mission control room was set up in elevated rows much like the seating in the auditorium. Contrary to what was seen in the movies, the control room was much smaller than one might expect. The elevated rows sat seven people comfortably, each with their own terminal and system tracking area.

At its present capacity the air in the room was stale. Small private conversations rose above the steady typing at the computer terminals. The large observation screens on the front wall kept a steady view of the international space station, a docked shuttle _Olympus_ , and Voyager One.

The mission control room was too crowded for Bradford. He sat behind a thick glass wall above the top row of the control room. The space was filled with government representatives and a few high-ranking military officers. Parker stepped through the sliding glass door and took a seat next to Bradford.

"You ready for this?" Parker asked.

"I'll tell you in about two hours."

As the moment grew near, everyone watched the mission count down. The numbers ran by in the corner above the video screens. There were fourteen minutes until launch.

The counter reached zero, and the shuttle _Olympus_ detached from the connector pod and slowly drifted away from the international space station. Mission control fell silent. All non-essential personnel relocated to where Bradford and Parker were waiting.

The controllers on the control floor all stared at their monitoring stations. Every detail within the mission was tracked from that room. The five-person crew aboard the shuttle would be responsible for capturing Voyager One. They were put together in a short period of time, but the program was satisfied with the choices.

All eyes watched the three video screens as the shuttle banked slightly to the left. The shuttle was closing in on the spacecraft. Bradford's eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of Voyager. He could see it had been returned to its original launch configuration. To Bradford it was as beautiful as the day it launched.

There was a collective moment within the closed area when everyone held their breath. The shuttle's cargo bay doors opened slowly. As the doors parted, three fully suited figures stood inside. The reflected sunlight filled the shuttle bay interior; the three astronauts looked tiny and helpless in the open space.

The shuttle bay doors opened and the astronauts went to work. One glided over to a control system near the rear of the bay as the other two began to undo the safety harness on the shuttle's limb. The work was slow going and those watching from mission control and the observatory room waited with bated breath. With every slow movement, Bradford and the others watched nervously.

The harness was removed and the limb came to life. Mission specialist Gina Mavarel latched herself into the limb controls. It would be her responsibility to preset the limb, and then she would relocate back inside the shuttle. Gina performed her duties with perfect precision. With the limb prepared for retrieval, all three astronauts moved back inside.

According to the mission timeline, the crew had a fifty-five minute window to accomplish the retrieval. Everything was moving according to plan. The widescreen view showed the approaching spacecraft coming into range.

Mavarel moved the limb from within the shuttle _Olympus_. Fully extended, it swung out wide away from the shuttle's side. Voyager looked in slow motion as it moved closer. At the precise moment the limb extended its claw out in the spacecraft's path, the shuttle fired its thrusters moving it ahead.

The main body of the spacecraft hit the limb claw harder than expected. There was a collective cringe within mission control and the shuttle. The claw tightened slightly and a moment later the limb began recoiling. In less than an hour, Voyager was pulled safely within the shuttle's cargo bay.

♦

It was another two days before the shuttle _Olympus_ returned to Earth. At 2:30 in the morning, the shuttle's wheels touched down at Vandenberg Air Force Base in California. The original plan called for the entire operation retriever to relocate to California. In the past two days, a new plan came to light.

General Greeves was adamant about keeping Voyager on a military installation. Director Markinson disagreed but in the end lost the fight. It was decided that an initial response team would be sent out to Vandenberg. Teams would rotate out depending on the need and findings.

Director Markinson all but lost control of the mission, a point he was more than willing to argue about. The DoD was in control now and everyone knew it. It was widely believed by those briefed to the program that the fact of Voyager's return and whatever secrets could be discovered would never see the light of day.

Those picked to be a part of the response team were assaulted with lifestyle polygraphs and a host of other special investigations for those two days before the shuttle landed. Through no small act, Parker managed to get himself and Bradford on that team.

A black van drove down a small road in the southern part of Vandenberg. It was still dark outside but a thin violet line stretched along the eastern horizon. The sound of the tide coming in was highlighted by an intense smell of salt water.

Bradford looked back through the windows in his van. There was a long trail of vans following behind. He didn't know how many people were picked to be a part of the response team, but from the looks of it, there would be quite a few.

The tall doors of hanger Z 66 loomed over the small vans as they parked just outside. Z 66 had a long history of black government programs. Bradford never figured he'd be a part of one. The hanger doors were closed shut, and two camouflaged Humvees sat parked on either side of the personnel doors.

"This is it," Parker said.

He'd managed to stay quiet on the trip from their secluded housing.

"I can't wait to see it," Bradford said. He had to admit he was excited.

There was a long line at the personnel door. Bradford recognized most of them. His entire team was there. A detailed look at Voyager's software was at the top of the list of things to examine. There was a strong hope that a record of some kind could be pulled from the data.

By the time Bradford made it into the entrapment area just inside the personnel door, sunlight stretched across the wide pad in front of the hanger. The small room he stepped into first was filled with benches, lockers, and additional armed men. Bradford was given a plain white body suit, a net for his hair, and a pair of goggles. Apparently the government wasn't going to take any chances.

After stepping through a long forced air tunnel, Bradford got his first look at Voyager. He stared at it for a long time without moving or saying a word. The spacecraft looked as if it never left the hanger. It was in perfect condition.

Voyager's bus lay on a platform about three feet off the ground. A sea of equipment and computer terminals surrounded it. Everything the teams would need to study the spacecraft was provided.

Bradford's eyes followed the spacecraft's longest extension arm which housed the low-field magnetometer. The arm stuck out away from Voyager's wide antenna. The twelve foot diameter antenna gleamed under the hanger lights. The extension arm opposite the magnetometer looked to balance the spacecraft, though that wasn't its purpose. A wide range of equipment connected to the extension arm from a plasma detector to a low-energy charged particle detector.

Bradford took it all in. For a moment, he forgot about the people around him, even Parker who was still by his side. For just a moment, Bradford was brought back to a long-forgotten time. It was a time when the president of the United States had charged the country to reach for the stars and he had been a part of that movement.

♦

It was another two days before Bradford and his team could do any real work. The hardware team took a long time to dismantle Voyager. Both extension arms and the housing for the radioisotope thermoelectric generator were removed. Most of the external lines were connected and the equipment surrounding the spacecraft was up and running.

The initial data held no surprises. Bradford and the others somewhat expected a long line of alien data to spill on to their machines with some answers as to how and why Voyager had returned. There was a disappointment in the air when that didn't happen.

The initial software check came up empty. Voyager's systems showed fully operational but had no signs of memory from the moment NASA lost contact with it prior to its reemergence. Bradford wasn't sure they were looking in the right place. It wasn't until he allowed the hardware team to get back into the spacecraft that Bradford got his answer.

The hardware team disconnected the antenna's face, revealing the inner structure of the spacecraft's bus. Within this electronics housing base originally lay the Voyager golden record. Included on both Voyager spacecraft, the golden records were designed in the hope that one day intelligent extraterrestrial life might discover them and learn about Earth and its inhabitants.

Bradford knew a committee, chaired by Carl Sagan, designed the golden disks. They contained images and sounds from around the planet. Bradford knew the moment had come when Dan Wooden, the hardware team lead, began to wave franticly over to the decontamination room. Colonel Davis, the DoD program manager for the hanger ran out on to the floor. He tossed aside protocol and was still in his Air Force uniform.

Parker managed to get up on the platform by the spacecraft. The young man's face was filled with amazement, a befuddled look on his face. Wooden worked on something inside the spacecraft bus for a few tense minutes. What he pulled out Bradford would never forget.

The Voyager golden record was nowhere to be found. In its place, held up by Wooden, was a sleek black disk. It looked about half the size of the original golden record. The light in the hanger would not reflect off the disk's surface.

Wooden leapt down with the disk in his hands. Colonel Davis looked over it for a moment; the two men were surrounded by people on the hanger floor. Bradford was an arm length away.

"Call General Greeves," Colonel Davis said.

"Put it in the data reader."

Bradford couldn't see Parker but knew it had been his suggestion. And a moment later all eyes turned toward Bradford. Wooden walked over and placed the disk in the data reader, which had been intended for the golden record. Bradford sat down in front of the terminal and let his fingers go to work on the keyboard.

Through the clear housing shield of the data reader he could see the disk was paper thin though it did not bend or bulge in any way. A crowd formed around Bradford with Colonel Davis on his right, Wooden on his left, Parker's face just over his shoulder and everyone else close behind them.

The disk began to spin at a high rate of speed. The data reader's laser scanned the surface of the disk on its front and back. The initial readings of the data reader were short but amazing:

Physical composition: Unknown

Recognizable data: Yes

There was a collective deep breath as the weight of the message circulated. Bradford could see his hands shaking as he tried to hold them still over the keyboard. He realized that the next few keystrokes could change the core of everything human beings knew about the universe. He typed in the command.

The letters appeared on the screen a moment later. Bradford looked up at the first response to earth's question to the stars. The answer was simple.

Specimen 10476 – species analyzed; determination made.

Not suitable for exodus.

Return to sender.

THE END

The Harbinger

The heat of the day wrapped around him like a blanket. There was dryness in the air that seemed to burn his lungs with every breath. Tree limbs stood motionless with no wind to move them. Waves danced in the distance as the heat played havoc in the minds of any unlucky passersby.

A pair of thick heeled boots continued to move. He paid little attention to his surroundings and even less to the heat. The wide shouldered figure had seen worse. He'd passed from one world to another in his search and had the scars to prove it.

Sweat rolled down his face from the dark hair matted against his head. His eyes were hard and stern, his glare straight ahead. The few belongings he had left were buried in an old leather pack strapped across his back. If he were to count, it had been nearly three years since he saw his home.

Home had little meaning to him now. He knew that place and time was gone. Every piece of history he ever had simply ceased to exist. Deep in the recesses in his mind, he kept the pain associated with the loss; mostly it was the anger that fueled him. It was the anger that led to hate. That hate kept him moving

Just on the horizon, a few figures moved back and forth between the waves of heat. The open grassland ran off in all directions. Only the occasional crop of trees barely hanging on broke the landscape apart. Kalyl finally came to a stop in the midst of one such grouping. He took a long drag from the water skin slung over his shoulder and then did his best to maneuver himself underneath the small slab of shade the trees provided.

The warmth had been on him for a week and caught him off guard. He had barely enough water to get him through a few days. He was forced to travel light. Kalyl was on the hunt and couldn't afford to let his prey get too far ahead of him.

Kalyl took another pull from his water skin and then closed it up. He focused back in on the figures up ahead with the tips of his fingers tapping against the pearl handle of his revolver. He wore the Colt .45 low against his leg. The sheathed, wide-bladed Bowie knife hanging against his other side kept the belt low and even. The long row of bullets along the front of the belt gleamed in the afternoon sun.

The figures seemed to move erratically for a moment and then disappeared. He wasn't sure if his eyes were playing tricks on him or not. Kalyl ran the sleeve of his shirt across his face. A dark stain of sweat covered the material, matching the one on his chest. The rich red handkerchief tied loosely around his neck did little to keep the moisture at bay.

He stood in the shade for a long time, watching the movement ahead. There was little doubt in his mind that he was closing in on his prey. The Harbinger had come this way. Kalyl could sense it. He'd tracked him for so long he could predict his movements.

Kalyl had nothing to live for. Everything he knew and loved was gone. He'd seen the Harbinger's promises firsthand and witnessed the destruction that followed. Kalyl saw the blinding white light of the falling star as it raced across the sky. The Harbinger was somehow responsible for it all.

He closed his eyes and it all came back to him in a rush of jumbled memories. The world would end; "God's final plan, bringing death to the planet"—that was the Harbinger's message. For some reason beyond Kalyl, he had been able to escape the fate of his world. He alone survived.

Kalyl began to move again. Stepping out from the shade, the heat engulfed him like a raging fire. In an instant he was covered in sweat. The way ahead opened up as he made his approach up and over a row of hills. Out before him in a wide depression sat several buildings cropped closely together. There were people moving back and forth between them. The growing assembly just at the edge of the town let him know for sure that they'd seen him coming.

Time was short. As it had been in the worlds before this one, when the Harbinger appeared, the falling star was soon to come. He'd come close to reaching him only once before but something told Kalyl that this time he was breathing down his neck. Regardless, if he could save this world or not, it mattered little to him. He would kill the Harbinger or die trying. Something kept him alive this long. At times he felt that there were much greater powers at work controlling his destiny.

The town came into greater view as he drew closer. Only a few small boys stood near the original gathering, watching Kalyl approach. The children's weathered, dirty clothes matched the dilapidated state of the surrounding structures. The old, gray boards of the buildings looked ancient. The idea that they were still livable was difficult to imagine.

Kalyl kept his eyes peeled for anything. The Harbinger had a way with people, especially those who were in need for something to believe in. Part of his sinister gift was charisma. With a silver tongue the Harbinger preached. His chorus of fire and brimstone was enough to strike fear in any man.

The children gathered around, unafraid of the newcomer. Kalyl eyed them all, finding the leader among the group. He was the tallest boy by half a foot. His dirty blond hair was chopped in a bowl cut. The holes in his britches revealed a scrawny pair of legs beneath.

"What do you call this place, boy?" Kalyl's voice was deep and raspy. It'd been so long since he'd talked out loud he barely recognized himself. "Come with it quick," he demanded.

Several of the boys stepped away. The tone of Kalyl's voice was enough to scare them off. The tallest of them didn't budge. He eyed Kalyl up from his boots and then gave him a dismissive glance.

"Where ya'll think this is?" the boy said with a long, slow drawl.

Kalyl stared back at the boy, the slits of his eyes narrowing. He held silent for a long, uncomfortable minute. Without a word, he reached out and snatched the boy by the collar of his dirty, white shirt. A violent pull jerked the boy off his feet. He found himself face to face with Kalyl.

A few of the boys took off running, one yelling something at the top of his lungs. Kalyl ground his teeth and snarled until he could see the fear in the boy's eyes.

"I asked you a damn question, boy," he said.

"Amber...Amberville, sir." The boy shuddered.

Kalyl tossed the boy back. He hit the ground with a solid thump. He tried to get up off his back side but Kalyl pushed him back down with his boot.

"You get many visitors here?' Kalyl asked.

The boy hesitated.

Kalyl brought the palm of his hand down on the hilt of his gun.

"No sir."

"Seen anyone here lately?"

"Yes sir."

Kalyl took a long stride past the boy and continued into town. He knew who the other visitor was. He just wanted to see how much fear the Harbinger left behind when he left. From the look on the boy's face, it had been enough to ensure trouble for Kalyl.

The buildings lined one long main street. There were no signs of horses though a few water troughs dotted the fronts of the buildings. The structures were simply built; the tallest of which stood only two stories. Because the structures were located in the center of town, Kalyl guessed he could find his answers there.

As he walked, he noted the buildings. Each structure looked to have a purpose or did at some time long ago. They were all in poor condition as if the town had been abandoned for several generations and then suddenly put back into use.

There were few signs of life. Only an occasional movement from uncovered windows gave a hint of the people who lived there. Something did keep his attention. He'd caught it outside of town but listened to it grow as he neared.

He knew what music was. In the life he lost, beautiful music was a luxury that he held close to his heart. The sound he heard came from a piano. From the sound of it, the player was quite talented.

The song was a hymn. Music meant to swell the heart and praise a god. There was a form of it in every world he'd been through. The coincidences of hearing the same music was impossible to explain.

The largest of the buildings was alive. Kalyl could see someone looking out into the street in his direction. They stood back far enough to keep hidden, but Kalyl knew they were there. The music was coming from inside.

The heels of his boots dug into the loose dirt on the street. His walk was slow but determined. Kalyl kept his hands at the ready. He could pull his six shooters before most people could blink.

By the time he reached the small porch in front of the tall building, the music stopped. The figure near the door had moved and all that stood between him and the darker interior was a pair of old western swinging doors. Kalyl didn't hesitate; he pushed through the doors and stepped inside. He quickly stepped out of the doorway to allow himself a view of the room.

The silence within was difficult to ignore. People sat at small round tables spread about the bottom floor. Kalyl quickly counted seventeen. The tall boy who'd met him at the edge of town stood up on the open second story landing. The steep staircase edged against the wall beyond a long bar to the left of the entrance.

The boy finished whispering something to the lone figure on the landing and then disappeared behind a door at the end of the hall.

"Welcome." The lone figure on the landing spoke with the same long, slow drawl as the boy. "We were waiting for you, stranger."

Kalyl didn't like the way he'd emphasized the word _stranger_. He sized up the room. Except for the door he'd come through, there was no other exit on the first floor. Kalyl hadn't missed the shadow of someone stepping up on the landing outside to cover his escape.

"I'm looking for someone," Kalyl said.

The man walked toward the top of the stairs. His hair was pitch black and slicked back over his head. His clothes weren't much better off than the boy's.

"I didn't ask you if you were looking for someone," he said.

Kalyl took note that none of them seemed armed. The women among the tables didn't dress any different than the men. It was difficult to tell some of them apart.

"I don't want any trouble," Kalyl said. He cringed as the words left his mouth.

"I am Brother Amos." Amos was halfway down the stairs. "And the people of this town expect me to take care of them."

The tension in the room grew thick. Kalyl kept his back close to the wall. All eyes were on him. Amos reached the bottom of the stairs.

"I don't have a problem with that," Kalyl said.

Amos nodded. A wide grin covered his face from ear to ear. The teeth beneath revealed several missing members. "Do you know our Lord Mister?"

Kalyl didn't answer.

"Have you come to terms with the end of this world?"

Kalyl had heard this before.

"There is one who offers salvation."

Kalyl knew there was no hope for these people. The Harbinger had spit his lies and found a receptive crowd. These people were already dead. The Harbinger's message had poisoned their hearts. There was nothing he could do.

"Have you come to hear the word of the Harbinger or are you the one who brings the end?"

They didn't let him answer. A second later, they all came at him at once. Chair backs hit the ground and tables turned over. Like a pack of wild dogs they lunged. In their polluted minds Kalyl was the devil himself. The Harbinger would have made sure of that.

Kalyl drew his guns and fired. The first shot hit an old man between the eyes. Smoke rose from the barrels as the bullets ripped through flesh. He shot a woman coming through the entrance and stepped on her back to get out onto the landing and then onto the street.

"He told us you would bring the fire!" Amos' voice rose above the gunfire. "He warned us of the evil you bring." Amos was still hidden inside.

They poured out of the building like ants from a mound. Kalyl heard the stomping sounds of feet behind him. He spun and fired, killing two men as they ran out of the doorway of the building across the street. They came in waves like mad dogs, madness consuming their eyes. All the while Amos urged them on.

"The Harbinger has cast out this vile creature. We must smite him in the name of the Lord!"

Kalyl didn't know who their lord was nor did he care much. The Harbinger drew on whatever opening he could find and used whatever would give him the control he needed.

The dead lined the street like a new sidewalk as Kalyl continued to fire. He shot with one hand while reloading with the other. The people screamed at him in an awful tongue, cursing him with every step.

He knew his belt was close to empty. The rounds in his bandolier would not last. He ran from the street between two buildings. Reaching the rear, he found an open doorway and dashed in.

Kalyl pushed the door closed and moved a desk near the front wall, putting it against the door. It wouldn't hold long he knew, but if he was lucky it would give him time to reload and think. The sound of the mob came all at once. It was like the roaring wind of a tornado just before the worst of it took the roof off.

There was another sound that caught his attention, this one coming from inside the building. A quick scan revealed a hallway behind him and an open door at its end. The sound was light but constant. A _creaking sound_ went back and forth shifting in tone.

Cautiously he walked the hall, all the while reloading his guns and his bandolier from the rounds in his pack. He kept one barrel at the ready. The mob was close; he could hear them moving between the buildings, oblivious to his location.

The room at the end of the hall was small and simple. A thick layer of dust covered everything. The _creaking sound_ came from a hand carved rocking chair in the corner of the room. The old woman sitting in the chair was wrapped up tight in a thick blanket.

There was a thin layer of sweat on her dark mocha skinned face. He would have taken her for dead except for her foot slowly tapping the floor in tune with the rocking chair. Through a pair of thick eyeglasses she sized up Kalyl. He kept the gun trained on her but finished reloading his belt and bandolier.

"Looks like you've got yourself a problem," she said.

"I do indeed." Kalyl noted no other doors or windows except for a square hatch in the ceiling on the opposite corner of the room from the old woman. "I don't guess you have any ideas?"

"Well, son, you could go out there and pray for forgiveness with Brother Amos and his flock." She smiled a wide toothy smile.

Kalyl looked back down the hall at the front door. He was sure at any moment they would begin to break it down.

"Now don't you go worrying about that door. They won't dare come in here."

"They're scared of you?" Kalyl's brow rose slightly on one side.

"The Harbinger is not the only one who strikes fear in the heart of the weak minded."

"You saw him?"

"Felt him more like."

Kalyl tapped his fingers on the hilt of his guns. "You have the sight?"

"Call it what you will, son," she said. "I saw him long before he took hold of this town. Just like I feel the end coming and it's coming fast."

"I've seen the end many times," he admitted.

She continued to smile. "And you'll see many more I'm afraid. Now you best get going on your way."

Kalyl looked back at the hatch in the ceiling. Taking the old woman on her word, he pulled the desk from in front of the door. Placing it under the hatch, he hopped up on top of it. He pushed up on the wooden panels and shielded his eyes as the sun poured through the opening.

"I will pray for you," he said as he readied himself.

"Don't you worry about me. I'll be just fine."

Kalyl grabbed hold of the sides of the open hatch and pulled himself up. The heat hit him like a wall of fire. It took his eyes a second to adjust. What he saw pulled at his gut.

The building was surrounded on all four sides. The people stood three deep looking up at him.

"Your time has come." Amos' voice rose above the low murmur of the mob. "It has been said that a sacrifice is needed—"

Kalyl didn't let him finish. He found Amos among them and shot him square in the head. The crowd erupted in horror. They moved at the building like a wall of flesh.

The guns erupted in a chorus of lead-filled death. Kalyl's thumbs bled as he cocked the hammers time and again. The dead piled up and the living climbed on them to reach the roof.

They clawed at him tearing at his skin. He took a punch to the jaw and another in the nose. Blood ran over his lips and dripped from his chin. Kalyl never wavered; his heartbeat never rose.

The dead lined the roof, and the smell of blood covered the air. The heat baked the bodies like an oven. Kalyl stomped on the dead as he worked his way down.

They were dead, all of them. He reloaded his guns one last time and then headed back towards the center of town. The last thing he heard was the sound of the old woman's rocking chair creaking back and forth.

He reached the street and turned to the north. The Harbinger had gone that way; he felt it. Small faces peeked out from windows and open doorways. Kalyl didn't know how they would survive, but that didn't matter now. The end would come soon to this world; it followed in the wake of the Harbinger and there was nothing anyone could do.

Kalyl reached the end of the road and then wiped the sweat from his forehead. He looked out across the barren plain. The heat would not give way. The sun felt close, almost as if he could reach out and touch it.

The tips of his boots were covered with the blood of the dead. The red liquid stained the pale dirt beneath his feet. He eyed the tall hill in the distance and knew the chase was on. Kalyl could not stop. The Harbinger was moving and he would not rest.

One long breath filled Kalyl's lungs and he began to walk. He was getting close to his prey. The Harbinger would die by his hands; maybe not today or tomorrow, but death was coming and Kalyl would deliver it one way or another.

THE END

The Long Way Home

Mission commander Jonathon Davis stood on the command deck of the Shuttle Phoenix, his stare hard, his face stern. The weight of his mission was enormous. At its present location, the shuttle and its twelve-person crew were 727 million kilometers from Earth. After twenty-one months and two Hohmann transfer orbits, everyone was looking forward to beginning the next phase of the mission. The sight of Jupiter out the forward windshield was overwhelming. Davis found himself staring at the swirling wind storms for hours at a time.

The astonishment of being the first people to ever see Jupiter up close had worn off for most of the crew. Their attention was turned towards its sixth moon, Europa. After four days of maneuvering, the shuttle had settled into an orbit around the icy moon. The long, dark streaks that crisscrossed its face were believed to be caused by a series of volcanic water eruptions from underneath the surface. The subsurface ocean that lay beneath the ice was one of the driving reasons the mission to Europa was approved, or so the general public was led to believe.

"Davis."

Davis looked back over his shoulder.

"We still on for 1600?"

Alex Martin stepped through the entrance of the command deck and scanned the latest incoming data. As the team lead for the Lander crew, he was second in command.

"You're early," Davis said.

Martin shook his head and smiled. "You've been up here too long. I'm not early, you're late."

Davis checked his watch. "Join me?"

"Love to."

♦

The central conference room was large by cramped shuttle standards. There was enough room around the oval table for each member of the crew. Along the rear wall sat a bank of data screens, communication equipment, and basic shuttle health and status monitors. In a pinch, the conference room could act as a backup command deck.

"I apologize for my tardiness," Davis said as he looked around at everyone. "But Martin and I had to finish some last-minute details on the command planner."

Davis ignored Martin's well-timed laugh.

The center pad on the conference room table came to life, and a hologram of Europa appeared above the wooden surface. A few clicks on his armchair keyboard and Martin changed the hologram to a detailed view of the landing site. The location was chosen for its perceived short depth to the ocean underneath and, in particular, its proximity to the true purpose of the mission.

The Galileo spacecraft's exploration of Europa had been well documented since its initial fly by in 1998. The driving scientific fascination was the possibility of a layer of liquid water beneath Europa's surface. A controversy as to the validity of a liquid ocean continued for several years. What most people didn't know was that Galileo found something else, something kept from the public and locked away in a classified program. The large objects, which were the true focus for the current mission, were discovered on the satellite's first pass. Galileo was only meant to encircle the moon twice, but the mission was extended at the government's request.

The people who knew of Galileo's discovery were kept quiet. The objects, currently located outside the team's Landing zone, were studied for years from a distance. Some objects were as tall as buildings, others much smaller. What was known for sure but couldn't yet be explained was that these objects were made from some type of metal.

A fully detailed search for life was erected as the crew's mission for the taxpayers back home. In the shuttle's cargo bay, _Crybo_ and _Hydro_ were recently unpacked. The Cryobot would melt through the hard ice surface and deploy the underwater Hydrobot. Mission specialist Mellissa Palmer was in charge of the Hydrobot's collection effort. Her team of four made up half of the deployable crew. While they were aware of the true mission, they were solely focused on the collection effort.

Martin's team was responsible for the reconnaissance of site Delta. Their mission was simple enough: explore the surface objects and return with detailed data. With a surface gravity similar to Earth's moon, a large part of the research and preparation for the mission was practiced ahead of time. There were a wide range of theories on what lay beneath Europa's ice; Martin and his team planned to find out.

♦

"Remember," Palmer said, "once the Hydrobot is securely away we will focus on the relay system."

Following the deployment of _Hydro_ , Palmer's team was responsible for assembly and set up of the communications relay system. They would erect a small housing structure on the moon's surface containing all of the necessary equipment to collect, store, and relay information from the Hydrobot.

"Your suits will protect against the temperatures on the moon's surface, but I don't want anyone out for longer than two hours at a time," she said. "We'll work two by two shifts. The off team will begin the surface experiments once the housing structure is up and running."

The housing structure was hardened and would allow for technical research. In all, Palmer's team would spend two full weeks on the surface of Europa. They would use Lander Two to return to the shuttle Phoenix. The mission allowed for another two-week return to the moon's surface if all systems progressed according to plan.

With the dig portion of the briefing complete, Davis turned the meeting over to Martin.

"Site Delta is approximately 11 kilometers in diameter," Martin explained. "The location of our landing is here." Martin pointed to a position on the hologram just outside the site. Davis made a few entries on the keyboard, and a red ring appeared on the moon's surface for the site and a small red point for the landing location.

"Following touchdown of Lander One, we will focus on this object, here." A long, slender outline appeared within the circle against the edge of the red line. "This represents the largest of the site's solid masses," Martin said. "We'll continue to this location. Situation will dictate what type of experiments we will conduct and the TranEx will be loaded and available."

Built off the foundation of the original lunar rover, the TranEx was designed to transport four personnel. It contained a wide array of research equipment built into the rear of the frame. The vehicle was made for easy access and an ability to allow the astronauts to travel a much larger distance than possible by foot.

"The center of site Delta is our last mission and exploration location," Martin said. "This is an _if time allows_ mission objective and will only be accomplished when all other established tests are complete."

Martin turned to Davis.

"You all know the details so we'll keep this short. We have a go for Lander One and Two launch."

♦

Lander One and Two touched down on Europa's surface twelve minutes apart. Davis watched the landing from the command deck of the shuttle. Mission specialist Mariana Ybarra worked feverously at the monitoring station. She was responsible for the general health of both Landers and their crew. Her station had the ability to track every movement the astronauts made.

Commander Davis's responsibility was to watch and wait. While the crew was on the moon's surface, they were under the supervision of the team leads. The only overriding order Davis could give was an emergency evacuation. That order would result in an immediate end of the mission.

"This is truly breathtaking," Palmer announced. The personal recorder on her helmet showed a vast white surface as she stepped out of the Lander. "I take these first steps in the shadows of great explorers who came before us..."

Davis chuckled. Palmer was playing to the camera. Her video would be the one used to show footage of the landing to the waiting world. Davis took a seat behind Ybarra and looked over all of the Lander One crew's cameras.

"How long do we have to put up with this?" Ybarra asked. She rolled her eyes.

"Not much longer," Davis said. "Let's get about ten more minutes of footage and cut it off."

"Thank God for that," Ybarra said. She ran through a few status checks on the board before turning back to Davis. "You still want to keep Lander Two secured until she wraps it up?"

Davis rubbed his hand across his face. "Yes, no point in trying to let Martin get his team out while Palmer's on movie star mode."

Ybarra laughed.

♦

"This is ridiculous," Martin said. He looked around the cramped interior of Lander Two. Mission specialists Chen Liu, Vernon Alexander, and biological scientist Debora Allen looked back at him through their hardened face shields. "We're just supposed to sit here so she can finish her TV time? Is that what you're saying, Phoenix?"

There was a long pause. It wasn't Ybarra's voice that called back to him.

"Just hold your damn horses." Davis's voice was deep and distinct.

Martin didn't like it, but he didn't bother to respond. His team waited for another half hour before they were given the green light to proceed. Once in motion, the TranEx was deployed and fully loaded. Martin was in the control chair of the TranEx before he took in his surroundings. Site Delta sat at the edge of an enormous open chasm. The ground was brilliantly white, interlaced with lines of violet. Behind the Lander rose a high ridgeline that ran off to the east of their location.

"This is beautiful." Debora Allen's voice came across the team's radio equipment near a whisper.

"Stay focused people," Martin said. "We'll stop and see the sites when the job is finished."

Allen switched on the TranEx's locator from the front passenger seat. She got a quick hit from the first target. Martin engaged the vehicle and the team was away. Moving at just over ten miles an hour, the TranEx closed in on the first target in twenty minutes.

Martin brought the vehicle to a stop, unbuckled himself, and stepped out onto the icy surface. The sound of his suit's power system adjusting to the lack of gravity was the only noise.

"Phoenix this is team two lead," Martin said.

"Go ahead."

"We're on location for target one exploration and..."

Martin's voice tapered off. He looked out across the vast open frozen terrain and his eyes focused on something he hadn't seen a moment before. On their approach, the locator on TranEx gave a shape to the first target, but no one on the team could make it out. As Martin stared directly ahead of the vehicle he saw something sticking out of the ice.

"Team two lead, say again."

"Hold on, Phoenix," Martin said.

He took a few steps away from the TranEx. The rest of his team stopped what they were doing. Martin tried to piece together what he was seeing. He was sure it wasn't what he thought he was looking at. He tried to say it aloud, but nothing escaped his lips. He took a deep breath and imagined himself in an insane asylum...on nice beaches...in Florida...

"It's..." Martin started.

"It's a..." He hesitated.

_Mai-tai's_ , he thought. _Surely the insane could get mai-tai's...the little umbrellas would be perfect_.

"A boat?"

♦

Davis and Ybarra stared at the communication terminal with befuddled expressions. Neither was sure they'd heard Martin correctly. The long silence that followed was awkward as both waited for Martin to continue. It was Ybarra who came out of the daze first.

"Team two, repeat last," she said and lamely asked, "Did you say...a boat?"

Davis was standing directly behind her chair looking down at Martin's camera screen. The shadows and size of the screen made it impossible to tell what he was looking at.

"I'm pretty sure it's a boat," Martin said. "Or I guess I should say a ship."

Ybarra fell silent again as Davis reached past her and tapped the communication panel.

"Martin," Davis swallowed. "Did you just say what I think you just said?"

"I think I did," Martin replied.

There was another long pause. Martin's helmet camera moved forward.

Davis watched the camera and saw team two moving forward together. He strained his eyes, bending down close to the screen to see what it was they were all looking at. It wasn't until Martin came to a stop that the outline was clear. Rising out of the icy moon's surface was what looked to be the bow of a ship. Martin's camera followed the edge of the bow up off the ground.

"Bring up the command log," Davis said. He spoke out of the corner of his mouth. "We're sending all this to mission control?"

"We've been transmitting since the moment the Landers were brought on line," Ybarra replied.

"Allen, Liu," Martin said. "Get back to the TranEx. Whatever this is, I want some accurate measurements. We'll set up along the starboard side and work through the experiments."

Two hours passed before Martin brought his team together. The TranEx was parked closer to the object and it only took a moment to confirm the original belief. Though none of them could explain how or why, they were all positive that it was in fact, a ship.

"Five-oh-one feet, six inches," Martin relayed.

Ybarra typed everything into the shuttle's mission log. Davis walked back into the command deck, his mind still lost in the conversation he'd had with mission control.

"Sixty feet across," Martin continued. "We broke through a sheet of ice about two inches thick to reach the hull."

Davis leaned over Ybarra. "You have no doubts about this, Martin?" he asked.

"Christ, Jon! You see what I see?" Martin said. "I scraped a piece of the side myself. I'm no seaman, but I would swear this damn thing is an old Navy tanker."

Davis didn't know what to say. He tried to focus on what he was sure was real. "We've picked up some kind of storm activity due east of your location." he said. "Ybarra's tracking it. It doesn't look like it will impact you, but we'll stay on top of it."

"I'm not sure I'm ready to see what's at site two," Martin said.

Davis smiled. "I hear that."

♦

Team two drove quietly in the TranEx toward the second location. If anyone was beginning to question their sanity, they kept it to themselves. The distance between the two sites was minimal and only took ten minutes to cover. The terrain never changed, the smooth icy surface going off in every direction. Allen guided the TranEx with the locator. The signature of location two was much smaller than the first.

It wasn't until they were on top of the site that Martin brought the vehicle to a stop. This time both Davis and Ybarra could instantly tell what lay beneath the ice. Martin was the first out of the TranEx. He took a few long strides to reach the edge of the site.

"Now I may not have been in the Navy," Martin said, "but I was in the Air Force, and I'll be damned if that isn't an F-4 Phantom."

The distinct body of the aircraft was easy to recognize. Davis had flown one in training several times. Through the thick layer of ice he could still make out an Air Force star and bar on the wing.

"You're getting this right?" Martin asked.

"I'm getting it," Davis said. "I don't believe it, but I'm getting it."

"I don't suppose command has any idea how this got here?"

"Not a clue," Davis said. "Get your team moving and we'll deal with everything else later."

Liu and Allen were busy pulling out equipment from the rear of the TranEx while Alexander looked for the best location to get through the ice. They wanted to verify the compounds and makeup of the aircraft.

"Move the burner up further," Martin said. "Go through just up there. I want to get a good look in the cockpit."

The burner was a handheld device that when activated, its tip could reach a temperature of two hundred degrees. The tool sparked to life and lit up bright red. Alexander worked the end over the cockpit and pushed through several inches of ice in a few minutes while Martin waited nearby. When there was a good hand-size opening, he stepped in and pushed a light up close. He held his face as close as his face shield would allow. What he found inside was what he'd half expected, though it made it no less dumbfounding.

"Phoenix, this is team two lead," Martin said.

"Go ahead."

"I'm not sure how much more of this we can handle but hold on to your hats." Martin paused for effect. "There's a body in the cockpit."

Dead silence followed. Martin smiled. He liked the idea of Davis pulling his hair out while trying to figure out what in the world was going on. What Martin heard next he did not expect.

"Martin!" Davis was shouting. "You need to get your team on the TranEx and back to Lander Two's location immediately."

"What's the problem?" Martin asked though he'd already started running.

"That storm is coming your way," Davis said.

"Damn it. I thought you said it was far off."

The team began to reload their gear.

"Drop the damn gear and get out of there now!" Davis shouted.

Martin didn't waste time arguing. He got his team in the vehicle and started back in the direction they'd come. It was another five minutes before Davis came over the radio.

"The storm didn't move an inch," Davis said. "One second it was a few hundred meters wide then a second later it's freaking three kilometers."

Martin didn't pay much attention to what Davis was saying. He could tell by the fear in his voice that it was serious enough.

"My God."

Allen's voice was hollow. She'd turned around in her seat and was looking behind them. Davis's helmet wouldn't allow him to look back even if he wanted to. He glanced at the small mirror extended out from the side of the TranEx's frame. The scene behind him didn't make much sense. There was a swirling blackness covering the entire view. Flashes of light sparked to life all through the black and then faded quickly.

"Martin, you've got to move!" Davis yelled.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Martin yelled back.

Davis watched the screen as the storm grew at an impossible rate. The edges of it were already on top of the blinking red locator lights of team two.

"Martin," Davis said.

"I can't see anything," Martin replied, his voice difficult to understand.

"Make for the Lander. You're off course."

Davis waited for a reply.

"Martin!"

"Team two lead," Ybarra called from her station.

"Martin," Davis tried again. "Any member of team two who can read me, respond."

There was nothing but silence. One by one the personal locators went off and never lit up again.

♦

NASA mission control at the Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center in Houston, Texas was buzzing with activity. A three-panel view of Europa's surface covered the entire front wall of the room. The controllers were focused on the activities of Lander One. The primary mission revolved around the exploration of the moon and its hidden ocean.

Two buildings away, mission bravo control room was in a chaotic state. The classified facility was several stories underground and guarded by some of the best security equipment money could buy. The undersized room was crammed with monitoring stations and nervous people. For the past several hours a sense of disbelief had washed over the room and its occupants. Just as Davis and Ybarra had done some 727 million kilometers away, the controllers stared at their video screens dumbfounded. None of their scientific minds could comprehend how a ship or an F-4 could be frozen on the moon's surface.

The phones were ringing constantly. Some of the highest offices in government and the U.S. military were trying to get updates. Controller Darrel Robinson had worked for NASA for eleven years. In all the programs his top secret clearance gave him access to, none of them even came close to the events unfolding now. When team two disappeared, it was his job, among others, to try and relocate them. The Two-Star General standing over his shoulder made his task increasingly difficult.

"Well, son?" the General asked.

Robinson didn't appreciate being called _son_ , but under the circumstances he'd let it go.

"They just disappeared," Robinson said.

There was a host of other people crowded behind the General. Among the crowd was Robinson's boss and mission bravo control manager Douglas Howard.

"You mean that storm got them," Howard said.

Robinson shook his head. "No, those locators are hard wired into their suits and powered inside. Even if they'd been tossed into space, we would receive something." Robinson hesitated. "They just disappeared."

His comments kept the group satisfied for the moment. There was little else they could do. Howard was pulled away to a rear conference room with the General and a group of men who'd just arrived and Robinson was thankful for the peace.

An hour passed and there was still no sign of team two. The only orders to go out were the immediate evacuation of Europa's surface. Team one was told to abandon their gear and return to the shuttle Phoenix. The shuttle would remain in orbit until further plans could be worked out.

Robinson saw Howard step out of the conference room. From the look on his face and the state of his hair it was obvious Howard wasn't able quell to the General's curiosity. It was a bright red light, blinking on and off that pulled Robinson's attention back to his station.

"I think I have something," he said without really knowing what he had.

There was a low grumble of voices and shifting of feet behind Robinson's station. He was focused on the screen and a display of numbers he didn't quite understand.

"Do you have them?" Howard asked. He pushed his way through the gathering crowd.

"It looks like their locators but..."

The room was silent.

"But what?" Howard asked.

"I think these are longitude and latitude locations," Robison said.

"So you have them?" Howard asked.

Several people in the crowd moved away and began making calls. The volume level of the room rose quickly.

"We didn't establish longitude and latitude indicators for Europa's surface. They built in holograph points," Robinson explained, never looking away from his screen.

Howard started to ask a question but stopped mid breath.

"Twenty-eight north, fifty-five minutes, seventeen point eight seven seconds, seventy west, forty-seven minutes, forty-five point two three seconds," Robinson said as he jotted them down.

"Well, how the hell are we supposed to use that?" Howard asked. "You said yourself we didn't load latitude and longitude indicators for Europa."

Robinson turned around slowly in his chair to face the group. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung slightly open. "It's not coming from Europa."

The entire room fell deathly quiet. The controller sitting at the station beside Robinson dropped the phone from his ear. The receiver rolled off the table and onto the floor.

"It's coming from Earth," Robinson said.

Howard stepped beside Robinson's seat. He looked down at the terminal screen, which was now displaying a map. The eastern coastline of the United States was easy to recognize. Four small red lights blinked on and off just off the coast of Florida. Howard couldn't speak at first but a sudden realization thrust into his head.

"That's the middle of the Bermuda Triangle."

THE END

A World Apart

The world stood still. Every man, woman, and child waited with bated breath for the first pictures from the Hubble telescope. Rumor of the new planet spread like wildfire over the past few months. A week ago, the U.S. President gave a speech confirming Hubble had in fact located a new world.

Experts knew that under normal circumstances the finding of a planet, even if in our solar system, wouldn't attract much attention from the general public. What captivated people was the planet's proximity. The idea that it was in orbit at the exact distance from the sun as the Earth was truly amazing.

Scientists speculated that the planet was formed at the same time as Earth only on the exact opposite side of the sun. There was never a time in human history when a direct line of sight would have been possible. It was only by accident that Hubble was facing the necessary direction. The curiosity of what secrets this planet Y might hold played on the imagination of all mankind.

The world was consumed by intrigue. No other single event ever grabbed hold of so many. However, it was what the public didn't know that was currently driving the U.S. government completely mad.

In the bowels of one of the oldest brick buildings at Lyndon Johnson Space Center in Houston, Texas, Jonathon Mills rubbed his temples. He had no interest in the television or the first pictures of planet Y. He'd seen it. In fact he'd seen far more detailed views, which the public would never see. He'd been looking at them for over three years.

The discovery of planet Y was kept a secret from the world because of the fear of the unknown. The U.S. government wasn't sure how its citizens would react. This decision to wait sparked a small uprising among the scientists who were in the know. Jonathon had been a part of that uprising; their main call to arms was one of global discovery.

The uprising was over now. The government decided to brief those opposed to the secret about the way ahead and everyone quickly fell in line. Jonathon had been a part of that as well. His twelve years with NASA as a pilot and later mission commander put him in a particularly valuable position.

The briefing that kept Jonathon and everyone else quiet was the government's intent to send a manned space flight to planet Y.

Jonathon was enthralled by the idea of stepping foot on the planet. He'd walked in space numerous times; he'd even stood on the Moon, but this was far different. Among many other closely kept secrets about planet Y, it was already known within highly classified circles that there were signs of water on its surface. More importantly, there were clear signs of an atmosphere.

Jonathon survived the lengthy selection process and received his reward: mission commander. It was at that point that the headaches began.

Several satellites were launched to gather as much information as possible from a distance. What was discovered was far beyond anyone's expectations. Planet Y was not just a perfect distance from the sun, but it too seemed to be blessed with all the elements that made Earth habitable. There was a stable atmosphere which contained oxygen. Three large landmasses contained heavy vegetation surrounded by wonderfully blue oceans. It appeared to be a perfect Eden waiting to be explored.

♦

It took seven years for the plans to fall into place. The celebrated launch took place on a cold November morning at Cape Canaveral. The shuttle Olympus was three times larger than any before it. Within it there were enough supplies for the yearlong mission requirements.

The crew of the Olympus would have four months on planet Y, most of which would be used for transferring structural supplies from orbit to the planet's surface. Two Landers waited within the shuttle's bay capable of making multiple returns from the landing zone. Future missions would bring more equipment and if all went well, perhaps new residents.

None of the future plans were set in stone. At least none of those plans were discussed with Jonathon. He sat at the foot of his cot rubbing his temples. The headaches had grown dramatically worse since his selection as mission commander. He kept it a secret until after launch, never wanting to risk his chance to go.

Jonathon wished the headaches were the end of it, but it had gotten worse. His dreams grew darker over the past few years. He was forced to fight it with sleeping pills to keep the voices away. It all terrified him, at times causing him to think he was losing his mind.

Over the first two weeks of the flight, Jonathon detoxed. It was one of the worst experiences of his life. To make matters worse, he had a million things to attend to and through it all he had to keep his problems hidden from the others.

Jonathon survived, though the voices returned. They were three months into the flight and the problem was intensifying. He had his suspicions that he wasn't the only one. He'd overheard crew members on several occasions talking about sleeping problems and even once heard his pilot, Michael Evans, complaining about visions keeping him awake.

"You all right, commander?" Michael asked.

Jonathon tried to fake a smile. "I'm fine, just need a little coffee. I always get headaches if I go too long without."

"I know what you mean."

Jonathon poured himself a cup of coffee and tried to focus on the planet side readings. Two satellites were in a permanent orbit around planet Y and fed updated data to the shuttle. The readings offered few new details but acted as an assurance that the planet's surface wasn't experiencing anything that might damage the mission plan.

With a fresh cup in one hand, he stared at the screen without really seeing anything. The voices were stronger than ever before, and he was starting to remember some of the words after waking. Waiting for Michael to turn his attention elsewhere, Jonathon pulled a small piece of paper from the pocket of his jumpsuit and laid it out on the desk.

Do not be afraid.

Jonathon read through it several times.

Be on your guard.

He had some recognition of the words.

My light.

He couldn't be sure he'd written them down correctly.

Jonathon sipped his coffee and made sure Michael wasn't watching him. He took one last look at the words and then stuffed the paper back in his pocket.

"Not sleeping well?"

Michael's question surprised Jonathon. He nearly dropped his coffee.

"What's that?"

"Sleeping, you look tired all the time."

Jonathon couldn't tell if Michael was digging at something in particular.

"I think the weight of everything is doing a job on me."

"I know what you mean," Michael said after a long pause. "Not much longer now."

Jonathon gave him a halfhearted smile. "I'm going to do my rounds." He headed for the main hall. "Call me on my locator if you need me."

♦

Over the next several days, everything intensified. When Jonathon needed his wits about him most, they began to fail. He hadn't slept in two weeks. Jonathon knew he wasn't the only one hearing things. In fact, very few of the crew could sleep at all. Everyone admitted to hearing voices; some even had the visions, but none of them compared to Jonathon.

The mission counter ticked away on the forward view screen in the control center. In less than twenty hours they would attempt to bring the shuttle into orbit around planet Y. The fate of the mission rested on this first crucial step, and Jonathon couldn't bring himself to leave his room.

Jonathon felt delirious. His body was weak and he felt as if he'd lost control of the mission. He didn't know the current status of the shuttle or the rest of the crew.

"Commander Mills."

He recognized mission specialist Jun Li's heavy accent.

"Yeah."

"Commander Mills, you need to get up here."

Jonathon could hear the fear in her voice.

"What's a matter?" he asked.

"It would be easier to explain if you just came up here."

He slipped on his flight suit and hurried to the command deck. When he got there, he found the entire crew present. He could tell from their faces that whatever it was, it was a big deal.

"How bad is it?" Jonathon asked.

Michael spoke up first. "I'm not sure how to say this." He hesitated. "There are buildings down there."

♦

The two satellites used to study planet Y were hasty projects. Not that the conglomerations of governments involved on the project didn't spend a great deal of money, but the time restraints were unrealistic. By the time the world was told about the new planet, the U.S.'s mission to get there was well underway.

The government wanted data, as much data as it could get as soon as it could get it. The HEO and GEO satellites that launched just after two years' worth of design were a happy medium between technology and timing. Most standard data collection equipment was included in the design, but some of the imaging technology was left out.

"Did you say buildings?" Jonathon cocked his head to the side. "Like buildings, buildings?"

Michael nodded.

As Jonathon walked over to the main display screen, Michael brought up the new data from the shuttle's imaging sensor.

Tall trees dotted wide open grassland. The cone-shaped buildings stuck out instantly. They were pointed at the top and as best as Jonathon could make out, a cream color. The buildings were perfectly smooth and impossible to have been produced by a natural occurrence.

"We've got to send this back to Earth. Set up a relay and—"

"Already done," Michael cut in.

Direct communication with Earth was impossible from the other side of the sun. The crew's first mission, a month after takeoff had been deploying a system of relay satellites that would allow for transmissions between the shuttle and Earth.

"Once we make orbit," Jonathon said. "We'll hold all mission processing."

"Commander, you can't hold up the—"

"I believe this," Jonathon pointed to the image of the structures, "changes priorities."

The crew moved into action, though most of them weren't sure what to do. The delicate process of moving the shuttle into orbit only involved Michael and the copilot Thomas Clarke. The others strapped in and prepared for the ride.

As fate would have it, neither Michael nor Thomas had the opportunity to put their years of preparation and training to use. The shuttle shook violently as if they'd hit something. Jonathon didn't have time to react. Through the forward view shield, planet Y rushed toward them at alarming speed.

"What's happening!?"

Michael struggled with the shuttle's controls as Thomas tried to get a system readout.

"I...I don't know," Michael said. His voice was frantic. "We're being pulled toward the planet."

Before Jonathon could reply, the rate of speed increased. The shuttle moved faster than its sensors could calculate. The force of the speed pushed the crew against their seats as the weight of everything seemed to quadruple.

Jonathon fought to keep his eyes open against the pressure. He could feel his jaw forced back against his neck. There was complete silence as if everything suddenly stopped at once. The darkness of space filled with a display of lights.

The view of planet Y rushing toward them then exploded in color and contrast. Everything happened too quickly for Jonathon's mind to register. In the blink of an eye, the sound returned. A trail of screams from the crew filled the command deck followed by another bout of silence.

"Is everyone all right?" Jonathon asked. There were a range of terrified expressions but everyone looked to be in one piece. "Michael what just..."

Jonathon focused on the view outside and lost track of his words.

A wide field of tall grass opened up below the shuttle. A herd of some four-legged animal ran toward a hilly terrain to their left. They reminded Jonathon of horses but were far too big and their necks were much longer. The shuttle turned sharply to the right and an outcropping of the buildings they saw from space was spread out ahead.

The shuttle came to a stop at the edge of encampment and hovered several meters from the ground.

"I don't have any control," Michael said.

Be calm for you are safe.

Hesitantly, Jonathon looked back at the crew. He could tell from their faces that they'd heard the voice, too.

"Commander."

Jonathon turned back to the sound of Michael's voice and saw the shuttle had landed. Several figures stood at the edge of a clearing. Impossibly tall, each one was clothed in flowing, white robes. Their faces were calm and somehow familiar. Their pale, white skin seemed to glow in the sunlight, giving them an angelic appearance.

The crew had no time to prepare themselves. The shuttle's personnel door opened on its own. Jonathon didn't know what to say. Never in his wildest imagination could he have prepared for such an event. All he knew for sure was for the first time in as long as he could remember, his headaches were completely gone.

He was the first to step out of the shuttle. The sunlight felt warm on his face. There was a familiar smell to the air that reminded him of home. Jonathon had only a few seconds to arrange his thoughts before discovering a figure standing beside the door.

It was a breathtaking moment. The figure towered over Jonathon by several feet, its arms and legs hidden beneath the robe. From a face very human, a smile parted at its lips and caring eyes looked down on the new arrival.

It offered a five-fingered hand from underneath a wide cut sleeve which Jonathon took.

"I am called Airimos," he said in a beautiful baritone voice. "We are pleased that you have finally arrived."

♦

"I can't tell you how important it is to us that you've come." Airimos walked with his hands folded behind his back. "We have tried so long to make this moment a reality."

"I'm not sure I understand," Jonathon said. He looked back at the landing site and found the greeting party ushering the remainder of the crew in the opposite direction. "You knew we were coming?"

Airimos smiled. "Of course."

"How can that be?" Jonathon asked. "We've only known of this planet's existence for a few years. Are you saying you've been aware of us for longer?"

"In time everything will be clear. I will explain."

Jonathon kept his growing list of questions to himself. It was obvious that Airimos wanted to finish the conversation somewhere else.

Airimos led them across a finely maintained meadow toward the largest of the surrounding buildings. The shape and design on everything matched perfectly. It appeared as if the entire city was designed and erected in a single moment.

Few figures walked out in the open grasslands between buildings. There were shadows in the open archways but no one stepped out. It was difficult for Jonathon to get a sense of the population. His scientific mind tried to come up with answers to some of the things he'd seen; so far he had little to show for it.

They passed through an archway and into a building. The construction material was not the sandstone type material he'd assumed. The interior was plain and simple with no pictures, paintings or decorations of any kind.

Airimos led him down a long central corridor and though another archway. The room beyond was large but not overwhelming. The most intriguing aspect was the room's lack of a ceiling. Jonathon gazed up at the clear blue sky.

"Please." Airimos motioned to a single tall chair. "Sit here."

Jonathon took a seat and kept his eyes on his guide. Airimos stood a few feet in front of him in rigid form.

"I realize there are a great many things you wish to know," Airimos said. "We have tried to determine the best course in which to relay answers to you."

"We?"

"There are millions of us, Jonathon," Airimos explained.

"You alluded to something earlier," Jonathon said, shifting uneasily in his chair. "Am I correct in thinking you've attempted contact with our planet?"

"This may be difficult for you to hear," Airimos said as his smile faded. "But our impression of your mental ability shows you have the capability to handle it."

"Well that's a nice start," Jonathon muttered.

"We have contacted your people for thousands of years."

"Contacted how?" Jonathon asked.

"I believe you have a term that closely resembles this ability: extrasensory perception."

"You can project thoughts?"

"In a sense."

Jonathon shifted again.

"Jonathon." Airimos spoke as if he were trying to explain something to a child. "How we make contact is not what's important. What is important is that you've answered."

"Why is it so important?"

"Your planet will be destroyed by a solar mass ejection from our star in four years, three months and two days."

Jonathon suddenly found it difficult to breath. Airimos explained the coming disaster as if he were forecasting the weather.

"What...how will we..." Jonathon struggled to grasp what he'd heard.

"We have prepared ourselves to receive you," Airimos said.

"How could we possibly move the inhabitants of Earth?"

Airimos' expression soured. "You cannot."

Jonathon knew at once what he meant. "How many? How many can we save?"

"Fifty thousand."

"Fifty thousand?" Jonathon whispered. "There are over six billion people on Earth."

"Fifty thousand will be sufficient to save your species," Airimos answered matter-of-factly.

Jonathon didn't know what to say. It was obvious the offer was nonnegotiable. He shifted his eyes to the sky. "God help us."

Airimos seemed to have expected the reaction and was willing to give Jonathon as much time as he needed.

"How long have you known?" Jonathon asked.

"We began attempting contact three thousand years ago. We found a group among you who were particularly responsive to our attempts though a misconception of our message plagued our attempts."

"All that time," Jonathon said. "Could we have saved more?"

"Possibly, but there is no use in considering it. Our ability to communicate over such a distance was a great challenge. Your people had difficulty understanding our message."

"I don't know of any such message," Jonathon said. "Many of the Earth's population believe we are the only intelligent lifeforms in existence."

"That is not so. We have helped your people many times. We have seen troubles for our chosen people among you and warned them," Airimos said.

"Are you saying you can see the future?"

"Not in the way you mean," Airimos tried to explain. "It involves a calculation of variables in a visual means. I cannot explain it more in a method you would understand."

"These chosen people, are they aware of your help?" Jonathon asked.

"No."

The answer was too plain for Jonathon to let go. "Just no?"

"Even these chosen people distorted our message. We warned them at times to save them and other times we tried to enlighten them on what the future held for your entire planet." Airimos hesitated. "They misunderstood."

"How did you try and enlighten them?" Jonathon asked.

"There were many among us who believed it was important to express our way of life to those who would come and live here with us," Airimos replied.

"What is your way of life?"

"For through me your days will be many, and years will be added to your life." Airimos said the words with passion. "A generous man will prosper; he who refreshes others will himself be refreshed." He smiled as he spoke. "There is surely a future hope for you, and your hope will not be cut off."

Jonathon recognized the passages instantly.

"There was one among you who seemed capable to hear our every word," Airimos said. "He too lost sight of the message." Airimos shook his head. "He was killed for it."

Jonathon was stunned. The sum of what Airimos was saying added to only one logical conclusion. He could feel his hands shaking as his stomach churned. He was dizzy and could not find the words to complete his thoughts.

"Are you all right, Jonathon?"

Airimos took a step toward him.

"Where...where are we?" Jonathon managed. "What do you call this place?"

Airimos' eyes softened. He smiled and lowered his hands, resting them against his sides.

"We call it heaven."

THE END

Varian Crossing

With a constant swirling in my head and a thumping pain in the back of my neck, I open my eyes. My mind is filled with cobwebs, and I can't piece together what happened over the past few hours. Adjusting the pressure of my environmental suit, I struggle to get the oxygen converter to work properly. Realizing I'm no longer in the confines of my ship, I know the suit is the only thing keeping me alive.

I am somewhere on the Varian moon, its fifth moon to be exact. The readout on the small viewing screen on my forearm has letters stenciled above it. _Lt. Mariana_. I recognize my name. The readout confirms what I already know: the moon has no stable atmospheric climate. Most important, there is no oxygen.

Instinctually my training kicks in. My suit can support me for twelve hours; after that I'm done for. Hesitantly, I take a deep breath from the small, clear mask covering my face. The oxygen flow comes from two small tubes connecting at the bottom of the helmet face, just under the chin to the back of the suit.

Kneeling, I steady myself. The barrel of my plasma rifle follows my eyes as I scan the surrounding landscape. I will be the first to admit that I'm not the best of shots; the fact is few federation fleet officers know their way around firearms, but the beauty of the plasma rifle in its power makes up for the user's inability.

The moon's surface is comprised of dull, gray, powdery topsoil covering a harder layer of clay beneath. Light from two distant suns illuminates the moon's surface. The blackness of space covers the sky, dotted by the lights of millions of stars. The murky orange-colored surface of the planet Varian consumes the western half of the sky.

There is little sign of the enemy. The carcasses of two ships lie farther up ahead, partially hidden by several tall hills. I'm sure one of the ships is a T-class fighter. From this distance, it's impossible to be positive it's _my_ ship, the Starklight. The eerily dark metal surface of the other ship gives away its allegiance.

From my position, knowing each ship is nearly half a kilometer long, I figure the drop off the other side of the hills is a steep one. More than likely I'm just outside the ring of a massive crater. The moon is riddled with impacts left during the system's birth.

Coming to my feet, I make a run for it, a constant concern for what foul things lurk in the darkness of this place. There is tenderness in my side I cannot account for; apparently I took more damage than I originally believed. My legs ache and a persistent pulse of pain radiates through my lower back.

The first row of hills is farther away than it appeared. Long shadows reach out from every direction, looming across my path. The gravity adjusters in the suit fire periodically, keeping me grounded. My strides are longer than normal, but the force holding me to the ground appears to be working properly.

By the time I reach the top hills, I can barely breathe. A quick look behind me reveals little, though I half expect to be hit by a burst of enemy fire at any moment. My short-term memory is fleeting. I can only recall sporadic scenes of a chaotic ship battle but in no discernible order.

On the side of caution, I drop down and low crawl up and over the hill. As my head clears the crest, I realize my first indication was correct. Down an abrupt drop in the moon's surface, a massive crater opens up. I take in the full view of the downed ships and a sudden rush of memory washes over me.

When the first strike came, I was on the main deck. The ship's mission was classified by the highest authority. Only the captain and his immediate command staff were fully briefed. We were sent out as a scout ship, a spotter of sorts. High command was preparing for a massive offensive front against the Vorinn's home world.

The term _home world_ was used loosely, of course. Little was known about the dreaded race; it's believed they live as brutal, nomad conquerors. They move from system to system vanquishing and enslaving as they go. Ever since their appearance some fifty standard years ago, the high federation has stood against them.

While the Vorinn could be mistaken for humans, the Seekers could not. These creatures stand taller than a man, draped in dark, leathery skin. Large eyes set atop black, bulbous heads. Rows of sharp teeth cap their gaping mouths. These vicious creatures are the perfect foot soldier for the dominating Vorinn.

It's from my training that I know that the long enemy ship dug into the crater below holds at least five hundred Seekers not including any Vorinn who might be on board. The wreckage of my ship lying next to it holds just over three hundred. What perplexes me most is the fact that with all of those numbers, I cannot make out a single moving figure.

Both ships are obviously done for. To say they are simply lying next to one another is to understate the chaotic scene. The ships appear to have hit one another on the way down, leaving several large chunks of metal intertwined between the two exposed hulls. Smaller objects, which I cannot make out from this distance, float peacefully about the wreckage. This tells me that the artificial gravity shield is at least partially destroyed.

Waiting, I watch for any signs of movement. Locating a long trail of debris leading off toward the center of the crater, I see several bodies in the moon's dust. Whether they are friend or foe, I cannot say.

Satisfied with the stillness, I pop up and continue at a steady pace. Starting down the side of the crater, I know I have nothing to hide behind until I reach the ship. I have to keep a measured pace; if I trip, it's more likely I will break my neck on the tumble down.

Reaching the crater's floor, I'm exhausted. I have to drop to one knee to keep from collapsing. With deep panting breaths, I devour as much oxygen as I can take in. My hands are shaking, the rifle jittering in response.

The two ships tower over me; the Vorinn leviathan on my left, the Starklight on my right. Their shadows are just beyond me. Another few steps and I'll be enveloped within the darkness. I consider my options.

It's obvious the federation ship will not fly. I'm sure the crash has done catastrophic damage, but could I possibly be the only survivor?

Oxygen is my first concern. There are several environmental suits onboard the ship, assuming they haven't been destroyed. I know for sure that the federation will not be coming to save me.

The Starklight's mission was so sensitive they did not want the ship detectable in any transmittable way. All relays and transmitting devices were either taken off or made inoperable. I assume that since we are still in federation territory, there is a very slim chance that the federation would even think to consider looking here if they are going to come looking at all.

The crew of the Starklight was completely unprepared for the Vorinn attack. Still in federation space, Captain Marcus wasn't concerned with shields and scout ship outposts, both common practices often overlooked by ship captains. By the time the alert went out on the ship's command channel, it was too late. The Vorinn ship opened up all of its energy weapons just as it appeared out of hyperspace.

I was on the bridge as the attack occurred and was knocked unconscious in the mayhem that followed the Vorinn's initial blast. I still can't understand how they knew where we were going to be. I assume it could have been plain blind luck, but that wouldn't explain why the enemy ship was so deep into federation territory.

Right now I have enough problems to worry about. Off to the left, in the sky above the Vorinn ship ruins, hangs the planet Varian. I know it's uninhabited; truth is there isn't a friendly planet anywhere near personal transmission distance. The way ahead is painfully clear. I have to get off this rock or I'm going to die here.

As I make for the Starklight, I see several openings in the vessel's side. Large chunks of the outer hull are missing, leaving gaping holes open to the elements. Coming to a stop, I press my back against the side of the ship.

A peek at the dark interior of the ship reveals little. Steadying myself, I check over my view screen. Another benefit of the environment suit is it can plot any movement within a short distance. Lucky for me, the coast appears clear.

Ducking into the ship's dark interior, I move quickly away from the opening. With the assistance of the view shield on my helmet, my eyes adjust to the dimly lit interior. I can tell from my entry point that I'm on one of the upper command deck. Lines of dim lights rise from the floor to the left. Because of the ship's position, the floor is severely angled, rising up away from me.

The emergency system is powering some of the equipment. I can't be sure which ones, but I can make out the soft, blue glow of active terminal screens somewhere up ahead. Another few steps shed light on the true loss of the attack and crash.

Bodies lay strewn about the deck. Some are doubled over on the smooth, metallic floor while others have limbs bent and broken in the most obvious manner. Several crew members are still buckled into their chairs; some appear to be in the process of buckling themselves in. I know most of them died quickly as the vacuum of space sucked the air out of the ship.

I'm lucky to be alive. It's by pure chance that I was in my environmental suit in the first place. As executive officer, I was responsible for the command deck when the captain wasn't present. With the captain on deck just before the attack, I'd taken it upon myself to inspect the recent repair work done on the outer hull.

I'd just suited up before the attack. Corporal Aiers was leading me toward the exit hatch he and his team used to get outside to fix the transfer line issue that plagued the ship during the first few weeks of the mission. Carrying the plasma rifle was a requirement for anyone breaching the outer hull. The captain wanted everything in tip top shape before we made for Vorinn-controlled space.

"They can't all be dead."

I recheck my forearm readout. I know the Seekers don't need the oxygen that most of the federation-registered beings and lifeforms need to survive. While they would eventually die, the Seekers seem to be able to adapt long enough to most environments to sustain themselves for a few hours.

Watching the screen as two small lights began to blink in and out, my fears are quickly confirmed. Before I'm able to take it in, there comes another light, followed by another.

"Damn!"

If time was against me before, it's really not my friend now. There's no telling how many Seekers survived the crash. I figure I can take on a few by myself but not much more.

Leaping over bodies, I try not to look at any faces. I had a few long-term friends on board and the last thing I need is emotion clouding my judgments. I have to make it to the exterior rail system. The rail line is used by the crew to get from any one point on the ship to another. While I doubt the rail will be up and running, the line or tube the rail rides on will give me access to S quadrant.

Known only to those on the command staff, S quadrant houses several escape pods. While no self-respecting ship captain would ever think of abandoning ship, S quadrant is mandatory placement on all federation vessels. This is a requirement handed down from the Executive Director of the Federation. I remember thinking it was such a stupid thing to do; now, however, I'm willing to eat those words.

Moving toward the rear of the command deck, my only hope is that the emergency power is enough to keep the doors operational; if not, my situation is about to get a lot worse. To my relief the door slides open as I approach, revealing the wide, main staff corridor.

The corridor is the central lifeline separating the command decks and the support decks deeper in the ship. From here, the crew uses the exterior rail system to get to the heart of the ship's power system and the common areas in the rear. The soft glow of the terminal screens is replaced by flashing alarm lights all along the edges of the staff corridor.

I check the view screen again; the Seekers are closing. They must have caught sight of me coming down the crater's edge. It only makes sense they would wait until I cornered myself in the ship instead of running out after me in the wide open.

"Double damn!"

Had I not been so out of it, I would have considered my initial approach toward the ships in more detail. As it is, all I can do is get mad at myself for poor tactics. I can't count the dots on the view screen this time; there are far too many. The view looks more like one large moving blob than anything else.

"That can't be good."

The pain in my lower back intensifies as I push myself. Seekers can move fast when they want to and right now they apparently want to in the worst way. The doors off the main staff corridor slide open and shut as I pass.

Making a series of turns through a few open side halls and junction rooms, I come to a stop at the entrance to the exterior rail. The rail car is present and I can tell by the darkness that it's not on the emergency power system. I'll be footing it the rest of the way.

Leaping down to the rail, I can feel my lungs start to turn against me. I can't seem to get enough oxygen in fast enough. A burning sensation rises from the center of my chest. Inside the rail system tube, I'm cloaked in darkness. My face shield comes to life, switching to a low light view.

With my senses at their peak, I nearly drop my rifle as a sudden thunderous noise fills the tube. The wave shot down the rail tube like a roaring engine. I risk a look back and see a heat source slam into the side of the rail tube as it leaps off the platform.

To my dismay, I can see another figure leap in after the first, followed by another, and another. Firing shots back down the tube for cover, I only hope to buy myself more time.

Using the small control pad on the back of my glove, I activate the lights on my suit. They come alive, each one positioned on the top of my helmet. Though I don't want to highlight myself in the dark, I know without the working rail car, I'll never be able to find the entrance doors to S quadrant without the light.

I know the quadrant is close. The only way anyone can get the car to stop at the entrance is to use an authorized personal code card on the car's command reader. The noise from the Seekers pouring into the rail tube grows by the minute. I can't imagine those horrible things bearing down on me. There are only a few moments to save myself or all is lost.

The sound of the enemy washes over me, and just as the roar of the anticipating kill begins to consume my senses, I see the sector identifier for S quadrant above a door just up ahead. The sheer intensity of the moment digs into my chest as I come to the door, only to realize it's not going to open.

I see the problem at once. Not only is the rail tube not working on the emergency system but neither are any of the corresponding doors attached to the same power grid. Screaming in frustration, I turn and fire my weapon. My view shield shows heat signatures moving toward me. The sounds coming from the enemy fill my head with the horrible end that awaits me.

Almost accepting my fate, I consider making a last stand. If I'm going to die, I'll take as many of them down with me as I can. More importantly, I'll make sure to save the last shot for myself. One shot to the head with the plasma rifle will take care of any problems quickly.

Just as the thought crosses my mind, I have an idea. Turning back to the entrance door, I find the outlines of a small cover in the smooth, metal surface. Using the butt of the rifle I smash the cover plate off with three good strikes, revealing a connector panel and several rows of tightly wound wires.

Without a moment to spare, I pull out the energy pack from the butt of the rifle. I'm not sure what I have to do, but I'm positive that there is enough energy in the pack to activate the door. What I'm not sure of is if I can get it to work before the Seekers get to me.

My hands shake as I pull apart the multi-colored wires.

"Yellow for technical lines, blue for communication, and red for power."

Sweat pours down my face.

"Or was it blue for power and yellow for communication?"

I try to think back to my days at the federation academy. The very basic interworking of federation ships and all of their support equipment is required knowledge for all fleet officers.

"Damn. I should have paid more attention."

Pounding footsteps of the advancing enemy echo behind me and I have to make a decision. Going with my instincts, I pull apart the red wire and shove one end into each of the contact slots on the energy receptors. With my face soaked and my heart pounding wildly in my chest, I search for success.

Nothing happens.

A sense of dread consumes me. I drop my rifle to the ground. In the clamor of the approaching enemy, I can't hear the weapon strike the metal floor. Just as I let go of the energy pack, the small light above the door blinks on. I don't have time to think; I can feel the breath of the Seekers bearing down on me. Sliding my personal code card from the slot in the environmental suit, I slam it into the card reader.

The doors to S quadrant slide open silently and I'm in. Just as the doors slide closed, I see a black, leathery hand reach in after me only to be sliced off as the doors shut tight. Dashing through the front support rooms, I can hear pounding against the main entrance.

I find the launching room in a frantic hurry. As the executive officer of the ship, one of my responsibilities is a full ship inspection prior to initial take off. I'd gone through the process of validating S quadrant many times before.

Descending into the cockpit of the escape pod closest to the entrance of the launching room, I find the space in the pod no bigger than a sleeping cot. The pods were designed to place its passenger into a deep sleep. It has the ability to send out a relatively low distress signal. I program the computer to try and get me as close to the Florin system as possible. It should get close enough to a federation outpost for my signal to be picked up.

Wasting little time, I lock myself in and initiate the launch sequence. The cylindrical hatch closes above me. Surrounded by darkness for a moment, the pod's onboard system takes over. The interior of the pod comes to life as I plug a connection cord from the pod into the side of my helmet.

Lying still for the first time, I take in the silence. Even as the pod detaches itself from the Starklight, I can neither feel nor hear anything outside. I can't hear the Seekers beating through the barrier as they long for my flesh. Neither can I see them pour into the escape pod control room.

I am completely consumed by the sound of my beating heart. I survived. I'm not sure how or why but I survived. And as the first hint of whatever chemical the pod uses to induce sleep rushes into my lungs, I continue to shake, still consumed by fear and the terror that almost caused me to end it all. As far as I know, I am the last of the Starklight, the only one to survive the Varian crossing.

THE END

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Michael W. Garza often finds himself wondering where his inspiration will come from next and in what form his imagination will bring it to life. The outcomes regularly surprise him, and it's always his ambition to amaze those curious enough to follow him and take in those results. He hopes everyone will find something that frightens, surprises, or simply astonishes them.
