Salvador Mercer

LUNAR DISCOVERY

Dedication

To the men and women who gave their lives in the quest and search for knowledge. May we never forget.

Prologue

The Neanderthal looked up in time to see the large, black, angular shape entering the earth’s atmosphere, causing the oxygen around it to ignite as it was superheated from its rapid entry. He spoke to his comrades who were hunting the blood trail from the mammoth they had wounded the day before. There was no need to point at the strange object as the sonic boom rolled over them, surprising several enough that they dropped their crude spears and fell to the ground, covering their ears.

Kark wasn’t one of them. He stood on the edge of the forest’s tundra, feeling the cool permafrost under his feet, looking north toward the rapidly slowing object. He didn’t know what it was, but unlike his brethren, he couldn’t allow himself as leader of his clan to show fear, no matter how bizarre the display.

The sleek-looking form seemed to stop in midair, floating a few miles north of where they stood over a glassy, ice-laden lake that started where the forest ended. Slowly his companions stood, helping one another and pointing to the mystical object. The sense of God, or any other omnipotent power, was a foreign ideal to these people, and the thought wasn’t even possible in a species that had literally no culture.

A bright beam of blue light shot out from the tip of the angular shape, illuminating the ground beneath it at the lake’s shore. The object moved again, floating southward toward Kark and his hunters. The blue ray of light pulsated, sweeping the ground from lakeshore to forest’s edge, and then it disappeared momentarily as the object swung about, hovering over the trees.

Kark heard faint shouts from the forest before seeing the Cro-Magnon hunters running from it toward the base of the hilltop where Kark stood. His rivals had been tracking their prey, and Kark felt anger rising within him. Without warning, the object moved, once again sending out the surreal blue light sweeping the forest behind the Cro-Magnons who were now running directly at Kark’s group, the object following.

“Prepare, battle!” Kark uttered, his voice strong and powerful but guttural. The sight of their rivals galvanized the Neanderthals into action as they picked up dropped spears and formed a rough line next to their leader, facing the fleeing Magnons. “Hold!” Kark shouted, hefting his spear and preparing to throw it.

The Magnons ran until the blue ray of light intercepted them. Several suddenly stopped, falling where they were as the rest scattered in all directions, no longer heading toward Kark’s group. “Run,” Kark said, pulling his spear in tighter to his body and sprinting quickly downhill toward the other group and the light. Several smaller black objects dropped from the large angular one and floated just above each Cro-Magnon.

Kark ran faster until his group was within a hundred yards of the spectacle, caution finally slowing and then stopping his advance. There were no signs of the other Magnons who had kept running either back into the forest or over the far hills near the lake. Kark would not allow fear to show in front of the Magnon, though several of his hunters looked at him apprehensively. Kark prepared his spear in his attack stance, facing the blue light and the immobile Magnons.

Each levitating black ball had a slender, silver-looking line coming out of it, and they were placed or injected into the spine of each of the prone Cro-Magnon, none of whom moved. Then, just as quickly as they arrived, the smaller floating objects flew back to the angular object, disappearing within its massive shadow, and the blue light ceased its probing sweeps, stopping altogether.

The angular object turned away and started to rise into the bright blue sky until it disappeared from sight over the horizon many miles distant. Kark’s hunters lifted their spears and shouted their war cries, triumphant in deterring the unknown object from their lands. Then the Cro-Magnon all awoke at the same time, standing and brandishing their own spears in front of them, despite being outnumbered. Kark prepared for battle, but his fate and that of his fellow hunters was sealed. The future of the Neanderthals was over; the rise of the Homo sapiens had begun.

^{Chapter 1}

Discovery

37,000 years later

NASA Space Command

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 1

“Telemetry readings are no longer updating, Chief,” Jack said, peering over the communications console and looking at Mission Leader Richard “Rock” Crandon sitting at the main control console. “We have new signals, multiple types, multiple frequencies, but no more data from the rover or orbiter.”

“Low gain on our interceptor or an issue with the originating signal?” Rock Crandon asked in return, leaning forward in his black leather chair.

“Wait one,” Jack shot back, using his old military lingo and concentrating on the computer feed coming into his work station. “Marge, you getting the same readings I am on that Chinese probe?”

Marjorie Jones was the senior-most analyst in NASA’s black ops room. She had more PhDs than the rest of the technicians combined. “You referring to those intermittent gamma bursts?” Marge replied, not bothering to raise her eyes from her console where she sat just in front of the command desk. Rock liked to keep her close. Any intelligent man would, and for the same reasons.

“Not just gamma. I’m showing activity on the x-ray band, as well as low gain AM and higher gain FM,” Jack said, standing to look at Marge for confirmation.

Marge began typing furiously on her keyboard, eyes constantly trained on her main monitor. After a few long seconds, she finally peered over her bank of monitors at Jack. “Confirmed on all frequencies.”

“What the hell is going on, people?” Rock asked, standing to observe his control room better.

“It seems the Chinese probe’s telemetry feed has been terminated,” Jack said, “and replaced with unknown radio bursts covering the entire RF band.”

Rock was confused. “You’re saying the digital data feed has been replaced by radio waves, Jack?”

“That’s what it looks like from my desk, sir.”

“Something’s not quite right with that,” Lisa said from one of several consoles in the room. Only about four of the twenty consoles were being manned for the overnight mission as not every NASA staffer had been cleared by the NSA for this operation.

Marge looked disconcerted at Lisa’s remarks, a fact that didn’t go unobserved by Rock. “Marge, you have something to say?”

“No,” Marge shot back, returning her focus to her bank of monitors at the scientific desk she manned.

“Lisa, what isn’t looking right from your perspective?” Rock asked.

Lisa Wilson was the antithesis of Marge. Tall, young, and with more than her share of good looks, she commanded attention in most any room dominated by the male scientific and engineering types commonly encountered in the old school NASA ranks. Rock chalked up the unusual interaction between the two to some sort of female rivalry, which extended to not only the physical appearance but the intellectual as well.

“Richard,” Lisa said, refusing as usual to use his nickname, “can you look at my console repeater? Specifically look at the signal strengths that are being recorded.”

Rock sat back down, turning his attention to his third monitor which repeated what Lisa had displayed on her main console. There were several data bands that showed the radio signal telemetry that NASA’s interceptor was currently receiving. He had to pay close attention to the key metric graph to the far left of each signal line. They no longer read in the lower decibel microvolt range, but instead in the millivolt range, and the lined graphs were in the hundreds, not single digits.

“Are these decibel readings accurate, Lisa?” Rock asked, looking even more confused at the data he was currently viewing.

“The main housing array on board the Orca is confirming it, sir,” Lisa said, referring to their ELINT spy trawler near the Chinese coast, just within international waters.

“That would mean the RF signals currently being broadcast would be in the gigawatt range, would it not?” Rock asked.

“It would, sir,” Lisa said.

“Could the Chinese probe produce something that strong? Is it even possible?” Rock ventured, standing again to look across the cavernous floor of his control center.

“Impossible,” Marge said. “The maximum voltage from the probe, or even the main Chinese orbiter, couldn’t exceed a megawatt, even if the entire orbiter had nothing but energy capacitors on it.

“Explanation?” Rock asked Marge, looking at her intently while she pulled up data from Lisa’s console. As the second in command of the mission, Marge had access to every work station, including the unmanned ones that automatically gathered and recorded various data from the Chinese lunar activities.

“None,” Marge said, continuing to look at her data stream from Lisa’s console.

“Damn it, Marge, guess then,” Rock ordered.

Marge did look at Rock then, not accustomed to his outburst and definitely not used to him asking her to guess. He knew her well enough to never ask that question. She was a professional, and she didn’t guess. Marge pulled a stray strand of sandy brown hair from in front of her eye, tucking it behind her ear before she answered. “The RF signals are from a secondary source.”

“What are you inferring?” Jack said now that everyone was standing. Even Tom, the mechanical engineer, stood from his desk, looking at Marge, and Tom never got excited. He was too old for that.

“I’m not inferring anything, Jack,” Marge answered rather shortly. “These signals are coming from a different source near the probe, but definitely not the probe nor its orbiter.”

“Lisa, run a diagnostic on the receivers. Make sure they are both functional and accurate. Do it now,” Rock said, looking at each of his analysts in turn.

“Running diagnostics now. Should be two minutes,” Lisa replied, her focus back on her monitor.

“Ruskies?” Tom asked, a tone of hesitation in his voice.

“Oh, please,” Marge exclaimed, impertinence in her voice.

“What? Why not? They have the equipment for it,” Tom said, piping up now. Tom was definitely old school. He seldom talked, but when he did, it usually was about the glory days of the Apollo program and the lunar landings back in the sixties. He was known to have a thing against them Ruskies, as he always put it.

“That would be a hell of a way to start a war,” Jack said. “Nothing like the Chinese and Russians duking it out in space.”

“You going to let this continue?” Marge asked Rock, giving him that look that she got when she was listening to someone less intelligent trying to explain a simple concept and failing miserably at it.

“Well, unless them spooks didn’t tell us there was Russian equipment at the Chinese landing site, then I’d rule them out,” Rock said.

“Spooks are them CIA folks. NSA are geeks, Rock,” Tom replied matter-of-factly.

“I thought we were the geeks,” Jack said.

“We are—good geeks here and bad geeks there,” Tom said, sitting back down and rubbing his back as he usually did after standing. His hair was pure white, and his face wrinkled except when he smiled. He had to be pushing seventy, if not older. Still, he was brought out of retirement specifically due to the nature of this operation, and the fact that it consisted of foreign operations on the dark side of the moon. He was one of the few living people that had actual experience with lunar operations. Screw the low orbit programs, this was a quarter of a million miles from earth, not a few mere dozen, and Tom knew his stuff well.

“I’m sure the NSA—” Rock started, but was interrupted by Lisa who stood straight up.

“Diagnostics confirmed, everything is five by five. The signal strength is rated in the one-point-two-gigawatt range, sir,” Lisa said, smiling as if she had just won an argument.

“So what the hell is going on up there?” Jack asked, his face revealing an unusually confused look across it.

Rock never got a chance to respond. He was about to grab the direct phone line that had been installed months earlier when it rang first. It could only be one person. Rock looked at his team noticing that no one was monitoring their consoles anymore. They all had their eyes on him.

Rock picked up the receiver. “Yeah, go ahead, Mr. Smith.” Rock knew the liaison officer between NASA and the NSA wasn’t really named Mr. Smith, but that was how the man was introduced to Rock’s team.

“Are you receiving any unusual readings down there?” Smith asked. Rock could hear something of a commotion occurring in the background where Mr. Smith was at in Maryland.

“Should we be?” Rock responded.

“I’m serious, Crandon. What do you have?”

Rock thought about it for a moment and then decided to roll the die. He’d had enough of Mr. Smith’s semi-abusive mannerisms and lack of information sharing. As a professional, he put science in front of politics and felt the government, his government, would do better if they operated the same way. Oh, he understood the need for national security, but he knew way too many things were cloaked under that broad umbrella and hidden from public scrutiny. He knew he was close to retirement and, while most common American taxpayers didn’t know it, most every federal employee was represented by a union including managers and directors, so he had a modicum of protection if necessary.

“Tell me what’s going on first so we can make sense of the data,” Rock said over the phone.

It was hard to gauge the man’s reaction from over a thousand miles away, especially when there were no body language clues to inform the speaker how the listener was accepting his words.

“Now is not the time, Crandon,” Smith said.

“You heard me, Smith, what’s happening on your end?” Rock asked, louder this time.

Smith must have been in a hurry as his response was quick and desperate. “They lost both their lander and orbiter. Now what’s going on there?”

Rock knew the NSA covered HUMINT or human intelligence and they had the linguists to do the job. If he said the Chinese lost their entire mission equipment, then this was being confirmed by HUMINT or actual personnel involved in the lunar operation, not just speculation or a wild hunch.

“Their telemetry stopped at oh three forty-seven hours. It appears to confirm what you said,” Rock responded.

“You’re sure it’s a full equipment failure?” Smith asked, his tone rising a bit, perhaps a touch of anxiety displayed within it.

“No, I said their telemetry ceased. There were no updates to the data stream. We have no way of knowing the status of their equipment,” Rock said, trying hard to keep his tone level. He didn’t like the man putting words in his mouth.

Smith breathed heavily for a second and then said something muffled to someone else in the room where he was before uncovering the mouthpiece. “All right, then you’re not receiving any electrical signals.”

Rock looked at his team and was glad they weren’t hearing this conversation. He knew it would frustrate them more than it was himself, and he was getting impatient with the good Mr. Smith. “Not from the Chinese probe or its orbiter. We are, however, receiving RF signals from a secondary source.” Rock knew this was going to get complicated.

“Secondary? What secondary? Are you sure?” Smith asked, audibly flustered.

“Source unknown. Type unknown. Signal strength one-point-two gigawatts. Frequency range covers the entire RF spectrum from three hertz to over three hundred gigahertz,” Rock said.

He could see Marge shaking her head as she sat down in her chair and turned to face her monitors. She was perhaps the only team member close enough to his console who could hear him well enough to know what he was doing. Rock often resorted to scientific jargon when he was frustrated with Smith, and it was a surefire way of getting the man to back down during showdowns similar to this one.

Smith sighed. “Can you put that in layman’s terms, Crandon?” This was Smith’s way of giving in and allowing Rock to do his job.

“Chief!” Lisa exclaimed, almost shouting. “Listen to this!” She leaned over and raised the volume on her external speaker while unplugging her earphones so that the radio signal reverberated off the large control center walls, despite their sound-dampening materials.

A loud series of beeps were coming through her speaker in a repetitious manner, clearly audible and clearly understood, much like Morse code. First three quick beeps and then a pause followed by four beeps, another pause, and then five beeps.

“Is that what I think it is?” Rock asked, ignoring Smith who was practically yelling into the phone, upset at being ignored.

“Yes, Richard, I listened to it completely at first. It will go to ten tones and then a triple pause with some sort of data spurt and then it starts over at one,” Lisa said, excitement in her voice.

“So what? The Chinese equipment rebooted to fail safe?” Jack asked, looking at Lisa.

“Oh my God…” Marge said, standing without ever removing her eyes from her monitor. She looked pale, and she had brought her hands to her face, covering her mouth, drawing her elbows in tight against her side. She seemed shaken.

“Marge, are you all right?” Rock asked, about ready to step around his own console to approach her.

Marge was galvanized into action, suddenly typing commands into her keyboard and then finally motioning to Rock. “Check the new data feed from console eighteen.” She never took her eyes off her monitor.

Rock refreshed his screen, replacing the prior RF feed from Lisa with the unmanned console information Marge had streamed his way. A blank screen appeared, and each time a tone was heard, the screen dazzled in light as if a thousand tiny sparks were lit and then died in a millisecond. The display kept pace with the repeating tone, constantly lighting up in cadence with each audible occurrence. At the top of the screen, Rock could see the display subject NEUTRINO looking at him in mock shock, daring him to believe.

“Marge… You fed me the stream from the New Mexico neutrino detector?” Rock asked, dropping the phone to the ground and placing both hands on his console counter, steadying himself as he felt his head getting lighter, the feeling of dizziness now pervading his senses.

“Ah huh,” Marge responded, also leaning now on her console.

“What the hell?” Jack said, but his words fell silent.

“Not possible.” Rock heard himself, so softly he could barely hear his own words.

Marge stood upright, gaining her composure, and finally tore her gaze away from her monitor to look at her colleagues. No need to look at Rock, he knew what the streaming feed of neutrinos meant.

“Source of the secondary signal is designated extra-terrestrial,” Marge said, her voice firm and her findings undeniable. The scientific part of her mind was finally grasping the significance of the data.

“Oh bloody hell,” Tom said.

^{Chapter 2}

Executive Decisions

White House

Washington D.C.

In the near future, Day 2

Richard “Rock” Crandon stood in the hallway outside the large conference room located in the main building of the White House. He knew that passing through TSA security lines at the nation’s airports could be challenging, not to mention time-consuming, but his ordeal this morning made those security checks pale by comparison.

“Don’t use all that techno-jargon talk you’re so fond of,” Mr. Smith said, grabbing his suitcase from the conveyer belt and straightening his tie.

“Rock will be just fine, Mr. Smith. Try being a bit more diplomatic when you discuss our team’s findings,” Director John Lui said, stuffing a few more personal items into his pockets from the small white tray nearby.

Mr. Smith looked at Lui sideways but kept quiet. NASA was one of the few agencies that reported directly to the White House, not subject to a cabinet-level position or other bureaucratic department.

“Come with me, gentlemen,” a nameless administrator said, motioning for them to follow him into a nearby conference room. The room was larger than most that Rock had seen, and several people were already inside waiting for the president and staff to arrive. Rock checked his temporary identification badge, making sure it was secured and displayed properly. He didn’t fancy a misunderstanding with the Secret Service only a few months after the assassination attempt on the president’s life.

Another aide swung his hand, waving them to be seated at a rectangular table. Each of their names were stenciled in the finest calligraphic font by hand on cards placed in front of each seat on the table, indicating their assigned seats. The mere act of preparing for a presidential meeting was well orchestrated, and Rock thought this was very similar to a NASA operation.

Within seconds of sitting, several Secret Service agents entered the room from a different door and the president’s chief administrative aide called for everyone to rise. Rock stood and watched as the madam president entered, taking her seat at the center of a very long, wooden conference table.

“You may be seated,” the man said.

“This meeting is called to order. Let the minutes reflect the security level at Alpha-One.” Rock noticed a transcriber stationed in the far corner typing at a steno machine furiously, recording the meeting in distinct detail. The president swung her head to look at everyone seated at the table, even looking at Rock before finishing her sweep. Rock thought this was a formal courtesy until the president returned her gaze to look directly at him.

He felt a nudge under the table from Mr. Smith and then heard a slight whisper in his ear as the unruly man leaned closer to him. “No techno-babble.”

Rock felt anger again, but it was tempered by the fact that he was more than a little uncomfortable with the gaze of the president upon him. In fact, her gaze was quickly turning into a stare, and he wasn’t the only one to recognize this. He quickly forgot about his pesky, over-controlling handler as the president continued to look at him.

The woman was slight in stature, but her stern countenance commanded respect. Rock barely noticed the scars of surgery behind her left eye and above her left ear. He was sure the president would have received the highest level of medical care, to include plastic surgery, but there is only so much a skilled surgeon can do when a nine millimeter ricochets off of someone’s skull.

One Secret Service agent had died in the attack, and another was wounded. Rock remembered it well, and the anxious hours afterward as an entire nation, indeed the entire world, waited until news broke that the president was still alive and had suffered a fractured skull instead of the intrusion of a bullet into her cranial cavity. News reports had the would-be assassin as a Jihadist, but enough conspiracy theories circulated to cloud the facts of the attempt. What was important now was that she was alive and fully in command of the United States of America. Given the vice president’s track record, this was an actual relief to more than just the members of her own political party.

“…and the main presentation will be performed by National Security Director—” The chief of staff never got to finish his opening presentation.

“We understand that, Thomas,” the president said, never taking her eyes off of Rock. “Deputy Director Richard Crandon, correct?” she asked, looking him in the eye.

“Yes, Madam President.” Rock nodded his head, remembering to swallow and breathe.

“I’m more interested in hearing from NASA right now, if you don’t mind, Thomas. We can have the presentation shortly thereafter,” she said with a slight waving motion of her hand. Dismissing him or signaling him to silence? Rock didn’t know, wasn’t sure, and wasn’t about to ask.

“As you wish,” her chief of staff said too regally for most of those in the room. This was, after all, a republic, not a monarchy.

“I can brief you on the NASA operations, Madam President,” Mr. Smith chimed in, leaning forward, trying to make himself more visible to the president. For once, Mr. Smith and Rock were in agreement. Better if he performed the briefing since he was liaising between three key agencies and Rock felt he was more in the dark than in on the program.

“I appreciate your offer, Mr….” An aide leaned in close to the president. “Mr. Smith, but I’d prefer to hear about the actual discovery and its significance from Deputy Director Crandon,” she said, finally releasing Rock from her gaze just long enough to reward Mr. Smith with a perfunctory glance.

“You have the entire report, Madam President. I submitted it myself yesterday evening,” Mr. Smith said. Indeed, less than thirty hours had passed from the lunar discovery till this very meeting with several of those hours spent sleeping on a private government jet on the way from Houston to Washington D.C. In fact, Rock’s team members were still sequestered in the NASA control center, building two, and they weren’t happy about it either.

The president waved him off, not bothering to address him verbally this time. “I read the report, but I want to review how you and your team recognized what you were dealing with.”

“It wasn’t my discovery, actually, Madam President. Dr. Jones discovered the actual significance of the signals,” Rock said, referring to Marge’s neutrino discovery.

“I understand you being hesitant, but you represent the entire NASA ELINT team, so please, share with us your assessment,” the president said.

Rock felt easier after the initial anxiety that the president quickly put to ease. In fact, he had all but forgotten about Mr. Smith, who was fidgeting anxiously in the chair next to him. His boss, John Lui, sat quietly, unmoving and not indicating either way if he approved or not of the direct questioning by the executive branch.

“Well, initially my team noticed that the telemetry feeds had ceased updating,” Rock began, looking around the table, seeing many stone-hard faces concealing who knew what kind of feelings and emotions. “Almost immediately after the data feed loss, we encountered several strong signals across the RF band.”

Rock paused to see if anyone would interrupt. Apparently the Mr. Smith lesson was fresh in everyone’s minds as no one said a word. “Our first indication that something was amiss wasn’t the radio frequencies. Those exist even as background noise throughout the universe, rather it was the signal strength of those frequencies… They were literally off the chart in strength. They radiated in the gigawatt range of power output when the entire Chinese space mission wasn’t capable of summoning even a megawatt of power at the most.”

At this, the president did interject. “So you’re saying the radio signals were stronger than what the Chinese could produce?”

“Exactly,” Rock answered, pleasantly surprised that the president summarized his information so succinctly. “It was only after this revelation that Assistant Mission Leader Marge Jones noticed, and pulled, the feed from the neutrino detection tank at Los Alamos.”

The president flipped through a few pages stapled in front of her that she had pulled from one of three manila folders, and began reading. “When the tertiary scientific data stream was noticed, Analyst Jones declared the signal source as ‘extra-terrestrial.’ Is that correct, Deputy Director Crandon?”

“Ah, yes, that is how it occurred, Madam President,” Rock responded.

“What is tertiary referring to here?” her chief of staff asked, looking at his own set of papers.

“Oh, that is the non-critical science data that the operations control center is plugged into at all times,” Rock said. “Consoles twelve through twenty monitor various non-critical mission elements of all our mission profiles during the execution phase.”

“What kind of non-critical data are you referring to, Crandon?” her chief asked, never looking up from his briefing paper. “The discovery seems more than critical. How was it initially classified as non-critical?”

“Well,” Rock began, exhaling again and taking a deep breath since he knew this would take time with a civilian, “several systems aren’t really critical. They simply monitor various scientific data in order for NASA to execute or support a wider range of mission profiles. For example,” Rock continued, seeing some faces furrowing their brows, indicating confusion, “one station monitors our sun for the occurrence of plasma ejections or solar flares. Another station monitors tectonic activity, assessing the strength, location, and frequency of earthquakes.”

A few more of those looks and Rock hurried to explain. “Yes, I know plate tectonics isn’t exactly space related, but the correlation between the two is that we use orbital satellites to micro-measure the position of various key points on certain land masses thus enabling us to tell how far the upper plate moves during any certain magnitude quake. The program was funded several years ago, and through financial efficiencies and a cooperative funding program of the European Union, we’ve managed to keep the program operational several years past its end of funding date.”

“Could we focus on the neutrino project?” the president asked politely. This was followed by an annoying nudge of Mr. Smith’s knee to Rock’s leg, reminding the NASA mission leader that his handler was still there.

“Yes, of course, Madam President. Sorry for the digression. The neutrino monitoring program was one of several non-critical mission items that were being monitored automatically. Marge, uh… I mean, Dr. Jones, had the foresight to pull up the program’s data feed when we discovered a pattern in the radio signals. From that data, we were able to determine that the source was indeed extra-terrestrial,” Rock finished.

“Exactly how did you make that determination?” the president asked.

Rock was confused for a moment—the report spelled it all out—but since this was the president, he repeated what he thought was in the documents in front of her. “Madam President, if you look at your report you’ll see that the neutrino activity was approximately one-point-four million times the normal base and the activity was timed perfectly with the radio signals that we intercepted from the moon. Our conclusion is obvious, is it not?”

“It is from the report, but before I go to the legislative branch and ask for who knows how many billions of dollars in funding to retrieve this alien object, I want to make damn sure I understand what we’re getting ourselves into,” the president responded, looking at Rock once more.

Rock understood her ability to move from diplomat to strict governess in the proverbial blink of an eye, not to mention the use of a more common profane word. “Well, as you’ve read in the report, the neutrinos aren’t detected directly. We didn’t even know for sure that they existed until we discovered the traces they left behind—”

“I’m not sure NASA even understands the physics involved here,” Secretary Morris said. “Better to let our scientific team of physicists arrive for a full briefing on the neutrino discovery. We can have one scheduled late tonight or tomorrow morning at the latest.”

Secretary Morris ran the newly created Department of Science and seemed to still have a grudge that the prior administration didn’t fold NASA into it. The prior president felt that computers, digital streaming, and computer technology were sciences and NASA was space related. Rock was just happy that the inclusion of his agency didn’t happen three years prior.

“Schedule the meeting, but we don’t have time to wait. Deputy Director Crandon, finish your explanation, but briefly, please,” the president said.

“The neutrinos are detected by the collisions that occur when one of them hits a hydrogen atom head on. These collisions are rare but measureable by their by-product, gamma rays. Usually an underwater heavy water tank and the associated monitoring equipment are all that is needed to detect the presence of these collisions. Since neutrinos are practically massless, they pass right through solid matter as if it wasn’t there. The sun itself is the primary producer of neutrinos in our solar system, and despite its massive output, we record neutrino strikes at a fairly low rate. Taken as a whole, the massive neutrino collisions we observed could only have been produced by a major energy source far stronger than anything we can produce on earth. Thus our conclusion, Madam President.”

There was silence for a moment while everyone waited for the president to respond. “What is your assessment, then?” she asked Rock.

Rock looked around the room before responding. “You’re going to have to ask Congress for a hell of a lot more than a few billion dollars if you want to retrieve the extra-terrestrial object before someone else does, Madam President.”

^{Chapter 3}

China, Russia, US

People’s Republic Space Command

Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 2

“Is the Explorer responding yet?” asked Lun Chui of the People’s Republic Space Command at the closed-door meeting just outside of their headquarters in Beijing.

The room was stale from the polluted air despite the filtering system that was running twenty-four-seven. The coal plants were cheap to start up, but China was suffering from one of the worst air pollution problems in recorded history.

Newly minted Mission Lead Hun Lee pulled at his collar before answering. “Not yet, Director. We have attempted several times to reboot the main computer, but we’re only receiving passive data from it as it orbits the moon, and only when it’s planet-side.”

“That’s still not acceptable. What will be done to regain control of it?” Director Chui asked, pacing the floor in the dim conference room. Hun knew Director Chui had just avoided being sacked as well, and his own boss resigned in disgrace once the mission had failed. Well, resigned was a nice way of saying quitting before getting fired, and the old man was under house arrest, though no one would use that word publicly. The only saving grace for his former boss was the fact that something appeared to be interfering with their mission and indeed could have been a factor in its failure.

“Has the signals section found a cause for the transmissions at the landing site?” Mission Technician Lin Fu asked from behind her glasses, perusing the report they all had in front of them.

“We have the source’s frequencies and strength profile but not any rational or intent for the transmissions,” Signals Technician Chon Chu said from across the table.

An aide walked into the room, handing a note to the space director, who read it quickly and moved to a secure phone against the near wall.

“Any ideas on regaining control or will the mission be terminated?” asked Lin, whispering from across the table.

Hun knew that the political politburo was fickle when it came to technological missions, and the Space Command was a fairly new organization with more scientists in it than bureaucrats, which was most uncommon in the government, even in the twenty-first century. In a country of well over one and a half billion people, the leadership sometimes preferred to simply start over when making sweeping staff changes. Lin was simply expressing a very valid self-concern.

“I’m not sure, Lin, but I think we’re focusing on the wrong element here,” Hun said, also in a hushed whisper, careful not to disturb the director.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Lin, leaning over.

“You should know better than most, Lin. We’re not even sure what we encountered or from what country it belongs,” Hun said.

Lin leaned back. “Perhaps we’ll see some information on this soon. I’ve already informed the leadership that the signal strength coming from the structure is most likely too high to be from any source other than the Americans.”

“What would they be doing with lunar base and how could it be kept a secret for so long?” Chon asked, obviously not buying the idea that the Americans were involved.

Hun never got a chance to respond, and neither did Lin. “New plans,” said the director, hanging up the phone and returning to the table. “Hun, your group will be secondary advisors. We have been ordered to report to the Wenchang Command Center immediately. It appears the People’s Army has identified the source of the radio signals, and maybe even the cause of your team’s failure. A lift chopper will pick us up on field three. Gather your things and meet me in the lobby in ten minutes.”

The insult was not acknowledged, the team mission members having been accustomed to such direct talk during their careers, and being relegated to “secondary advisors” was more than enough information to infer the future of their fate, and it wasn’t promising.

“Damn,” Lin said, picking up her papers and stuffing them into her portfolio that she pulled from the floor.

“No time for a change of clothes?” Chon asked, his eyes wide.

“Quiet, Chon. Be thankful you don’t suffer the same fate as Wang,” Hun said, referring to his old boss, leaving off the man’s title as was customary when one was disgraced.

* * * * *

Minister of Space Command’s Office

Kremlin, Moscow, Russia

In the near future, Day 2

“Vladimir, how have you been, old friend?” Dmitry asked, walking up and embracing his longtime comrade.

“Good, Dima, and you?” Vlad responded, returning the heartfelt greeting and grabbing the man by the shoulders, arms outstretched so he could get a good look at his onetime mentor.

“I’ve seen better days, Vlad.” The smile disappeared as Dmitry motioned for Vlad to take a seat at a chair near the window and away from his desk.

“Chai?” Dmitry asked, looking to the door.

“No tea for me today. I’ve had my morning coffee and my doctor says to limit my caffeine,” Vlad said, sitting in the chair near the window, which overlooked the Kremlin’s grounds, and setting his briefcase on the floor where it leaned against the small table’s leg.

“Elena, just one tea, please,” Dmitry said to his assistant at the door.

“You’re looking well despite the years,” Vlad said, smiling, trying to lighten up the mood a bit and wondering what could be so urgent that the chief of the Roscosmos space program would summon him in person from his duties at the Vostochny Cosmodrome in the Far East.

“I should have been on the pension years ago,” Dmitry did say, managing a small smile. “I’m sorry for the long trip, Vlad. We have work to do, and something has come up that will require your presence in Moscow this week.”

“What happened now?” Vlad asked, leaning back and allowing Elena to set the tea on the table, observing Dmitry as he gave her a smile and took the cup, pausing to blow on it, taking a sip, and nodding in satisfaction.

“Elena may not know how to type quickly, but she makes a good chai,” Dmitry said, setting his cup down. “The issue at hand involves the Chinese… this time, at least.”

Vlad looked at Dmitry closely to see if this was some jest or not. “Not the Americans?”

“Oh no, that is old news, my friend. I would be polite and ask about the new space station, but we don’t have the time for formalities, I’m afraid.”

Vlad knew his boss was well informed of the Russian space station’s every detail. He reviewed the daily reports to the old man personally, so the reference had to be polite. “That’s fine, Dima, tell me why I’m here.”

“The military in you shows again, direct and straight to the point,” Dmitry said. “You are familiar with the Chinese lunar program?” Vlad nodded. “It made an interesting discovery two days ago at the landing site for its lunar rover before it was incapacitated.”

An odd word to use for a piece of equipment, Vlad thought. “What happened?”

“Something was triggered on the moon and it’s broadcasting a signal, several, in fact.” Dmitry watched Vlad’s face for any sign of expression. “The signals have been determined to have originated from an unknown origin; however, the assessment is that the newly discovered object the Chinese stumbled upon is most likely extra-terrestrial in nature.”

“Blyad!” Vladimir said, nearly spilling Dmitry’s tea as he smacked the table with his knee.

“No need for profanity, Vlad,” Dmitry said, half chuckling at his former student’s outburst. “It took us nearly an entire day to accept the concept even though we had the data right in front of us.”

Vladimir composed himself. “Based off of what data? You understand the significance of what you just told me, no?”

“Of course I do, and so does the Kremlin. The task now is to reach the transmitting object and secure it before anyone else does.”

“So you’re serious. No joking, Dima.”

“Deadly serious, Vladimir,” the man said, taking the time to use his full name to emphasis the point. “You’ll be debriefed in”—Dmitry looked at his watch—“just over an hour from now. We’ll have a car ready for us in twenty minutes. You arrived late this morning.”

“Traffic to the center is difficult at this time of the day, especially from Domodedovo.”

“Yes, sorry to make you fly commercial, but we didn’t want to send any signs that we’ve caught on to what has happened.”

“The Chinese don’t know that we know?” Vlad asked.

“From what our source inside Beijing is telling us, they are clueless. The Americans, on the other hand, are a different story. They secured their scientific team in Houston and took their observation leader and flew him to Washington. We think they understand the data the same way we do.”

“Understand it as in not from our planet?”

“Well, there is civilian confirmation of the signal, and its potential source, from at least ten countries, and that should double before the week is out. You haven’t seen the detailed reports yet, but when you do, you’ll understand.”

“This sounds intense, Dima. Do we have a plan?” Vlad asked.

“A very simple one, Vlad. Get there first. All other considerations are secondary.”

“You know what this means?”

“I do,” Dmitry said, reaching for his tea. “It will get very ugly, very quickly. That is where you come in.”

* * * * *

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 2

Marge Jones sat at her console looking at what data streams were still active ever since they were sequestered. Her team wasn’t very happy, and being forced to stay in the control room wasn’t making things any better. Jack was starting to smell ripe, and Lisa had to be restrained more than once. If Rock didn’t get the detention lifted soon, she was sure something unpleasant would happen.

“It’s a violation of our constitutional rights,” Lisa began again, and Marge was sure it wouldn’t be the last time.

“Keep your panties on,” Tom said, looking tired if not upset.

“Easy for you to say, Tom. You don’t have the same issues some of us do,” Lisa shot back.

Jack stood up, stretching. “Come on now, Lisa, that’s not fair to Tom or the rest of us. My wife and kids have no idea either. You’re not the only one with family wondering what is going on.”

“At least your kids are older,” Lisa said, sitting back down.

“Not that much older, and you don’t have a wife calling the main gate to make sure I haven’t left. Ann is sure I’m messing around despite all the security,” Jack said.

“That’s her problem, and any trust issues between the two of you are your problems to solve. Not my fault she feels that way. John isn’t questioning my actions.”

“That’s cause John is a guy,” Tom said.

“Enough of that, Tom. I know you’re an old timer, but the misogynic remarks aren’t helping,” Marge said.

“Well, if she’d just keep her panties on—”

“Tom!” Lisa stood up again.

Rock’s phone rang, and Marge hushed all of them, running up the two short steps to pick up the receiver at Rock’s console. “Hello. Uh, yes, we do. Yes, understood. When?… All right, thank you.”

“News?” Jack perked up and Lisa paused.

The locks to the main doors were audibly moved, and then the doors were thrown open and secured by two of the FBI agents that had been standing guard in the hallway.

“We’re free to go for now,” Marge said. “We meet here at oh four hundred hours, though, so get some rest.”

“That’s barely twelve hours from now,” Jack said, moving his arms around and gathering a few of his personal belongings from his console desk.

Marge looked just as tired as he felt. “I know. Rock will be here, and we have another mission to perform. No details were given other than we were free to go under the condition that we don’t discuss the operation with anyone.”

“Nothing new there,” Tom said, also getting up rather stiffly from his chair. “Maybe this time they’ll let us win.”

The group gathered their belongings and headed to the parking lot. The hot, humid weather hit Marge hard, but she felt good breathing the non-conditioned air and letting the afternoon sun warm her skin.

“What the hell did Tom mean?” Jack asked, catching up to Marge in the parking lot.

“Who the hell knows what Tom means half the time,” Marge said, looking at their cars in the lot and realizing there were only five of them, including Rock’s. “Go home and get some rest, Jack. I got a feeling we’re going to be busy very soon.”

^{Chapter 4}

Race

CIA Charter Plane

Houston Air Space

In the near future, Day 4

Rock was watching Houston fly by underneath him as they banked and headed for the NASA strip southeast of the city. The previous two days had been difficult to say the least, and the press was starting to ask questions. He wondered just how long the discovery would stay a secret.

“You finish the daily brief?” Mr. Smith asked from across the aisle. Rock thought he would be cursed forever with this man.

“Yeah, I finished it an hour ago. Is it true about the Russians?”

“Oh, yeah. They are bringing our astronauts down from the space station on Friday, those bastards.”

Rock closed his folder and then rubbed his eyes. “What did you expect? The briefing said they are aware, and it’s obvious they won’t work with us. Did we even try?”

“That’s need to know, Crandon, but I’m sure the State Department reached out to them.”

“I wish I had a better picture of what’s happening behind the curtain, so to speak.”

“Actually, you will if what my boss says is correct,” Mr. Smith said without emotion showing on his face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rock asked, not in the mood for games.

“It appears you made a good impression on the president yesterday afternoon. Word is you’re going to be tapped to lead the upcoming project to secure the object.”

“Just great. When was someone going to tell me about this?”

Now Rock’s discomfort seemed to have an effect on Mr. Smith as the man leaned forward in his seat, trying to conceal a slight smile on his face. It was obvious the dislike was mutual between the two men. “Very soon. It’ll be made official by tomorrow, or at least that would be my guess. She may be president, but you still have to be vetted for the SCI clearance and that takes time despite the urgency.”

“Keep your damn secrets. I just don’t see how we’re supposed to make any progress when we scuttled our shuttle program and contracted out for heavy boost capacity to the Russians. We literally have no way of reaching low earth orbit, much less the freaking moon, for Christ’s sake. What exactly did you bureaucrats think was going to happen?”

“That will change soon enough, and not all of us are in the same boat, Crandon. Try not to lump us all together.”

No, you get a special category all to yourself, Mr. Smith. All to yourself, Rock thought, holding his tongue and preparing to land as the flight attendant called over the small plane’s PA system for the usual safety precautions to be taken.

The landing and subsequent trip to NASA headquarters was less than eventful, and within an hour Rock was reunited with his team in the large conference room in the main administrative building.

“Those twelve hours went too damn quickly,” Jack said. He is looking worse than he did the day before despite the half day off or so, Marge thought.

“Good to see you, too, Jack,” Rock said, greeting his team and finding a seat before noticing Jeff Wheeler across the table. “You in on this, too, Jeff?”

“I’m afraid so. Seems your team is going to get much larger despite the security,” Jeff said.

“You been briefed?” Rock asked.

“He has the necessary clearance, otherwise he wouldn’t be here,” Mr. Smith said, taking a seat at the head of the table and motioning for a couple of unknown aides to start passing out folders stamped TOP SECRET on them.

“Oh, you,” Marge said, looking at Mr. Smith.

“No need to be testy, Dr. Jones,” Mr. Smith said without looking up from his papers. “You may be famous soon one day.”

“I don’t see how, considering our little ET object is transmitting signals that would be difficult for a high school science teacher to miss,” Marge said.

“Can we begin?” Rock asked, eager to get through one more meeting and hoping they wouldn’t need to spend any more time with the DC suits.

“Of course,” Mr. Smith said. “We have one and only one objective at this time.”

“We know, reach the ET object and secure it for further analysis,” Rock said. “The issue is we don’t have a way to reach the moon right now. Nothing is even remotely on the drawing board that could fulfill that objective.”

“That’s why I’ve asked Chief of Engineering Jeff Wheeler to be here. You and your team are going to have to find a way to get there and do it in only three months,” Mr. Smith said, shuffling his papers into some kind of unknown order that only the man could decipher.

“I’ve told you twice already, even if we worked around the clock, we’d need close to half a year to get anything worthy to attempt this mission. It’s impossible.”

“I didn’t think you NASA types were so pessimistic,” Mr. Smith said.

“Not pessimistic, realistic. Just the safety protocols alone will take several months.”

“That’s why there will be no safety protocols, Crandon. You just need to get us up there and do it fast. No other mission parameters.”

Rock sighed, looking around the table. He saw no appetite from any of his team members to even join the discussion. In fact, it looked like Marge despised the man and Lisa had a look on her face indicating physical violence was being contemplated. Jack just looked tired, and Tom, as always, appeared to be bored with their conversation. Only Jeff was listening intently, apparently not accustomed to dealing with Mr. Smith on a regular basis.

“You understand the implications of what you’re saying?” Rock asked.

“Completely. Remember, Crandon, you’ll have nearly unlimited resources once congressional approval has been secured.”

“That’s not the part that worries me. Where do you think we’re going to find suitable volunteers for a mission like this with a high risk and, if I may be blunt here, a likely chance of death?” Rock said, frustration rising in his voice.

“We have just the right people in mind,” Mr. Smith said, displaying his unusual smile that reminded Rock of a hyena just before it was about to feed.

* * * * *

Russian Space Station Gordust (Pride)

Low Earth Orbit

Day 4

“They said what?” astronaut Julie Monroe exclaimed, looking more than upset and sounding very pissed off.

“I’m very sorry, comrade Julie. That is the last communiqué we received from our commander. You’ll have to be ready to depart the day after tomorrow,” cosmonaut Yuri Temshenko said from overhead where he was floating above the intersection of the habitation modules of the space station.

“Stop already with the comrade thing. You’re entirely too archaic for this century,” Julie said, pushing off from the bulkhead and twirling ninety degrees by latching on to the handrail protruding from the base of her habitation module and then disappearing from view.

“Don’t take it personally, Yuri. She’s just upset about her experiment. It requires twice daily observations, and she’s sure you’re not going to spend the time to continue it. She spent two years preparing for it,” Craig Alders said from his habitat tube.

“All forgiven, my friend. I would be angry, too, if your government kicked me off of your space station,” Yuri replied, spinning upside down so he could see Craig with the same orientation.

“Except we don’t have a space station.”

“I’m sure it would have been a nice play station,” Yuri said, and Craig wasn’t sure if the man misspoke or was jesting again. Yuri had to be one of the funniest but less than serious astronauts Craig had ever encountered. It made him question not only the Russian cosmonaut vetting process but if the Russians even had a vetting process.

“So, will there be a special launch for the personnel change?” Craig asked.

“Undoubtedly,” Yuri said. “We weren’t supposed to be provisioned for another three weeks. From the rumors we’ve heard, there is something planned that requires extra space on board the Gordust. Speculation will only get you so far.”

“So no one’s saying earth-side, then?”

“Nyet. Not a word, sorry.”

“Well, if you hear anything, let us know. I’ll wrap up some of our documentation and secure our belongings, but we have a day and a half so no hurries.”

“No, take your time. Enjoy the view for another day. Very pleasant from up here,” Yuri said, moving over to a porthole and looking down at the earth, which was moving by at over seventeen thousand miles per hour.

Craig moved to a second porthole. “It’s beautiful. I’ll miss this place.”

“I’m sure you will. But cheer up, you’ll be back, I’m sure, or have your own station soon someday.” Yuri clapped Craig on the back and smiled.

Craig took one last look at the blue-green planet below and pushed off back to his habitat to prepare for his return.

“Chto eta bilo?” Olga Petrov asked, gliding up to Yuri and looking to make sure the Americans were out of earshot. Not that it mattered as long as they spoke Russian, but better to make sure. “Do they know?”

“Just that they are leaving. I just now told them, but not the reason for it. We have to make room for the new crew now, Olga. Pravda, we don’t really know anything either.”

“We know more than they do,” Olga said, moving to close the hatches on the habitat tubes Julie and Craig had used.

“What would we know, Olya?” Yuri said, using her diminutive.

“We are going to the moon, Yuri. I know we are, but I don’t know why. Not yet.”

“Perhaps, Olya, but I’d be careful not to think upon that too much. Not until we see what Roscosmos sends up,” Yuri said.

Olga simply smiled.

^{Chapter 5}

Planning

Vostochny Cosmodrome

Siberia, Russia

In the near future, Day 6

Vladimir watched the large Energia IV lift off from the Vostochny Cosmodrome with its atmospheric reentry vehicle perched atop the medium-sized lifter. He knew the next two days included two more launches of the same type booster, all for the space station. He was satisfied after sixty seconds when the counter rolled past T 1:00 that the rocket would enter low earth orbit without incident. He turned from the observatory platform and headed back to the elevators to schedule the next tasks for his agency.

As he arrived several floors below the observatory deck, he nodded in satisfaction at their new quarters, which were much improved over the old Baikonur facilities in Kazakhstan. That place was a dump, he thought to himself, and he wouldn’t miss the many reminders of the comrades who had died there over the years. Back in the Soviet era, half of the incidents weren’t even reported. Those had been hard times.

He had been thoroughly briefed and understood the mission as it related to his agency. The first launch would ensure the Americans were vacated from the Gordust Space Station as well as providing provisions for the next two months. The second booster was to carry a special fuel module designed to change the entire orbit of the station. Something like this had never been attempted before, but the stakes were high enough that the Kremlin felt that all other assets, including his cosmonauts, were expendable.

For that reason, the remaining technicians would not travel to the station until the riskier orbit changing burn occurred. If there was a catastrophic failure on board the station, this would limit the loss of life to only two cosmonauts, instead of the planned six.

Then there was the fourth launch. The massive Energia X was even now being prepped to launch a lunar reconnaissance orbiter around the moon. This would at least insure that they could monitor the object if nothing else. Currently they didn’t have a lunar lander that was capable of returning to the earth, much less lunar orbit. Dmitry had an entire team of engineers working overtime on that at a secret location outside of Moscow. If the Russians couldn’t land there yet, they’d be sure anyone else that tried couldn’t do so unobserved.

“You look worried, Vlad,” Irina Koroleva said, standing to greet him.

“It’s nothing, Irina, just the magnitude of what we’re about to do,” Vlad said, walking over to his chair in his office.

Irina followed him but didn’t enter, instead preferring to lean against the doorjamb. “I take it the launch went well.”

“You listened?” Vlad asked, wiggling his mouse and bringing his computer out of hibernation.

“Of course. The launch sounded like it went perfectly, as usual, so what’s the problem, Vlad?”

Vlad wasn’t in the mood to discuss particulars. During a lapse in judgement last year, he found himself in an affair with the attractive woman. It didn’t last long, but her familiarity with him never ceased. Oh, she wouldn’t call him Vlad in front of the rest of his staff, but at the start of the weekend, with most administrative staff at home and the technical staff overseeing the launch, he found himself alone again with the woman and it made him uncomfortable, to say the least.

“No problems, Irina. I’m just worried about the amount of launches we have planned in such a short period of time. Our staff has already been working around the clock and, though tired, it will only get worse before it gets better.”

“Ah yes, but at least there will be a break after the heavy launch, no?”

“Da, at least we can take a few days off then. I’m sure the crews will need it. Speaking of which, why don’t you take some time off? I’m sure the paperwork will be here on Monday.”

“Vlad, if I didn’t know you, I’d say you wanted to get rid of me,” Irina said, now approaching his desk and slowly sitting on the side edge.

“Nonsense,” Vlad lied, noticing her long slender legs and really regretting last year’s lapse in judgement. “I’m glad you’re here. Perhaps you’re right. We work hard, get everything in order, and be ready for a well-deserved rest after we launch the heavy.”

“Sounds like a plan, Vladimir,” Irina said, leaning forward so close he could smell her perfume. “We can celebrate then,” she said, abruptly standing before he could protest and heading for the door. “It will be good for us,” she said, giving Vlad one last look that portended trouble, and then leaving the man to his work.

God help me, Vlad said, shaking his head. If this mission didn’t kill him, Irina would.

* * * * *

Irina sat at her desk and finished documenting and filing the reports as required for the launches. She downloaded the data of all four launches, the one that was just executed as well as the other three planned, onto a small portable thumb drive which she then inserted into her RF device that she had been given long ago, sewn into a hidden pocket of her purse.

Vlad was happy to say good evening to her as she left the base, passing through security, which was much more lax than encountered when entering the base, and walked to her car. Most Russians used public transportation, but out here a vehicle was a necessity due to the base’s isolation. It took her over twenty minutes to reach the small town where most of the base personnel lived. She parked her car in the garage and exited to the street, walking about three blocks before arriving at the large bar.

The place was fairly full from not only base personnel off duty at the moment, enjoying a rare respite after the first day’s launch, but also from the miners and loggers of the two other localized industries that the bar served. She was late by about ten minutes, but she knew her handler always had someone there, anyway. Her instructions were always the same. Go to the bar, spend thirty minutes there, and then leave. She knew the data was encrypted and stored in a portable RF query device that detected an incoming signal, which, if matched properly to its password coding, prompted the device to release its data stream.

What she didn’t know was the identity of her handler and who he or she represented. Irina felt only a tinge of guilt at what she was doing, but it often went away when she checked her Swiss bank account following each transaction. When she had enough, she was going to leave for good. Besides, how important could space secrets be, anyway? Not like she was transferring nuclear ballistic missile details.

She ordered her usual salad with hot tea and toasted bread. Looking around never helped; she first thought she’d be able to see someone every time she performed a transfer, but the bar always seemed to have different people in it no matter how attentive she was. Her affair with the program director was pure icing on the cake, allowing her access to his work space and facilitating the espionage she was doing. Too bad he ended the relationship, but it was obvious he didn’t feel right about just kicking her to the curb, at least not just yet. The money was good, and she didn’t care who had her data as long as she got paid. She’d get out of this Siberian hellhole for good, one way or the other.

She finished her meal, paid her bill, and then returned to her flat a few blocks away, sure that her device was queried and that the data was transferred even though she never saw her handler. Tomorrow she’d see confirmation in the form of an increased balance in her Swiss account. Irina smiled as she prepared to watch Balkovsky’s Ozera, a sort of Russian take off on Girls in the City.

* * * * *

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 6

The meeting was tedious at first until the presenter, a lady by the name of Mrs. Brown, started to discuss the SIGINT that the NSA had been working on. “So after the tenth pulse, there is a pause of exactly three seconds before some sort of high-speed data burst is recorded. The compressed signal is beyond the ability of our current receivers to decode properly, and even the first few thousand bytes that we have managed to decipher correctly are not intelligible to us at this time.”

“So how does this account for the ability of the higher line of sight RF waves to reach earth from the backside of the moon?” Lisa asked.

“Yeah,” Jack chimed in. “There is no atmosphere either to bend or reflect the lower band waves either. It doesn’t add up.”

“Unknown at this time,” Mrs. Brown said, looking from the screen at her questioners.

“You’re the SIGINT experts. You mean to tell us you can’t trace the path the radio waves are taking to reach us?” Tom asked, stifling a yawn, which did little to placate the woman.

“We analyze the signal and its stream. I’d say you space experts should have a hypothesis proposed by now,” she shot back.

“Who says we haven’t?” Marge said.

Rock wasn’t sure if his team was just probing her with necessary questions or if they were trying to push her buttons. Since she arrived, she wasn’t greeted any more warmly than Mr. Smith was, and judging by his facial expression, he wasn’t pleased either.

“Let’s just move on, shall we?” Rock said, diffusing the tension with his remark. “Mrs. Brown, let’s just say the path isn’t important for right now. What is the actual significance of the data spurt after the count up?” This referring to the opposite of a countdown since the pulses went higher in number rather than lower.

“Since the two-point-seven-megabyte stream takes twelve nanoseconds and the entire transmission lasts approximately seven hundred thousand, one hundred and eleven nanoseconds, we’ve computed the data burst to contain about one hundred fifty nine gigabytes roughly.

“That’s it?” Jack asked, surprised. “My kid’s collection of movies takes up more digital storage space than that.”

“Maybe the data isn’t comprised of alien movies,” Mr. Smith replied, a tone of sarcasm evident in his voice.

“Or the information is just enough to open another, larger data site,” Jeff said, finally breaking his silence from across the table.

“So why is the mandate to reach the moon? Why not just analyze the signals or send up an orbiter to collect data?” Tom asked.

“I’ll handle this one, Brown,” Mr. Smith said, and Rock was pleased to see he wasn’t the only one Smith addressed by surname only. “We have other information that relates to the discovery, and also the intentions of the Russians and Chinese have been clarified somewhat. Can you bring up section three on the PowerPoint?” Smith said to Brown.

Mrs. Brown leaned over the table, manipulating the laptop till a still-titled Section Three: Photographic Data became visible on the wall’s screen.

This perked Rock’s team up considerably. “You have photographs?” Tom asked.

“Next slide,” Smith said. “Yes, here you can see the actual object as photographed by the Chinese rover. Note the side ruler bar which is scaled in feet for reference.” Rock noted the red and white bar that denoted scale overlaid on a grainy black and white photo of what appeared to be some sort of oblong cylinder protruding from the surface of the moon and reaching a height of well over five feet.

“Is that our scale or theirs?” Marge asked.

“Theirs, and we have no reason to doubt it,” Smith said. “The interesting fact here is that your telemetry feed intercept on the mag detector.” At this, Smith rummaged through a couple of pages till he found what he was looking for. “The mag detector went past the maximum range that the Chinese instrument could handle, so it’s hard to say if there is something metallic there as small as half the size of a car or something much larger, as large as an oceangoing ship, for example.”

“You’re saying there is something metallic there, larger than the object we’re looking at now, perhaps buried under the lunar surface?” Jeff asked.

“Yes, quite possibly,” Brown jumped in, advancing the presentation to the next slide where a closer view of the object was visible as seen from the perspective of the rover.

“If I didn’t know better, I think that looks like some kind of antenna mast. How many photos do you have?” Marge asked, half standing and leaning closer to the screen, her eyes squinting at the effort.

“We only have three, but we think the Chinese have a few dozen,” Mr. Smith said.

“How’d you get the Chinese to share these?” Tom asked, looking over at Smith.

“They didn’t. We… acquired them by other means,” Smith said. Tom only arched an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair.

“So we have Chinese photos of an unknown alien metallic object protruding from the lunar surface and perhaps part of it potentially buried below it. This thing disabled not only the Chinese rover but the orbiter as well. Does that about sum it up?” Director Lui said from where he sat next to Rock.

“That’s about right,” Mr. Smith said. “What you haven’t learned yet is that the president will be going public with this information tomorrow evening. Too many science civvies have detected the transmissions and are discussing their significance. A couple of university types are even putting two and two together and linking the event with the Chinese mission.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen the news. Going to be groundbreaking stuff, but won’t that tip off the Chinese that we’ve been spying on their space program?” Jack said.

“They know, just not the extent that we’ve been surveilling them. The bigger problem right now is Russia—” Smith said, being interrupted by Tom.

“Damn! Told you them Ruskies would be involved.”

“Now, Tom, don’t go jumping to conclusions,” Marge said, sitting back down and looking across the table at the old mechanical engineer.

“Actually, the man is right, to a degree. Brown, can you go to section five?” Smith said.

Mrs. Brown advanced the presentation, skipping over the title and stopping on a schematic of two rockets laid side by side along with a data bar on the right side indicating various technical specifications such as height, weight, thrust, payload in tons, propellant type, and capacity, amongst a myriad of other detailed data.

“The first rocket is an Energia IV, and our sources tell us the Russians are planning to launch three of them in a row starting today,” Smith said, looking around the table for reactions. He needn’t have searched too hard.

“What do you mean by ‘in a row’?” Lisa asked.

“As in one today and the next two shortly thereafter,” Smith said.

“How shortly?” Jack chimed in.

“We don’t know… yet,” Brown said, advancing to the next slide where an Energia IV was fully fueled and ready for takeoff.

“We should have something soon. Today’s launch is to retrieve our astronauts from the Russian Pride,” Smith finished.

Rock looked around and saw a bit of surprise on everyone’s face except for Tom, who had a look of I told you so written across it as clear as day. “So that’s why the president has to go public,” Rock said.

“That and what we already discussed,” Smith said. “It was rather abrupt of them, and our people have been incommunicado since Sunday. The Russians are passing messages to them, so that tells us they know. Well, that and their current activity.”

“I told you…” Tom said, grinning as if he had won some sort of contest.

“Do the Russians have that kind of lift capability?” Jeff asked.

“Well, they are currently booked for nearly a dozen launches over the rest of the year,” Marge said. Everyone looked at her in bewilderment. “What? I watch the news, too, you know.”

“That’s not news, Marge,” Jack said. “Not normal news, at any rate.”

“She’s correct,” Smith said. “We’re surprised they were able to swap out the payload in only five days.”

“That’s not too difficult to believe,” Rock said. “They keep a crew module at the ready as part of their emergency procedures. Wouldn’t be too difficult to swap the payload module.”

“I didn’t realize you knew so much about Russian space program procedures,” Brown said, narrowing her eyes.

“Smith, didn’t you share my file with your colleague?” Rock asked, looking at the man.

“Need to know,” Smith said, “and she didn’t need. Brown, Mr. Crandon spent several years as our NASA liaison with ESA and Ruscosmos as part of our joint space exploration venture a few years back.”

Rock felt his boss Lui lean in closely before he spoke. “At least he used mister this time.” Then just as quickly, he leaned back.

“Understood,” Brown stated.

“So what’s the plan?” Rock asked, eager to finish this meeting and get to work.

“You and your team find a way to get to the moon within three months. No limits on your resources.” Smith nodded.

“That’s impossible,” Lui said. “It will take that long just to organize a plan and start allocating human resources, not to mention physical assets. My people will need more time.”

“Sorry to hear you say that, Director Lui,” Smith said uncharacteristically. “You can tell the president yourself in person when she arrives tomorrow evening.”

“Well now, that’s just great,” Tom said. Everyone sighed.

^{Chapter 6}

Opening Moves

Home

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 7

The reentry was successful, and Julie felt relieved there were no complications. Despite the thrill of being an astronaut, she was always a bit anxious when she had to use Russian equipment to reach space and back. The mere act of being an astronaut was far more dangerous than any actuary chart could illustrate.

She was upset that she only had two days to spend with her family. There were no explanations, only orders. Craig and she were to report to NASA headquarters for extended duty on Monday, and that was that. It was so odd.

Maybe not so odd at how quickly they were flown back from Hawaii. They had landed less than a thousand miles west of Honolulu and were picked up by a joint fleet of Russian and American naval ships and then quickly flew to Hawaii by helicopter and then flown directly to Houston and released with the medical exam being performed on the plane.

She was in good shape, no muscle atrophy due to the rigorous exercise program they utilized while in space, but the sensation of being home only twelve hours after leaving the Russian space station remained surreal for her. This was definitely not being done by the book.

She had slept Friday night in her own bed, restless and constantly being reminded that gravity now had a hold on her, and she had woken early, disoriented and a bit frazzled. That soon disappeared when she had the chance to spend the day with her family.

Later that night, dinner was exceptional and not only because she could eat it with her family, but because it was solid and not that liquid goo she had been eating for nearly two months. Sure, they had a few solids like candy, granola bars, and dried fruit and meat, but nothing substantial. Nothing that would fill the belly like it did on earth. That part she did not miss about being in space.

“When do you want to put the kids in bed, hun?” her husband, Ed, asked, picking up a few plates and putting them in the sink.

Julie looked at Thomas and Olivia in the front room watching one of her childhood favorite shows, Tom and Jerry, on Nick at Night when the show was cut short and replaced by an empty podium with what looked to be the presidential seal. “That’s odd,” Julie said.

“What is it?” John asked, looking to the living room as well.

“Seems there is something urgent on the news, but I’ve never known them to cut into a children’s program on cable before,” Julie said, moving around the table and grabbing Olivia and setting her in her lap, hugging her tightly.

“Why do they do that?” Thomas asked, not too happy at the interruption.

“Something important?” Ed joined the family.

“I don’t know,” Julie said. There’s no news announcer and no sound, just the presidential podium at the White House.”

They didn’t have long to wait. President Powers began her address and within ten minutes had explained the events that had occurred on the moon a week ago. She ended by stating that the United States of America, working closely with our British and Japanese allies, would be sending a team of specially selected and skilled astronauts to the moon to investigate. There was no press personnel, and when she finished, the screen paused for a minute before the children’s show resumed as if nothing had happened.

“Daddy, what does that mean?” Olivia asked, wiggling in her mother’s lap.

Ed looked at Julie, eyes wide, mouth moving but nothing coming out for a long moment. Finally he managed a few words. “I think it means Mommy’s going to the moon.”

“Now that’s bitchin!” Thomas said, half jumping, half running around the room. Neither parent seemed to notice.

* * * * *

Rock sat in his recliner in his study, watching his wife’s reaction. Sally had been with him for over three decades and was used to his long and unpredictable hours. All of their children were grown and out of the house.

“So that’s what you’ve been up to?” she asked.

“Yeah, it will get worse before it gets better.”

“So for all week you kept this to yourself?” she asked, a hint of hurt crossing her countenance.

“We’ve been through this a dozen times before, Sal. You know I can’t discuss some matters,” Rock said.

Sally looked at him in amazement. “We’re talking about goddamn aliens here, pardon my blasphemy.” Sally came from the Bible Belt, so she often apologized for her language. Rock was used to it. “Couldn’t you have told me about this, at least?”

Rock sighed. “Probably, but with the DC trip and countless meetings, debriefs, and other crap, I haven’t had the time.”

“You should have found time for this,” she said, turning back to the television and changing the channel to one of the major stations that were now discussing the president’s address to the nation.

So much for operational security now, Rock thought, and the president is going to owe me big time for this one. Rock wasn’t sure how long Sally would hold this grudge. Better to get back to work and let her cool down. The news was too surreal, and despite knowing about it all week, he was sure many of his fellow Americans would be digesting this for a long time to come.

* * * * *

People’s Republic Space Command

Outside of Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 9

Hun Lee didn’t see this one coming. It was Monday evening, and earlier that weekend, the president of the United States just dropped a bombshell on the entire world. The reaction in his department today had been swift and brutal. Director Chui was taken from the Beijing offices under armed escort, and any pretenses of being discreet, or even secretive, were non-existent.

Several cabinet politburo members were dismissed from their positions, including the Minister of the Air and Space Bureau and the Minister of Scientific Affairs. The entire country was talking about the incident, despite the strong censorship of the internet and an ironclad grip over every media outlet. Most news, indeed facts, could be quashed by the state-controlled media, but this bombshell had a life of its own. It managed to worm its way into every part of Chinese culture and society.

Hun never bothered to leave his office, waiting for security to arrive and escort him to who knows where. He had telephoned his wife and told her he loved her. She returned the sentiment and then cried. That told Hun all he needed to know. He turned the volume up on his small flat-screen television mounted to the wall.

The entire State Council had met and issued a statement. It appeared after trying all day to suppress the information, they must have decided to roll with it instead. Better to control than conceal was an old Chinese expression, and the Communist party followed it well. The Chinese Lunar Mission Explorer was simply maintaining radio silence while it investigated the phenomena, and much attention was paid to the fact that the Chinese were the ones to have made the historical discovery. The Americans’ statement had even said as much. Lies were most effective when mixed with truths.

Hun found this line interesting as he half expected his government to resist for several days till something could be concocted. Saving face was something the West did not understand about his culture. Unusual that the Americans went public with something so groundbreaking, and Hun was ruminating what the motive could be.

Then he heard the commotion as well as the rhythmic, pulsating steps of high boots that could only signify the arrival of the state’s security forces. His time had arrived.

“Commander Lee,” a man in military uniform stated as he entered his office with two armed guards followed by another older man, also in uniform. Hun could see several more military staff through his window outside in the hallway, several of them bringing in electronic equipment.

“Yes, I’m Hun Lee,” he said, standing and coming around to face the men in front of his desk. They could take a lot away from him, but he would go with his dignity in front of his staff, if nothing else. He looked through the doorway and could see the faces of several of his team members who had not left the office despite the work day having completed over an hour ago.

“This is General Wang,” the younger officer said, pointing to the older man as he stepped forward and looked at Hun from head to toe.

“Sir,” Hun said.

“I’ll be taking over as director of the People’s Republic Space Command. You and your team will take orders directly from me and my staff. Are we clear, Commander Hun?” The general was no nonsense, straight to the point, not surprising in a military professional.

“So I’ll be staying?” Hun said, his facial expression giving away more than he knew.

“Of course. You’ve only recently been appointed to mission lead, and as its commander, you’re in the best position to execute the next phase of our space operations.”

Hun didn’t like the way the man used the word execute, but his surprise at not being sacked overwhelmed his good sense, and in a sloppy gesture better he had left undone, Hun Lee saluted the general. “Yes, sir, General Wang. Your first orders, sir.”

Hun realized how he must look, but he didn’t care anymore. He was sure the general wouldn’t understand his confusion, and it didn’t matter as the man’s serious countenance started to display the faint outline of a smile. “Get us back to the moon. Colonel Wu will prepare a lunar rocket for our first mission, and then you and your team will take over once we have reached lunar orbit,” Wang said, nodding to a man in uniform just behind him. The general then turned, exiting the office and asking one of his aides where the director’s office was located.

When the room cleared, Hun walked back to his desk and sat down, placing his head in his hands and not caring what his staff thought of him for a moment. He breathed easier and then realized he had no idea how to accomplish what the general just demanded. Hun started to feel dizzy again.

* * * * *

Vostochny Cosmodrome

Siberia, Russia

In the near future, Day 9

Vlad set his phone down and sighed. The heavy launch would continue in a few hours despite the change in plans. Those damn Americans had no idea how to keep a secret. No wonder they had to be a republic. No sane government would have done what they did, the way they did it. What did they think they were going to accomplish? If it was worldwide chaos and pandemonium, then they pretty well were succeeding from what the news reports were indicating.

“Something bothering you, boss?” Aleksey said, entering Vlad’s office without knocking.

“Have a seat, Alex. I take it we’re prepared, then?”

“Of course. We’ll have the heavy ready for launch this evening. We just missed the morning window, so we’ll have to wait for twelve hours,” Alex said while sitting and wiping his hands on his jumpsuit. “Small problem to take care of.”

Vlad understood that a lunar launch had only two optimal windows within to launch efficiently. One consisted of a direct launch, slinging around the curvature of the earth and straight toward the moon. The other one did the same thing, but only after circling the earth first, using the increased speed of any launch vehicle at its perigee for a boost assist. It took more time, but the escape velocity was higher and actually resulted in a quicker trip. They had missed that window and now faced the direct launch, which burned more fuel but was manageable by the Energia X rocket.

“Yes, I received the report and passed it on to Moscow this morning before the American announcement,” Vlad said, looking across at his chief engineer and setting down his pen he had just picked up.

Alex chuckled. “That was a stunner. Didn’t see that one coming. I take it the Gordust reached its new orbit?”

“Yes. Didn’t Yosef tell you?” Vlad asked.

“No. Yosef was working on securing the orbiter, and they were having problems with the exploding bolts. He feared they weren’t going to fire reliably based on the way the orbiter was wired so we didn’t get a chance to talk yet, but they finished not long ago.”

Vlad smiled. Yosef would work all day and all night if he had to. He felt confident the orbiter would be ready to go in time as the report indicated. “Good, so he finished early. Still, that’s cutting it close, only a few hours before launch. We’ll have to fuel it soon, and I wouldn’t have cleared that if you hadn’t finished the preparations on the orbiter.”

“And the Gordust?”

“Ah yes, the burn went perfectly Saturday. Three hours and the new altitude adjustment was achieved. It will be ready for the next phase,” Vlad said, smiling at Alex.

Alex returned the smile and stopped his compulsive hand gestures against his jumpsuit. “Good thing we made those module pod support bars load bearing, eh, Vlad?”

“Indeed, though we could have never imagined an operation like the one we’re about to perform. Orbit adjustments are one thing, cosmic travel is something entirely different.”

“You think the Americans will see this one coming?” Alex asked.

“Not a chance, Alex, not a chance. I wouldn’t have believed it either if I hadn’t seen the authorization for it.”

“Well, no matter what happens, we’ll have six more heroes of the Russian Star,” Alex said, referring to their government’s highest award.

“Agreed, Alex,” Vlad said. Either in person or posthumously, Vlad thought privately.

“What is that American saying?” Alex asked. “They will shit their pants when they find out.”

“I think it’s piss their pants, Alex, though my English is rusty,” Vlad said.

“I’ll put my money on the pants shitting,” Alex said, a smile crossing his face.

^{Chapter 7}

NASA

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 10

“You gotta be shitting me!” Jack said, looking at the paperwork Mrs. Brown had given to their team.

“I told you so,” Tom said, also flipping pages from the report.

Marge set her report down. “I don’t see how they could do that. Could the station structure handle the stress?”

Tom was the mechanical engineer. “It would have to simply have a high tensile rating. With no weight involved, the structure only has to withstand the g-forces that would be applied, and a long, slow burn might do it, if it has the right strength.”

“That explains the off load of our people,” Rock said, looking at the details of the report and wondering just what, in the name of all that was sane, would make the Russians attempt to boost the station out of low earth orbit and journey across space to the moon. “Jeff, what do you make of this?”

Jeff Wheeler set his paper down from where he had been leaning over the table and sat down in his chair, taking a deep breath. “Sounds risky to me, Rock. We sure this is their actual plan?”

“Assume it is,” Mrs. Brown said, frowning from the outburst and looking like a school teacher about to scold a misbehaving student. Rock hoped Jack would keep quiet.

“Why are we being given access to this data?” Rock asked the woman. Mr. Smith was otherwise occupied, and Mrs. Brown was temporarily in charge.

“Because you’ll have to explain to the president what’s possible, what’s not possible, and what the likelihood is for each of the scenarios outlined in the brief,” she said.

“Doesn’t she have her own scientific and national security advisors?” Jack asked.

“She does, but their expertise is more along the lines of a broader interpretation of what is happening right now.”

“It means they don’t know shit,” Tom said.

“Enough with the expletives. You guys are worse than college students, I swear,” Lisa said, displeased with the profanity from her two colleagues.

“So she’s coming for sure?” Rock asked Mrs. Brown, ignoring his team members for the present.

“She will be landing soon. The announcement last night delayed her,” Brown said.

Rock understood the delay. After the Saturday evening statement, there was a series of unforeseen consequences to the announcement. Not that everyone was panicking. Many were excited at the news, and there was much hope and speculation about how humanity could benefit from the benevolent wisdom of a caring, kind, and intelligent alien race. Not everyone felt that way, however.

Some were saying the president’s disclosure allowed roughly one million or so fanatical, or nearly fanatical, conspiracy theorists to spring into action. Personally Rock thought it was like throwing gasoline on the embers of a smoldering fire. The internet was ripe with anti-government theories, and many simply pointed to Roswell and said, “I told you so.”

Monday was worse than anticipated. A quarter of the American population freaked, another quarter rejoiced, and half decided it was time for a holiday. Schools were closed, many because the students never showed up. Most factories were not operational as workers stayed home with their families to watch the nonstop coverage on various news shows. Emergency workers, the police, fire departments, and hospital staffs were about the only people to show for work that day. Those workers and the transportation agencies in most cities, if simply to take home those few that did show up for work and now were departing early in the afternoon. Everyone knew it was serious when trading on Wall Street was suspended. Nothing stopped the flow of money unless it was serious.

So Rock and his team watched the president address the nation again on Monday evening to calm those who were fearful and to declare an executive order preventing the rise of any prices for any reason. There had been a run on the stores all day long by the conspiracy wingers and those who saw no reason for panic found that they may not have gas or water if their fellow Americans horded all at once, so that created a proverbial run on the bank with regards to supplies at the grocery and department stores. Most of the stores closed early, and there were only a few reports of looters in some inner city neighborhoods. The entire day had been less than productive.

“Is this the list of questions for us?” Lui said, holding up a packet with papers stapled together, three or four of them.

“Yes, read them all and use the reports from the last few days to prepare for the briefing tonight,” Brown said.

* * * * *

The president finally arrived, and Rock and his team were waiting for the meeting to start. They were in the large auditorium where press releases were normally held, and the Secret Service was all over the place.

“This looks like a lot of people,” Rock said to his boss, John Lui, while looking around the auditorium that was quickly filling with various agency personnel. Rock recognized the FBI and Secret Service agents easily enough. There were also a few military types in uniform from the various services. So far so good. His team members and even Jeff’s engineering staff were easily recognizable to him since he knew them personally, and some of the academia could be spotted by their manner of dress. It is just… different, Rock thought.

The other people in the room—well, he knew some had to be from the president’s staff and, with the exception of Mrs. Brown and Mr. Smith, though not identifiable, he was sure there were both security and intel people in attendance as well.

Everyone took their seats as an aide announced the arrival of the president. Rock stood with his boss beside him a few rows up while his team members were in the row in front of him. President Powers took a seat at a table facing the auditorium audience along with several of her advisors and cabinet members. Rock was hoping she wouldn’t call on him, and he was relieved when the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Montgomery, stood at the podium and began to talk.

The usual threat assessments and security facts were covered ad nauseam, and Rock fought from yawning, which he knew was more than unprofessional, wishing he could simply get back to work. Then a national security advisor to the Director of National Security gave another intel briefing about the various and usual mundane threats to our beloved United States. It wasn’t until they reached the part about the Chinese efforts that Rock’s ears were tickled.

“After the purging of several Space Command executives and intra-departmental directors and managers, the PLA has taken control over the program and initiated a massive effort to build a rocket large enough to launch nearly five hundred tons into lunar orbit,” the advisor said.

Jack leaned back, turning around to whisper at Rock. “Did he just say the Chinese Army is in charge over there?” Rock nodded, only looking at Jack briefly in the process.

“In order to further our various objectives, we will be breaking into a series of compartmentalized groups, but under the direct command of the president through the Director of National Security.”

The aide went on to separate their various assets into the ELINT group, Electronic Intelligence, SIGINT, Signals Intelligence, and HUMINT, Human Intelligence. Rock’s group was placed, as predicted, in the SIGINT group. The briefing was adjourned, and the participants broke for their respective working locations. The press corps was kept at the guest building near the main entrance, and Rock was relieved that they were being kept at a good distance from their working locations. It was like a zoo out there, and the fact that the president activated the Reserves for all branches of service was a hot topic with her pundits.

Rock’s team grabbed a few cups of coffee before heading to conference room three that faced south, away from the main gate. The view was rather peaceful, and only the occasional security patrol driving by interrupted the warm, sunny spring day.

“Richard, I’d like you to meet a couple of our team members,” John Lui said as two people dressed in NASA jumpsuits and carrying notebooks stepped around the large table.

“Hey, Rock, good to see you again,” Craig Alders said, presenting a hand to shake.

“Likewise, Craig,” Rock said, shaking the man’s hand vigorously, a big smile across their faces. “You’re just back from the Russian station, no?” Rock asked.

“Last Friday they poked and prodded us for sixteen hours and then let us spend a weekend with the fams before shipping us back here,” Craig said.

Rock stepped to the side, nodding at Craig’s news, and greeted Craig’s companion. “You must be Julie Monroe,” Rock said, shaking her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Crandon. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Julie said, returning the shake albeit a bit more formally than Craig.

“Have you two worked together?” Jack asked, stepping up to greet the two astronauts.

“No, Jack, Julie came onboard right after our rotation and has been working with Fred Greer the last two years,” Rock answered, referring to the current mission leader for the space station ops.

“So why isn’t he here?” Jack asked, finishing the handshaking and looking at Rock.

“Mr. Greer has other orders right now, Jack,” Director Lui said, answering for Rock. “For now the Feds have requested that Richard handle the lunar ops from conception to execution.”

“Hello, Julie, how have you been?” Lisa said, entering the room, a cup of coffee in her hand that she quickly sat on the table. The two women gave each other a quick hug, smiling.

“You guys acquainted?” Jack asked.

“Didn’t you know? Julie and I were in the same prep class together and served in the same air wing back in oh twenty,” Lisa said.

“They’ve had me busy, but good to know,” Jack said.

Rock felt the situation a tad awkward as Julie and Lisa had competed for the same astronaut spot and Lisa fell short. If she was holding a grudge or felt slighted, she sure wasn’t displaying it, and Jack’s inattentiveness wasn’t helping.

“People, could we take our seats, please?” Mrs. Brown said, motioning everyone to be seated.

“I’ll be damned,” Tom said. “Another meeting?”

“Just suck it up, old timer,” Lisa said, giving Tom a wink. Rock wondered at this display of friendliness from Lisa since she wasn’t very fond of Tom and his “antiquated thinking,” as she liked to refer to the man’s ramblings.

“It’s just a quick focus session,” Mrs. Brown said. “We’ll be done in less than half an hour and you can return to your duties.”

“Just not our families,” Jack said under his breath.

“What was that, Mr. Connors?” Mrs. Brown asked.

“Nothing, dear, Jack was just getting seated,” Tom said, being about the only man in the room who would dare “dear” Mrs. Brown.

Rock shook his head and sat down, dreading another session.

“Director Lui, would you like to make a quick introduction so all the team members are familiar with one another?” Mrs. Brown said.

“Maybe we should all wear name badges,” Marge said, taking a seat near Rock.

“Did Marge just say what I thought she said?” Tom asked, his brows arched.

“Maybe there is a sense of humor buried under that façade,” Jack responded.

“Gentlemen,” John Lui began, standing, but before he could continue, the doors opened and several Secret Service agents entered the room.

A man in a black suit talked to Mrs. Brown and then left the room. “We will have a few visitors, so please remain seated and remember your manners,” Mrs. Brown said, sounding far too natural for a spook.

President Powers, her aides, and the Director of National Security entered the room as well as several more Secret Service Agents and a lone military officer, a four star general. The president and staff seated themselves at the head of the conference table. There are no other military or academia types, making this meeting much more intimate, Rock thought, wondering why he was so fortunate to always have the president attend his mission meetings.

“Please continue, Director Lui,” Mrs. Brown said, seemingly un-phased by the president’s presence.

“I was just making introductions, Madam President.” President Powers nodded at Director Lui. “Julie Monroe and Craig Alders here have joined our team as of today. I don’t think particulars need to be discussed, but at the highest levels we have been mandated to execute Operation Twenty-One in order to acquire or otherwise secure the unknown object on the far side of the moon.”

“Where do they come up with these original mission names?” Jack asked.

“Better to call it Operation Been There, Done That,” Tom said.

Director Lui ignored the jests, and Rock noticed Mrs. Brown’s countenance had hardened considerably. “We’ve added Jeff Wheeler to represent electrical engineering, and if necessary, we’ll add a few academic members once the nature of the object is understood more fully.”

“What kind of academia?” Rock asked.

“Linguists, geologists, metalurgists, those kind,” Lui said.

“Can you go around the table, please, Director Lui,” Mrs. Brown asked in her best schoolmarm tone.

Lui seemed inconvenienced but addressed the group a tad more formally now. “So, Jeff Wheeler, electrical engineering. Tom there, mechanical. Julie and Craig, I already mentioned, are the ops arm representing our astronautic section, so any ideas you come up with as a team will most likely be putting their lives on the line. Make sure you take this into consideration.” Lui paused for effect.

“You guys volunteer or get drafted?” Tom asked.

“We’re voluntary,” Craig said, and Julie nodded.

“Lisa Wilson here,” Lui said, nodding toward Rock’s team member, “represents our advanced systems analyst while Jack Connors is our signals expert.” Both team members nodded.

“Finally, we have Marjorie Jones, our chief science officer and assistant mission lead, the number two in command behind mission lead, Richard Crandon.” Rock nodded when his name was called. “And you all know Mrs. Brown, second liaison between NASA and the NSA,” Lui finished.

“Thank you, Director Lui.” Mrs. Brown resumed her role as the group facilitator rather quickly. “For Mr. Wheeler, Mr. Alders, and Mrs. Monroe, I’d like to add that the team liaison, Mr. Smith, is not available at the moment but is the representative of the executive branch at this time. Any requests for resources, materials, financing, or other related questions can be addressed through either one of us. Are there any questions?” No one spoke.

“All right, then, you’ve all heard the news as well as what some of the world’s foreign powers are implementing. I understand you have the workings of a base plan?” Mrs. Brown asked.

All eyes turned to Rock. Director Lui may be his boss, but he was thoroughly entrenched in the day-to-day politics, being more an administrator than a scientist, so it was natural that everyone looked to him for their leadership.

Rock stood up since the president was attending. “Everyone. We’ve had enough time to brainstorm a bit, and with Jeff’s help, we’ve come up with a rough idea on how to get to the moon in the shortest and safest”—with this, Rock looked over at Julie and Craig, giving them a nod—“amount of time necessary.

“The main issue is lift capability. We’ve let our space exploration program languish, and we found ourselves buying rides on board the Russian rockets in order to meet our orbital needs. Everyone knows the international space station has all but been decommissioned and only the Euro Union and the Jap-Kor alliance are keeping it operational. The last few years’ attempt at détente with the Russians after the Ukraine War had us financing their newest station while we participated in manning it and conducting our scientific programs.

Well, I’m no politician, but the recent eviction we received last week has pretty much ended that line of cooperation between our two governments. I won’t get into the ambassadorial parts of it, but our most urgent need is lift capability.” Most eyes had moved to the president as Rock discussed the political aspects of what had been happening, but when there was no discernable change in the president’s affect, everyone returned their gazes to Rock.

“Currently we contract out with Space Corp for smaller satellite lifts of less than fifty tons into low earth orbit.” Rock used the actual term instead of the acronym as he knew for sure Mrs. Brown would interrupt him, asking him to clarify if he didn’t. “The Sparrow rockets were designed for just this. What we need is our heavy lift capability again, and it would take months, if not years, to design, build, test, and commission a new class of rocket capable of reaching lunar orbit, with a sufficient payload to accomplish our mission.”

“Again?” President Powers asked, managing to gather the attention of everyone in the room.

“Yes, Madam President. I’m referring to re-commissioning the Saturn V from storage and building new ones based on their schematics for service,” Rock said, sitting down.

The president’s National Security Advisor, David Rose, said something to the president and then asked, “You’re talking about technology that is well over half a century old. Isn’t there something newer we could discuss?”

“Yeah, what kind of ride are you trying to give us, Rock?” Craig said, a smile across his face demonstrating support for his idea.

“Sir,” Rock began, addressing the director, “the Saturn Vs were the only rockets ever produced that could even reach trans-lunar orbit. We have never had funding for more than that. I think the Apollo program at its peak took nearly a half percent of our GDP to fund it.”

“But we’ve sent landers to Mars and spaceships to Jupiter, Saturn, and even Pluto,” Director Rose complained. “How is it that we can’t send a man to the moon without using antiquated equipment?”

The room was fairly silent, and while Rock liked his boss, he saw there would be no help from that quarter. “The rovers on mars, the probes into Jupiter, and even the flybys that we conducted on Neptune and Pluto consisted of very small payloads using much lighter rockets. We’re talking about a half ton at the most, and for many of the missions much less—only a few hundred pounds at most.”

“The bulk of the Saturn V’s weight at launch was propellant,” Lui added. “The actual payload was considerably smaller than the rocket’s launch weight.”

“Can’t we just strap or tie several smaller rockets together in order to achieve a better payload?” Director Rose asked.

Tom jumped in. “It’s possible but highly unlikely that we could contain either the thrust vectoring of the various rockets or prevent the oscillation from the differential between thrust burns.”

“He’s referring to the flutter when the rockets fire,” Jeff added.

“I don’t think they’re familiar with that term either, Jeff,” Marge added. “Flutter”—she continued addressing the president and director—“is what happens aerodynamically and is a dynamic instability of an elastic structure in a fluid flow caused by positive feedback between the body’s deflection and the force exerted by the dynamic aero-flow, eventually leading to self-oscillation from simple harmonic motion and results eventually in structural failure.”

“And I thought I was the mechanical engineer in the room,” Tom said, shaking his head.

Before anyone could speak, Rock jumped in, hoping to keep Mrs. Brown at bay. “What my team is trying to say, Director Rose, is that we run the risk of the rocket destroying itself by vibrating excessively once it reaches a critical speed. It takes a coordinated effort in design as well as the trial and error process to prevent this from happening. It will take considerable time to engineer this into a workable solution.”

There was a considerable amount of hushed discussion at the president’s end of the table as several of her staff leaned in closely and it appeared to be more than argumentative from what little Rock heard.

“Absolutely not,” Director Rose said, his voice rising.

There were strained looks from the President’s aides as the discussion grew heated. Rock felt discarded and had enough of the executive team’s antics, “What is the problem, Madam President?”

Everyone stopped talking when Powers raised her hand and leaned back in her chair, taking her time in answering Rock’s question. “There seems to be some concern about your proposal in using the Saturn rocket’s for a lunar journey.”

“How so?” Rock asked, rather bluntly considering with whom he was speaking.

“They don’t have the proper SCI clearances for this,” Director Rose stated, also leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest.

Rock knew that SCI stood for “Sensitive Compartmented Information” and was a highly secret and rare clearance to have. Mrs. Brown looked lost for a change and it gave Rock at least a modicum of satisfaction to see his handler confused for a change.

“If we give it up then you’ll have no counter,” the general said to President Powers.

“Give what up?” Rock asked, frustration mounting.

There was a long pause as Powers considered her next words carefully. “We already have an operational Saturn rocket.”

Rock looked to Mrs. Brown who actually stood with her mouth open, speechless for a change. The other members of his team looked at each other than back to the president. No one spoke.

“Did you hear me, Mr. Crandon?” Powers asked.

Before he could answer Director Rose interrupted, “They don’t have the proper—”

Powers held her hand up, silencing him in mid-sentence. “As of now, everyone in this room is cleared for Operation Atomic Hammer.”

Rose sighed and Tom opened his trap yet again in an untimely manner, “Atomic hammer my ass.”

“Quiet, Tom,” Rock said, giving him a stern look and returning his gaze to the president. “Why do we have an operational Saturn?”

“For national security,” Director Rose answered for the president.

Powers ignored the man, “We’ve had one equipped with a nuclear warhead that was capable of reaching lunar orbit. It was, shall we say… a deterrent for any potential weaponization of space by another sovereign nation.”

“Bloody hell,” Tom said.

“How many do we have?” Rock asked.

“Two,” the general spoke up. “One operational and the prototype.”

“I’ll authorize both rockets to be moved from military command and transferred to NASA,” Powers said, authority in her voice and the general and Rose did not look pleased.

“Maybe we should strap a few rockets together instead,” Tom said sarcastically.

“That would be unwise and I don’t think anyone would do something like that,” Rock said, missing Tom’s sarcasm.

“You’d be wrong then,” Director Rose said, looking directly at Rock.

“Wrong?” Rock asked.

“Yes, because that is exactly what the Chinese are attempting to do this week,” Director Rose finished.

^{Chapter 8}

First Move

People’s Republic Space Command

Outside of Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 13

Hun Lee watched the countdown timer on the wall as it methodically moved toward that point of no return—zero. Colonel Wu, the commander of the Chinese Ballistic Missile Defense Forces, was placed in charge of launching a robotic probe into lunar orbit to dock with the now defunct orbiter there and assess the damage. Hun had vigorously protested the use of multiple ICBM rockets being welded together around their base lunar launch rocket. The Long Reach rocket had its two smaller assist rockets removed, and four larger ICBM military Dong Feng-45s were attached and their nuclear payloads removed.

Hun didn’t know the exact number of ICBMs his country possessed, but reports were around one hundred of the medium-sized DF-31s and a score or more of the much larger DF-45s that were designed to reach anywhere in the world. Their thrust ratios were several times higher than most of the normal ICBMs, and the military engineers calculated that they would be sufficient to reach ILO or intra-lunar orbit.

“You think this will work, sir?” Chon Chu, his engineer, asked from their seats in the observatory. The mere fact that they were spectators was shame enough, but after the sacking that took place the week before, Hun was just thankful he and his team were still employed.

“I hope so, Chon,” Hun said, a sigh escaping from his lips.

“Will he be able to control those robotic arms accurately enough?” Lin Fu, his mission technician, asked, motioning to the Japanese man in a white laboratory coat seated near a window in the observation room. The man had been brought in by Colonel Wu to use the robot that would be sent to rendezvous with the orbiter. Hun and his team would handle the docking and lunar trajectories once low earth orbit was achieved and before the final burn for lunar transit. Once docked, the robot would enter the orbiter’s small command module, taking pictures and using two small arms to test equipment and see if the orbiter could be powered up again.

“I hope so, Lin,” Hun repeated, his tone monotonous.

The clocks in the control room as well as the launch platform and any other related facilities were all set one hour in advance. Hun sighed again, realizing that if this launch succeeded, it would be played an hour later as if in real time to his fellow citizens. The state left nothing to chance when it came to propaganda and damage control.

Too much was riding on this. It had only been thirteen days since the incident, and even Hun was surprised at how quickly the four ICBMs were configured with the regular lunar rocket, Long Reach, to attempt another lunar launch. Hun watched and realized it was done too quickly.

“We have ignition, all engines, and… lift off,” the calm voice of the military controller said, everyone watching the bright light of five powerful rocket engines igniting and powering the robot probe into the air. Smoke billowed out from under the engines, and the pride of the Chinese military soared into the sky, at least for a few seconds. The individual ICBM rockets were configured with the same propellant loads, but any NASA scientist could say that actual burn and specified burn were two different things.

The makeshift master gyroscope on top of the main Long Reach rocket noticed the different burn rates, especially from the DF-45 rocket designated as rocket one. The other three Dong Feng rockets were commanded via the control processor to maintain their burn rates while the computer spat out a command for rocket one to restrict the propellant flow and allow the Long Reach to continue its trajectory. Unfortunately the wiring of the gyroscope on rocket one failed and the command came back in a programming loop that was waiting for confirmation from the first rocket that the flow valve would restrict and reduce the amount of propellant being sent to its rear for conversion to thrust.

The command never registered, and the loop continued for what humans would consider an eternity if the computer lived in a world measured in seconds and not nanoseconds or milliseconds. Without valve restriction, the rocket burned its fuel load quicker than normal, becoming lighter than its fellow rockets, and started to achieve greater thrust. This tilted the entire Long Reach along its x-axis, and the main gyroscope and command computer attempted to compensate by sending out signals to the individual rockets, two through four.

The signals were received in less than three milliseconds, but the control valves were mechanical and, while they opened to maximum to compensate, the time necessary to accomplish the task took too long. In a spectacular fashion, the Long Reach tilted on its side and then cartwheeled wildly, spinning on its axis well over three hundred and sixty degrees. It stabilized at four hundred and fifty degrees with the cone of the rocket facing the ground. Within four seconds, the Long Reach hit the ground and the remaining fuel tanks first fractured and then exploded as over two thousand tons of kerosene and liquid oxygen ignited.

The control room was silent for a moment until the Japanese man in the corner spoke. “I take it you’ll no longer be needing my services?”

Hun lowered his head in his hands and sighed.

* * * * *

General Wang watched the disaster on his large screen against the back wall and then picked up the red phone from where he sat in his command chair. The answer on the other end was immediate.

“Jaiying, initiate command Hard Steel,” Wang said.

“Yes, sir,” his major said from where she sat at her console in the People’s Republic Army Headquarters outside of Beijing. Jaiying only had to press a transmit button once she activated it and lifted its plastic cover. It would send a preprogrammed signal for whatever she had queued in the priority message center. Operation Hard Steel was the default setting just in case something went wrong, and she wondered if their self-confidence was really that low. It didn’t matter. The signal went out and the rest would be automated.

* * * * *

The space satellite had the red flag of the Chinese Republic painted on the side corner, the yellow stars hardly visible except the largest one in the far left upper corner. The satellite had been in geosynchronous orbit over the Chinese mainland and just a day before had used a burn of nearly all of its fuel to lower its orbit over the mainland. The fake, curved communications dish split open and jettisoned into two while side covers swung from their secure positions to open, much like the doors of the now defunct DeLorean cars would.

The satellite’s optical sensor swung to the horizon of the earth, and the radar attached to the belly of the platform also pointed in the same direction. Several small corrections in attitude were made to stabilize the satellite that was starting to reach a very unstable orbit. Two small missiles were on either side of the doors, and with one final adjustment, the entire satellite was now orbiting on its side as all three of its primary equipment packages were searching for something.

Within minutes, and like clockwork, the optical sensors spotted the heat signature of a decaying plutonium radioisotope device powering the American spy satellite that swung from low earth orbit whizzing by at over twenty-seven thousand miles per hour. It would pass over the Chinese mainland in two minutes. Its own powerful optic camera, data receivers, and heat sensors were pointed at the earth below as if in anticipation of what was to come, oblivious to the Chinese military satellite that floated above it, waiting for the American satellite to pass underneath.

Optic sensors that relayed the event resulted in the computer activating the small radar unit and scanning in a tight beam the estimated path of the American satellite. Once it was detected on radar, all telemetry and trajectory information was fed into the main computer on board as well as a tight laser burst to the earth receivers below. This allowed the satellite to fire small thrusters just enough to change the angle of attack by a few degrees. It would be enough to make sure the intercepting missiles were in the same vicinity as the American satellite since the closure rate of speed for both would be phenomenal.

Before the US equipment could photograph, record, or monitor the Chinese launch facility at Wenchang, the Chinese military missiles ignited, first one and then, two seconds later, the other. Both were slender and not much larger than any air-to-air missiles. In space, it was not necessary to obliterate a target, which was often made of the lightest materials due to payload limitations, so the heat-seeking warheads were armed with high fragment, high velocity explosives.

The first rocket nearly hit the US satellite with a closing rate of nearly forty thousand miles per hour, detonating when its proximity detector recognized the setting for optimum damage. The shrapnel tore holes in the fragile satellite and ignited the small amount of liquid hydrogen onboard that it used for altitude adjustments. The small amount of debris that did survive was obliterated as the second missile detonated, the warhead proximity detector set to a tighter specification and the payload being higher in explosives.

The remains of the US satellite continued their orbit over the earth, but in several thousand micro pieces. The Chinese hulk, mission accomplished, realigned its small burn motors when it was pointed at the earth and ignited, beginning its last journey to burn up during reentry over the East China Sea. There would be no evidence for the Americans to find.

* * * * *

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 13

“They did what?” Mr. Smith practically yelled into the phone, gaining the attention of Rock’s crew. They had been at it all week, and things had settled down once the president and her staff returned to Washington. Mr. Smith and Mrs. Brown seemed to be taking turns with Rock’s group, and it was a betting matter between his team members of who would show up each morning.

They had no orders to work any quota of hours, but the unsaid rule was twelve to fourteen at the minimum. They pretty much took a minimal amount of time off in order to keep the families happy and to forestall burnout.

Monroe and Alders had been taken to the water tanks to practice low gravity exercises, and Rock heard that the two replacements for them, not scheduled to enter the rotation for another year, had been conscripted and were arriving this weekend to train in the water tanks as well. Rumor also had it that the prior pair of astronauts who had been on board the Russian space station were being called in as well, but he hadn’t heard any particulars on that one.

“What’s got his panties all twisted up?” Tom asked, leaning across the diagram board where a schematic for the Saturn V was laid out.

“Whatever it is, he looks pissed,” Lisa said, pulling her papers together in anticipation of breaking for lunch. Not that they went anywhere for lunch. It was usually served to them in the large room they had renovated into an open work space that could handle twice their numbers easily.

“I’ll check with them. You guys get something to eat and meet back here in fifteen,” Rock said.

“Hey, what’s with that?” Lisa asked, a frown on her face.

“Take your time, Lisa, we just need to get the fuel specs down by this afternoon for the adjusted payload. You’ll be busy tonight adjusting the equipment weights and updating their configuration after we get you the gross payload data,” Rock said.

“Fine, I’ll phone home and let them know we’ll be missing another dinner together,” Lisa said, her tone hurt.

Rock pulled her aside, and the rest moved off to allow them a private conversation. “I know this is hard on you. Hell, it’s hard on all of us. But you’re the best systems engineer we got, and I need you on this. You get the equipment data squared away, and I’ll see what I can do about getting some of you a little time this weekend. I’ll tell the spooks that a burned out engineer won’t be worth a damn to me… or us and the program, all right?”

Lisa nodded, understanding. “Thanks, Richard, I am just stressing right now with the deadlines they are placing on the team, and I know I’m not the only one. You, Tom, and Marge may not have kids at home, but I know Jack has little ones and he’s sucking it up, so I’ll do the same.”

“Sounds like some of that Air Force spirit,” Rock said, smiling.

“Thanks for understanding. I’m sure the stress is high for you, too.”

“I’ll manage. Get some grub and let me find out what’s tickled Mr. Smith’s ass. I hate to think he could get any grumpier than he already is,” Rock said.

Lisa smiled and then headed to the cafeteria, leaving Rock to approach Smith.

“Something I should know?” Rock asked, coming right up to Smith who was putting his cell phone away. The call he took was on the secure red line that was mandatory to use when calling Washington. No cell calls allowed.

“Let me get Mrs. Brown in here first and then we’ll talk.”

Rock stepped back to the schematic board where Tom was moving some papers and running numbers on his tablet. The two men knew that one of the cafeteria staffers would be bringing sandwiches and soup again as well as coffee and tea for Tom. Rock swore the Brit was addicted to it. It wasn’t cigarettes that stained the man’s teeth brown, that’s for sure.

Mr. Smith came over and sat on a stool at the draft table, which was lit from beneath, but Tom turned the light off and rolled the schematic up out of the way in anticipation of lunch being served soon.

“Well?” Rock asked.

“It appears we lost one of our key satellites today. This stays between us, do you understand, Crandon?” Smith asked, his eyebrows arched but his face serious.

“Understood, and that goes for Tom, too,”

“Aye, I’ll keep it quiet-like,” Tom said. Mr. Smith had relaxed over the last two weeks, if ever so slightly, and seemed to be at least trusting Rock and his team if not completely giving them the keys to the kingdom, so to speak.

“We don’t know for sure, but the bird was tasked with daily surveillance of the Wenchang Space Center, and not more than an hour ago, it went offline. We can’t reach it, and it’s not responding to commands either.”

“The Chin—” Tom was interrupted by Rock.

“What were you going to say?” Mr. Smith asked.

“Never mind, Tom was about to say something he would regret. So who and how? Any ideas?” Rock asked.

Smith looked at Tom, who smiled and raised his brows, before addressing Rock. “Obviously the Chinese, though only the Russians could have that kind of capability. We still don’t know how yet either. Either a satellite or anti-bird missile from the ground.”

“That would be one hell of a hit from earth-side,” Rock commented.

“You know you’re inferring they had weapons in space, which violates the London Accord,” Tom said.

“I know, but what else could it be?” Rock asked.

“So why you being so nice and sharing this with us, eh?” Tom asked Mr. Smith.

“Because if they are willing to risk an act of war on this space race, then they may very well aim for something more personal and relevant next time.”

“Jesus Christ Almighty! Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Tom asked, genuinely shocked for a change.

Rock looked at Smith, who stared back without saying a word, but his facial expression told Rock all he needed to know. “So there’s a chance that any launch we execute could be met with something similar? It doesn’t matter who is doing it; the fact that it was done means the risk and the stakes just got that much higher. Am I right?” Rock asked, continuing his stare down with Mr. Smith.

“You are correct, Crandon. This means you and your team may have to either alter the payload to accommodate anti-missiles or some other configuration to allow any launch a direct path to the moon in order to avoid a similar fate,” Smith said.

“You can’t just launch a rocket to the moon like in the Looney Tunes,” Tom said, leaning back as a food service worker entered with a rolling cart and set down a tray of sandwiches with two bowls of soup along with a pitcher of coffee and a cup of tea.

“I didn’t know you’d be here, Mr. Smith. Shall I get you a cup of soup, too?” the woman with her identification badge clipped to her collar said. The name on the tag read Samantha Summers.

“No, Mrs. Summers, I’ll just eat one of these sandwiches and I’ll get a soda from one of the machines later,” Smith said.

“All right,” Samantha said in her southern drawl. “Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll be here till six. You can just ring us on the phone, extension eight one three.”

“Thanks,” Smith said, grabbing a sandwich and taking a big bite.

Rock grabbed a bowl of soup, tomato, and opened a packet of saltines, adding them and stirring a bit as it was piping hot. “You know, Smith, if there are missiles up there, I’m not so sure there is much we could do. I mean, the heat signature and radar profile of any rocket we send up would be impossible to miss. I don’t know what you expect of us.”

“Well, it’s early yet,” Smith answered. “Let me see what they have at Langley and Meade, and I’ll get back to you and your team, agreed?”

“Fine, let us know sooner rather than later, though. It’s a pain in the ass to re-compute fuel figures and change payloads if you’re going to move the goal posts on us midgame, know what I mean?”

Smith nodded and took his sandwich over to a desk on the far side of the room near the windows where he would make his phone calls privately.

“What are you looking at?” Rock asked Tom as he took his first sip of soup, grabbing a sandwich and napkin to boot.

“Bloody hell of a way to start a war,” Tom said.

^{Chapter 9}

Russia

Gordust Space Station

Low Earth Orbit

In the near future, Day 14

Yuri watched as all four of his fellow cosmonauts were on an EVA or extravehicular activity. The orbital booster burn went as planned and raised the orbit from three hundred kilometers to well over three thousand. There was no sensation other than watching the curvature of the earth become more pronounced with the altitude gain. The higher orbit meant the station circled slower, and due to the nature of the burn, the orbit was slightly eccentric, wobbling between 3,284 kilometers and 2,955 kilometers.

The current mission was to attach the four larger burn motors so that the station could escape earth’s gravity well. Each motor was large enough that it required four cosmonauts to attach each one to a corner of the space station structure. The first launch brought supplies for six personnel for over a month and returned the Americans to earth. The second brought a full load of both liquid hydrogen and oxygen which was transferred to the main propellant tanks. Yuri marveled at how the entire payload was nothing but fuel, and a burn of all of the fuel brought to the station only lifted it about three thousand clicks.

Geosynchronous orbit was about fifty thousand clicks, and the station would need several burns in order to obtain that orbit. Of course, they may not need to go that high if the final trans-lunar burn was used to bring them back to a few dozen miles of earth, using the craft’s increased speed at perigee as a slingshot and building delta v acceleration enough to transit to the moon. The entire exercise was a matter of mathematics, and math was absolute, not fuzzy. What was fuzzy was the exact start of the atmosphere of earth and how closely the engineers and mathematicians in Moscow decided they needed to get in order to obtain the critical delta v impulse that would allow for a successful mission. The station had no drag or friction in space, but that would change when the mission started.

Yuri knew that a miscalculation in either the burn or trajectory would result in the station auguring into the ground. Well, what remained after the atmospheric destruction, as temperatures soared past ten thousand degrees kelvin. The other option was that the station would “bounce” off the atmosphere, changing its trajectory to one of deep space. If the velocity was high enough to escape earth’s gravity well, then the station would leave earth orbit and become a part of the solar system, orbiting the sun and most likely never returning to earth again.

It was against this background that the man watched his fate being prepared for him by his comrades outside. He and Olga were volunteers, of course, but there was never really any choice. Once Ruscosmos explained the situation, the stakes, and what the Chinese were doing, well, there were no other options. Yuri was going to the moon.

* * * * *

Vostochny Cosmodrome

Siberia, Russia

In the near future, Day 14

Vlad watched as Dmitry stepped off of the Hind M24 heavy lift chopper, holding his hat on his head and walking to the door of the landing pad.

“Vladimir,” the old man said, entering the building, “good to see you again! Great job on those initial launches. Moscow is pleased.”

“You sound like you did when you were commanding in the old days.” Vlad shook the man’s hand and grabbed his briefcase from an aide who looked pale, not willing at first to give up the man’s personal folders but relenting once Dmitry nodded.

The men walked down the corridor, entering the main administrative building, stopping at the elevator. “Those were the good ole days, Vlad. Remember when we stacked the German front? I wonder what would have happened had the premier not backed down. That would have been a fight, no?” Dmitry said, a smile and a pat on Vlad’s shoulder as they entered the lift.

Vlad hit O, which stood for observatory, bypassing the other floors.

“We’re not going to your office?” Dmitry asked.

“I have something to show you,” Vlad said. “I’ve set up a small table on the observatory deck where we can have a small bite to eat.”

“Ah, sounds good, my old friend,” Dmitry said as they arrived, and Vlad motioned for his boss to exit. They walked over to the large window panes that overlooked the main launch pad about two kilometers away, and Vlad pulled a chair out for the man. “Ah… my aide, Tamil?” Dmitry asked, looking around.

“Irina, can you take Secretary Osnokov’s aide to the service quarters and see to it that he gets something to eat?” Vlad asked.

Irina came from the side lounge area and motioned for the aide Tamil to follow her. Soon after they departed, the two men sat as the late afternoon sun shone through the broad window panes overlooking the complex two hundred feet below. “Do you have vodka, Vlad?” Dmitry asked, anticipation in his voice.

“Koneshna, only the best for you.” Vlad motioned, and the service staff brought bread, butter, sugar, lemon wedges, and glasses, including shot glasses and a large bottle of Stolichnaya vodka.

“I see you’ve spared no expense,” Dmitry said, smiling as Vlad poured him a shot. The old man took his lemon wedge and dipped it into the shallow sugar bowl, coating it, and then raised his freshly poured shot glass. “Do Sdarovya,” he said, and Vlad accepted the toast, both men emptying their glasses in one fluid motion, popping sugared lemon wedges into their mouths right after the drink.

There was a moment of silence as Vlad looked his boss over before he spoke. “Now, Dmitry, you’ve kept me waiting for two days now sitting here wondering what could possibly be so urgent to bring a cabinet member from Moscow all the way out here. When were you planning on telling me?”

Dmitry smiled and pulled his lemon wedge from his mouth, setting the rind down on a separate saucer plate. “You’re just like your father, do you know that? Together, I thought we’d push NATO all the way into the Atlantic, but alas, those were the old days. Now we have détente and diplomacy and reconciliation and, of course, social media. We are like dinosaurs now, Vladimir, old and extinct. Do you think there is any use for us anymore?”

“What have you been drinking?” Vlad asked.

“Oh, come now, you wouldn’t refuse an old man his last fond memories now, would you?”

“Of course not, but that is the past and now we are faced with a greater challenge, are we not?” Vlad asked.

“Yes, you are right. Enough about the old days. I come to oversee the security of our complex as well. There is evidence, circumstantial in my opinion, that the Chinese have weapons in space,” Dmitry said, looking for a reaction from his old student.

“That would be a major violation of the London Accord. Is your evidence strong?” Vlad asked.

“Strong enough. I don’t think at this point the Chinese care. It gets worse, Vlad. We believe they have used these weapons already.”

“Blyad! Not possible. That would mean war. All our assets are in place, are they not? What did they hit?”

“Not us, they took out an American spysat. Our counter surveillance satellite picked up the debris field of the American unit on infrared. There wasn’t anything to see in the visible spectrum.”

“Bozhe, moi! Do the Americans know?”

“I have no idea. I’m sure they know their spybird is gone, but they may not know how. Moscow is worried that they will attempt to link our forces to this act.”

“Should they?”

“What do you mean?” Dmitry asked.

“Do we have weapons in space?” Vlad asked.

“You would know, you are the administrator of Ruscosmos launch services. Of course we don’t.”

“I’m not so sure, Dima. I’ve sent up plenty of equipment, satellites, and other space-bound equipment for our government and many other governments, but I am not privy to most payloads if they are sealed in capsules or self-contained. You know that. Perhaps I should not be asking this question?”

Dmitry reached for the bottle of vodka, pouring himself another and filling Vlad’s glass as well. “If we do have something up there, I have not been cleared to know. Our emphasis has been on ground assets, and I do know we have more than a few of them that could do the same thing only from here, not from orbit. No need to go there, but you should be aware that we are moving to Readiness Code Two tomorrow.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, we mobilize the entire Far East Military District. Moscow thinks it’s possible that if things go poorly for the Chinese, they may just decide to make a strike at our only space launch site right here at Vostochny.”

“Damn! I said we never should have built such a strategic asset so close to the Chinese border,” Vlad said, picking up his glass and drinking his vodka without waiting for his boss to join him.

Dmitry drank half of his and then repeated the process of sugarcoating the lemon wedge before pulling the rind out and wiping his mouth with a napkin. “There are a few in Moscow that share your sentiment, but this is no time for finger pointing. The premier has decided to send three divisions from the west to Amur specifically for the defense of the Cosmodrome. Two of them are armored divisions and the third is a mechanical infantry. They will beef up the twelve divisions already active here in the Far East.”

“What good will that do against the forty Chinese divisions we are facing now?”

Dmitry laughed. “Do not worry, old friend, that is what our nuclear deterrent is for. We will keep them at bay.”

“I’m not so sure. Also, I want to know why Moscow aborted the heavy lunar launch. We were ready to fuel when we received the call. I thought we needed a lunar reconnaissance orbiter as quickly as possible.”

“I’m sorry, Vladimir,” Dmitry said, using his more formal name but smiling at the younger man. “That was part of the news I shared with you today. We can’t risk losing the orbiter until we are sure we can launch without incident. It would do no good to take the only functioning spacecraft we have only to have it shot out of the sky before it could accomplish its mission.”

“My God, this is getting out of control,” Vlad said.

“Perhaps. We simply need to take precautions first. The lunar heavy launch will take place in a week. We must give the Red Army forces time to prepare. The Defense Minister informed me that we will have something special prepared for their space weapons.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing in Moscow. This could turn out badly for more than just our country.”

“Nonsense, Vladimir. We have the Americans to help us.” Dmitry laughed. Seeing the confusion on Vlad’s face, Dmitry explained, “We will share the data we have with them. They will know who took down their precious spy satellite and act accordingly. Soon the Chinese will have more on their plate than they can handle when the Americans learn about their attack.”

“Like I said, old friend, this is getting out of control.”

“You may be right, but in the meantime, would it be too much to eat dinner for tonight? We can worry about world domination another day.”

Vlad smiled and then started to chuckle, waving over the service staff who were waiting anxiously near the elevator with two carts laden with food. Let the Chinese deal with the Americans, and they would reach the moon first. Things were looking better already, if not less dangerous. Vlad enjoyed his meal.

^{Chapter 10}

Payload

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 15

“The president has personally cleared your team for clearance level Red One. That is why you received the extra briefs this week,” Mrs. Brown informed Rock and his team as they sat for their daily meeting before work began.

“So reassuring,” Jack said.

“So the Russians held back on launching their lunar reconnaissance craft due to this Chinese threat? Are we understanding this report correctly?” Marge asked, leafing through several sheets of paper marked Top Secret across the top in red.

“Yes, it appears from our intel that the Chinese somehow managed to get some anti-satellite missiles into space sometime during the last two years, if our data is correct,” Mrs. Brown answered.

“It hasn’t been in the news,” Jack said.

“What are we going to do about it?” Tom asked. “We should shoot two of their birds down for that. I can’t believe the president won’t respond.”

“It’s under advisement, and the politics of the current situation are not relevant to your group,” Mrs. Brown declared. “I advise you all to focus on the task at hand and leave the diplomacy and… counter reaction response to the military.”

“Damn, this could start World War Three,” Jack said, releasing a sigh in response to the news.

“I agree with Mrs. Brown; we should focus on getting Julie and Craig up there safely and leave the posturing to the technocrats,” Rock said, looking at each team member in turn.

“Fine,” Marge said, setting her papers down and returning Rock’s gaze. “How long till we receive a lunar landing pod from JPL?”

“They’re still modifying it to fit two astronauts. Remember it was designed as a larger rover for the Mars mission next decade, so to suddenly be asked to expand the design to accommodate crewmembers places a lot of strain on the engineers,” Rock said.

“I’ve looked at the life support systems, and they are adequate, if not robust,” Lisa said from her perch on her stool at the drafting table. Usually they held their briefings at the conference room table next to the lab room, but Mrs. Brown was late and Rock’s team started to work.

Tom pulled up the relevant schematic and flipped the table light on so it was clearly visible.

“So this is what you’ve been working on?” Mrs. Brown asked, looking over Jack’s shoulder at the diagram.

Rock’s entire team looked at her with a wide range of emotions etched on their faces. This was the first time the NSA spooks seemed to care what they were doing.

“Yes,” Lisa said, pointing to the spacecraft drawing on the table. “This was where the rover would have been secured on top of the lander. It actually acted sort of like a cargo bay where the rover and its instruments would ride the lander to the planet’s surface. In the past, we’ve used airbags, parachutes, and rockets to land our equipment there safely. The Adomite-300 was going to use rockets for the Mars landing, so now we simply added a crew bay here”—she glided her fingertip to the command module—“and then used shielding around the base and outer walls to prep it for a human presence.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Mrs. Brown said.

“That’s just the beginning,” Jack said. “The rockets were designed for the rover’s payload, not the crew’s command module, so we have to adjust the thrust of the rockets to account for the extra weight.”

“Not to mention the extra fuel load,” Marge chimed in.

“Which changes the weight of the lander, that has to factor in the fact that the original rover design was meant for a one-way trip. This lander has to be able to return to lunar orbit as well, so it has to have more than twice the fuel load in order to escape the gravity well of the moon,” Rock added.

“Also, don’t forget the fact that this is just the lander. You have to have an orbiter to re-dock with,” Tom said. “This means extra weight on the overall payload manifest.”

“Which has to be calculated in the launch profile,” Jack finished.

Mrs. Brown almost looked pale. “Well, I’m glad we have your expertise to count on, and I’m sure you’ll find the right solution.” She didn’t wait for an answer and left the room completely, which was rare for her.

Tom chuckled. “We didn’t even have to use any techno-jargon.”

“Thank God,” Jack said, and even Lisa smiled.

“Which brings me to the question,” Rock said, more serious now. “Will this configuration work?”

“It will,” Lisa said. “There’s only so much our carbon scrubbers can do, but with only two bodies and these extra oxygen tanks, we should be able to match the ten-day mission profile with an extra two days to spare.”

“That’s cutting it a tad close, isn’t it?” Marge asked, looking at Lisa.

“We can’t add more oxygen tanks, and the current carbon scrubber would have to be twice as large unless we make one from scratch. That’s the next largest size, and it would impact the dynamic envelope of the lander considerably.” Lisa nodded.

“Probably take it over the maximum range,” Tom ventured.

“Well, the mission can always be cut short, if that’s an issue,” Jack said.

“Or our handlers figure our nauts can stick it out for nine days instead of four,” Marge said.

“You can’t be serious, can you, Marjorie?” Lisa asked.

Marge nodded before Tom spoke. “Damn right they can, them bastards.”

“Hey, aren’t we in charge of the mission? We say lift off and bring Craig and Julie back on time. How could they interfere?” Jack asked.

“Don’t ask, son. They’ll do it one way or the other if they have to. We’re all expendable when it comes to something like this,” Tom said, giving his stern-father look at Jack.

Everyone looked at Rock. “I don’t know, folks. Let’s not take any chances, though. Jack, being our signals guy, can you rig the orbiter so that it communicates directly with the lander?”

“It’s already configured that way,” Jack said. “It’s used as a relay from earth.” He looked confused.

“No, I get that already. I’m talking about receiving commands from moon-side and not just mission control. I want to ensure that Julie and Craig can send commands to the orbiter and receive trajectory data from its radar so that they can lift off on their own, without data or telemetry feeds from earth.”

Jack whistled, and Marge responded, “Wow, that’s intense, Rock. You’re willing to do that? Right under their noses?”

“You’re damn right I’m willing,” Rock said, his face serious.

“Screw them spooks, Marge. You know they’ll do it if they have to. I like Rock’s idea,” Tom said.

“It’ll be risky…” Lisa added.

“Not at all, unless someone talks,” Rock said. There were looks, but no one spoke. “Can you do it, Jack?”

“Yes, I’ll have to add some wiring and maybe an extra transceiver on the lander, but it can be done.”

Marge added, “Just tell them it’s a redundant system. That would be the truth, too.” NASA was known for its triple redundancy, so no one would really question an extra piece of equipment if it was coded in the weight manifest as vital.

“Good. I’ll talk to both of them this afternoon when they finish in the tanks, and fill them in. Jack, you try to get some downtime with them. Say when they transition to physical training, and get them up to speed on the equipment. Lisa, it’s minor, but you reconfigure the weight profile, and Tom, you make sure the damn thing works. Marge and I will run point on this with the NSA,” Rock said.

“Spooks,” Tom retorted.

“NSA,” Rock said, giving Tom a look. “Okay, now let’s get to work.”

The group broke with each team member heading to a laptop or tablet somewhere in the room, but Rock was sure he heard Tom mutter “spooks” under his breath as the man left. It would be a long day.

* * * * *

People’s Republic Space Command

Outside of Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 20

Hun and his team had walked the debris field of the Long Reach impact site looking for anything salvageable. It had been an exercise in futility. Liquid hydrogen and oxygen didn’t just burn, it burned hot. Hun was no geologist, but he swore some of the rocks at the impact site had turned molten and reformed as a different type of stone.

His entire team as well as over a dozen military officers were flown from Beijing to Wenchang the day after the catastrophic launch attempt. He knew the exercise wouldn’t result in anything positive, but the military had insisted on it and had given Hun nearly a hundred soldiers to poke and prod through the blackened area. That had been a week ago. Hun’s team had been flown back to Beijing and was hard at work configuring a way to get one of the Long Reach rockets ready to carry a reconnaissance payload to the moon. The problem is they were always overweight for what the military wanted to send.

“Can’t we strip the horizontal brackets and use just one cross joint?” Chang Fu, his mechanical engineer, asked from the video feed on Hun’s second monitor. Chang was nearly a thousand kilometers from the command center, working on the actual orbiter which was to be called Liquid Eye. Hun thought the name unique but silly, if nothing else. They had to use a Skype-like secure video connection to discuss the details with their chief mechanic.

“Our calculations show that any lateral stresses above four-point-five G’s will result in structural failure,” Hun said, looking at his data tablet.

“So we keep lateral forces to a minimum,” Lin said from where she sat next to Hun.

“That would be a minimum considering the torque and spin once it enters LEO,” Chon said.

“How would you know, Chon? You’re a signals technician, not a mech engineer,” Lin asked him from across the table.

“I studied thermal dynamics and geometry before I took up advanced wave theory at Sun Tsu,” Chon said, referring to the new university which included advanced sciences as well as military theory.

“Chon’s probably correct. I was hoping our trajectory could be flattened a bit to compensate; otherwise, I’m running out of ideas here,” Chang said.

“The problem is we can’t add fuel to the Long Reach in order to flatten the trajectory,” Hun said, frustrated at the dilemma.

Everyone sat quietly for nearly a minute. The Chinese were known for their patience, and unlike Americans, silence was something to be welcomed, not avoided.

Finally Chon tapped on his paper. “Why do we have to send the orbiter on only one rocket?”

Lin looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “What kind of question is that?”

“Well, the entire purpose is to put eyes on the Fleeting Locust landing site, right?” Chon asked, referring to the unique name the original robotic mission had for itself. Hun nodded, as did Lin. “Well, we are already saving weight by going the lithium route on the battery instead of nickel-cadmium, but the whole thing is still large and heavy due to the electrical demands of the equipment on the orbiter. So we send up the equipment first, inserting it into lunar orbit minus the battery module, and then we send the battery module along with a docking clamp and mate it to the equipment module. Don’t you see? Equation solved.”

“Wait, yes, that would not only work but it would allow us to use a much stronger battery as well as bigger and more capable equipment,” Lin said, excitement in her voice.

Hun started to see the benefits of the idea, but instantly the complications reared their ugly head. “Can you configure docking clamps to each cargo section, Chang?” Chang nodded from the monitor. “I’ll need to ask General Wang if we even have two Long Reach rockets available. I was under the impression that we had only one.”

“Well, we would have had two if the colonel—” Chon was cut off by Hun.

“Shhh, don’t speak of it. What is done is done. Maybe we would have had two Long Reaches, but let’s look at the future, not the past.” Hun remembered all too vividly his boss’s fate, and he was fairly sure they were being monitored. Chon was young and rebellious, a bad sign for anyone living under this regime.

“How long would it take for you to construct a docking collar?” Lin asked.

Chang looked down at something and then back into the monitor. “Inventory shows we have two small collars ready. I just need to bring them out and size them. Perhaps make an adjustment after checking their tolerance levels. The main issue will be the actual maneuver. There will be just over a two-point-five-second delay in all command inputs for docking. We’d either have to adjust here or make sure the computer programming is up to the task.”

“I can take care of the programming,” Chon said. “That shouldn’t be an issue as long as I can get a targeting grid on the docking lens.”

“Sir?” Lin asked, everyone falling silent and looking at their lead.

“Go with it, Chang. You, too, Chon. Make the programming fixes, and I’ll present our idea to the general directly.”

Hun received nods from all his staff, including Chang, who nodded through the monitor before clicking it off. Hun knew the raw parts were available, but he had no idea what the Red Army had done to their engineering capacity once they took over. He moved to his desk where he phoned General Wang’s aide and requested an appointment. He told the aide it was urgent, and the man informed him he’d have an answer within the hour. It took only seven minutes, and Hun was instructed to meet the general in the director’s office in ten minutes. It appeared Hun was going to have one shot at this, and he planned to make it work.

^{Chapter 11}

Payback

White House Situation Room

Washington D.C.

In the near future, Day 20

“Those bastards!” the Joint Chiefs of Staff said more than a little uncharacteristically for his position.

President Powers looked at him and at the others in the presidential situation room located in the basement under the West Wing of the White House. “We’re sure the Chinese destroyed our satellite?” she asked.

“No, Madam President, not sure, but our HUMINT indicates that it is probable that an anti-satellite missile took out our bird,” the military attaché said, putting his papers back into his portfolio.

“It was a military sat, too, Madam President,” the Secretary of Defense said to her, leaning over and then returning to his stoic posture beside her.

“Well, that explains our chief’s reaction,” she said. “We have protocols in place for this, do we not?”

“We do, Madam President, you only need to give the word,” her Director of National Security said, a smug tone in his voice.

“Chief, are you in agreement with the deployment of the X47B Hunter drone?” she asked.

The Joint Chiefs of Staff smiled. “Hell yes, Madam President, and not only in agreement but ready as well.”

The Secretary of Defense clarified, “We’ve fueled the Atlas V at Vandenburg and stand ready to launch the Hunter within sixty minutes on your orders.”

Everyone looked anxiously at the president while she took her time with the decision. “Proceed to execute Mission Boomerang, then.”

People started to move quickly, some picking up secure phone lines, others heading to their duty stations. “You heard the president,” said the chief, “time for some good ole fashioned payback, the hoorah way.”

No one laughed, but more than a few smiled. Only a handful understood the danger involved. “Shall I give the order?” the Secretary of Defense said, his tone hushed, literally unheard by those in the same room, such was their focus.

“Yes, Secretary Davis, bring us to DEFCON three.”

“Jesus, Gloria,” the vice president said to the president, whispering as he leaned over so he wouldn’t be overheard. “We’re halfway there.”

“I know, John. That’s why we’re taking precautions.”

“Removing the U.S. emblem from the drone isn’t exactly reassuring,” the vice president said. “If they have optical surveillance on their own satellites, they can easily see where the attack originated from. They’re in geo orbit, Gloria, and that makes us exposed,” Vice President John Lee said, his entire brow furrowed in anxiety.

The president looked him in the eye, assessing her point man’s resolve. “Peace through strength, John. We’re weaker if we do nothing.”

“We’re talking about launching our drone near geosynchronous orbit. That’s like over twenty-five thousand miles away. I’m no scientist, but the Hunter will be observable that high up, to more than just one device.”

“I know, I read the report, and you’ll remember the response time? That’s why it’s rigged with a self-destruct device. Hopefully, by the time they register the strike, there will be no drone to observe,” she said.

“Hopefully?” He arched his brows, bringing a hand to his forehead.

“Take some aspirin and trust me on this.”

“We’ve been through a lot, Gloria, but if you’re wrong on this, we’ll be at DEFCON one by tomorrow morning.”

President Powers sighed. “I’m afraid you’re correct, so let’s hope I’m right.”

“Lord have mercy,” he said.

* * * * *

Vandenburg Air Force Base

Southern California

In the near future, Day 20

The Atlas Vb had a maximum fuel load and an extra pair of side-mounted fuel tanks as it was carrying the X47B Hunter drone into space and not the usual suborbital launch it was accustomed to performing. The drone itself was specially modified with an extra fuel pack as well as an explosives detail that would trigger automatically once the missile was launched. The missile was specially built to burn in a vacuum with a solid propellant that left little to no visual light once ignited. The fuel burned a dull red and, while highly noticeable in the infrared, it had a very low detection threshold in the visual spectrum.

Once the sun was about to set, obscuring the casual spectator, the Atlas Vb leaped into the sky from its California Vandenburg Air Force base on a very unusual trajectory over the continental United States instead of over the Pacific Ocean as was usual for safety reasons. After seven minutes, the rocket depleted its fuel load over the Caribbean Ocean and started its long decent for its return, eventually landing in the South Atlantic near the equator. The X47B’s motors took over upon separation, propelling the drone to nearly twenty-five thousand miles per hour, while its trajectory flattened to bring it looping around the African Continent.

The drone had small lateral thrusters that fired in order to swing the drone on a highly inclined vector. This new heading resulted in the craft passing over the Indian Ocean, moving up and out, away from the earth, in a very unusual launch profile. The radar on the drone’s head lit up, searching the sky, immediately identifying three large satellites orbiting the earth in geosynchronous orbit within its targeting arc. Two satellites were immediately identified as friendly and discarded, but the third met the profile for the target programmed into its computer sensor. A Chinese multimodal satellite array.

The drone never stopped, making minute changes to its flight path as it burned the last of its fuel. Its speed started to slow immediately as the pull of the earth’s gravity well beckoned the drone to return. The drone launched its only missile, which was three times the size of a normal air-to-air missile. Once the drone’s radar indicated the weapon was over one hundred miles away, the explosive charges were set off and the X47B Hunter ceased to exist.

The missile, already carrying substantial delta-v, continued to accelerate, making the slightest of course corrections, much as its mother drone had done. It reached a top speed of nearly fifty thousand miles per hour and in less than twenty minutes had reached its target. The one hundred pounds of high explosive Semtex-D did not require oxygen as part of its chemical composition change.

The explosion was, contrary to its engine exhaust, highly visible as the explosives, missile, and satellite were transformed into microscopic space debris. Seventy percent of transcontinental communications in and through China were instantly interrupted. The second act of aggression in space had just been recorded in modern human history.

* * * * *

Vostochny Cosmodrome

Siberia, Russia

In the near future, Day 21

The Energia X was being prepped for fueling on the launch pad as Vlad and Dmitry watched from the observation deck. The launch of the heaviest rocket in Russian history was finally going to happen this week, and Vlad was glad to see the mission safely accomplished.

“So we’re sure the lunar orbiter will be properly shielded?” Vlad asked Dmitry as the two men enjoyed a cup of tea as the sun began to set. The Russians liked to launch after dusk.

Dmitry knew that while Vlad was the program administrator, he was limited in knowing what some of the payloads actually did and how they were configured. Sure, he was given weight and size data and overall basic purposing of each manifest, but this did not mean he knew all the details. There had been no time to update the report and send it to him. He’d inform the man in person, having spent all week at the Cosmodrome staying in the VIP guest quarters on base.

“Yes, Vlad. The Glaz in geo orbit is still picking up gamma, x-ray, and other high wavelength pulses from the alien device. We’ve constructed a combination of shielding around the orbiter as well as its instrument arrays. We aren’t sure how close we can get to the device, but we’ll have measurements in real time as the mission progresses.”

Vlad knew the Glaz was a scientific satellite collecting data over Europe, but now its multi-phased antenna array was pointed at the moon and monitoring the various waves emanating from its far side. “Good, we may actually be the first to observe the dynamic device.”

Dmitry put his teacup down. “The Chinese actually have photographs of the device, so we’ll be second.” A frown appeared on the man’s face.

“No, Dima, I meant dynamic, not static. Whatever is up there, it was inert when they arrived, but now it’s active. Whatever it’s doing, we’ll be the first to know.”

“Perhaps,” Dmitry responded, a look of contemplation on his face. “There is no knowing what we will find up there. This is uncharted history, my old friend, and it feels good to be taking point on it.”

Vlad smiled. His old boss and friend had become more sentimental and fond of the old Soviet days when the empire ruled supreme and their armed military might had the west cowering. Those days had long ago passed, and the Federation found itself struggling to keep pace with the US-China GDP race that had been going on for most of the last few decades.

“Dangerous moves we make. If they find out about our little game, there could be serious consequences,” Vlad said.

“Maybe the designers of that device up there,” Dmitry said, nodding toward the faint outline of the crescent moon as it rose in the eastern sky, “wanted to test our planet’s resolve in such matters. We are all nuclear powers, armed to the teeth with global destruction. Maybe this is only our first test as a species, a way to see if we’re worthy of say… greater enlightenment.”

“Are we?” Vlad asked.

“We are, but I’m not sure about the Chinese or Americans.” Dmitry chuckled and resumed drinking his tea.

“Speaking of which, have we any news from the spat between the two?”

“It appears the Americans have countered, but the actual details weren’t even cleared at my level. It seems our security forces feel we have an intelligence leak somewhere, and they are compartmentalizing all sensitive data for now. What little I heard came from Oleg at Strategic Air Command. Bah! It is too late now for delicacies. Time to hit with the hammer before we become irrelevant.”

“Speak for yourself, old timer. I plan on seeing the next century if our medical advances keep pace. Now what is with the leak? I thought we had our plans air tight,” Vlad asked.

“We picked up some chatter from a top level state diplomat in France who seemed privy to our plans before we executed them.”

“What plans?”

“The removal of the Americans from the Gordust,” Dmitry said, reaching for a mint in his inner coat pocket and offering one to Vlad, who accepted.

“Nyet, you can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid I am. So here we are, none the wiser, and that is also part of the reason why we delayed the launch. We wanted to know who could pass this information along. We are being monitored.”

“Of course we are,” Vlad said, motioning for Irina to bring the tablets to his table. “We are always being monitored. What else is new?”

“Ah, Irina, is it?” Dmitry asked, noticing the shorter than normal skirt and the long, slender legs that she displayed.

“Yes, Secretary Osnokov,” Irina said, placing the portable tablets in front of each man and dropping off a set of folders with a red security band around them. “Will there be anything else, Vladimir?” she asked, twirling a small strand of hair with her index finger and tucking it behind her ear, the motion bordering on flirtation.

Vlad noticed the slight raise of Dmitry’s right brow, not visible to Irina as he gave Vlad a rather interesting look. “No, we’ll monitor the launch from here. We have the radios and phones, so if we need anything, we’ll ring you.”

“Very well,” she said, nodding to Vlad and smiling at Dmitry before departing.

“I see…” Dmitry said.

“Don’t start, please. I’ve suffered enough. What can I say? I am a weak man.”

“We all are, Vlad. We all are.”

The men watched as the powerful rocket was fueled, and within an hour, the large digital countdown timer, over five meters tall near the launch pad, reached triple zeros, and the dark Siberian forest was illuminated with the bright glow of the rocket’s exhaust. Data from the command center was wired directly to the men’s tablets, showing thrust force, time after liftoff, flight trajectory, and relative speed.

Within a few minutes, the entire base was returned to its normal illumination of the large pale electrical lamps as the Energia X swung across the horizon and out of sight. The Russians were going to the moon.

^{Chapter 12}

Space Station

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 24

The news had been less than ideal. Rock sat at the conference table in the room next to their working lab, looking at the daily report Mr. Smith had given him that morning. The engineers in Pasadena and his own mission team were told to speed up the process for the first manned lunar mission in over half a century.

The Russians had launched what appeared to be a lunar reconnaissance satellite to the moon. It was even now supposed to be entering lunar orbit after the three day journey. This was a major setback for the Americans in the race to reach the alien object. For two days, they figuratively held their collective breaths, wondering if the HUMINT reports were wrong and that this mission actually had cosmonauts on board. The daily report indicated they did not—it was only a robotic probe designed to gather data on the device and its signals, including photographic details. That would be interesting.

“Well, at least they haven’t reached it first,” Jack said from across the table, drinking on his morning coffee.

“Damn Ruskies,” Tom said. A frown appearing on his face as it usually did when referring to their adversary. “They are the only ones with astronauts in space. It won’t take them long to get there. They’ve already done half the work and are way ahead of us on this.”

“I’m not one to always agree with Tom,” Marge said, and at this, Tom smiled, “but he’s right. That’s why we have to leap frog and go straight there with Craig and Julie. What do you think is holding the Russians back?”

Most of his team looked at him, though Rock noticed Lisa was intent on reviewing something in her report. “I’m not so sure I’d trust this data. What if this lunar recon bird that they sent up is actually a supply module? It could contain extra oxygen, fuel, even food supplies for their space station. You guys were on it last. How long can it sustain six cosmonauts?”

Julie and Craig had joined them this morning and were seated at the table along with Jeff Wheeler, their electrical engineer. Julie spoke first. “The station has four personnel pods, though they could support eight if they hot bunk it.” This referred to the practice of two crewmembers sharing one bed or sleeping device. On the space station, the beds were more like vertical hammocks that secured the cosmonaut against a padded bulkhead wall during sleep.

“Yeah, and the science labs could hold a lot of material or equipment if they jettisoned their current scientific experiments,” Craig added. Julie cringed at that, her displeasure more than visible.

“You had several going, didn’t you, Julie?” Marge asked.

“Yes. Two of them involved animal subjects, mice and ants.”

“You probably got plenty of them critters orbiting our planet by now, Jules,” Tom said.

“Jesus, Tom, show some compassion,” Marge said, giving Tom a glare, and she wasn’t the only one. Lisa looked up from her papers to give Tom a similar disapproving look.

“What? I’m just saying. I know them, and they were sure to jettison anything that hindered their mission, right, Rock?” Tom looked at Rock, almost pleading for some support.

“Don’t you take his side, Richard.” Lisa gave Rock a stern look.

“I’m not taking anyone’s side. Let’s move on. I want to know if that station could handle, what”—Rock looked down and thumbed through his notes—“six cosmonauts in the space allocated?”

“Mr. Crandon,” Craig began, “I think Julie will agree with me when I say that the Russian Gordust is like a huge recreation vehicle compared to anything we’ve had or even seen. The construction required over thirty launches of their medium and heavy lift rockets, and the payloads were intense when it came to weight and volume. They put a lot of effort into creating a top notch station. Now I’ve never been to the Euro, ah, international space station, but I can tell you that the Gordust is more than spacious, very strong structurally, and more than able to provide adequate life support for eight or more cosmonauts.”

Julie nodded. “The décor is practical, nothing luxurious, but its functionality is beyond question. They can, and will, pull this off.”

“So why haven’t they just done it already, then?” Jack asked.

There was silence for a moment while they all contemplated the question. If the station could be boosted to the moon, what were they waiting for?

“Navigation,” Lisa said. The looks around the table varied from confusion to understanding. “The RV has no steering wheel, get it?”

“Wait, that’s right. They have a solid platform but no way of guiding it yet,” Marge said.

Mrs. Brown starting writing furiously. “Do you have to do that?” Tom asked, annoyance in his voice.

Mr. Smith frowned. This was one of those rarer times when Rock’s team was blessed with the presence of both security officials. Usually, Mr. Smith roved between the three teams at NASA headquarters while Mrs. Brown seemed to be assigned specially for the mission team.

Jeff and his engineers were on the near wing working the equipment while across the building the academia and scientists were analyzing the signals and data from the alien device. Rock had reason on more than one occasion to visit Jeff and his team down the hall, and he noticed a “suit,” as Tom called them, assigned to the equipment team. It seemed all three groups had security personal assigned to them with Mr. Smith managing the effort.

“I’m just taking notes,” Mrs. Brown said, never looking up from her writing.

“Is it true the president sees all your notes?” Jack asked.

“It’s not important what information is passed on. What is important is that we find a way to get to the moon with a manned craft quicker than the Russians or the Chinese. Personally, I wouldn’t share this information with you—need to know—but I’ve been overruled. So you have the latest intel on our adversaries, and you’re tasked with using it to assist you in formulating and tweaking your plan, nothing more,” Mr. Smith said.

Rock knew the president personally overrode the NSA’s objections, but decided gloating or goading his handler would accomplish nothing. “All right, people, what does this mean for our mission? How does this affect the parameters of our launch?”

“Well, it gives us a bit more time,” Marge said.

“And we know what they’re waiting on,” Jack added.

“So if Lisa’s right, they would need some sort of navigation or control pod to add to their station.” Rock looked at his team. “Their current station doesn’t allow them forward viewing, so until that is fixed, they are stuck in orbit. Low or high, it doesn’t matter.”

“Why do they need to see anything?” Mrs. Brown paused her note-taking to ask. “Why not fly this thing sideways? Would it matter?”

“Yeah, why not use those side portholes to line up their lunar approach and insert into orbit using a fixed view finder that way? I’m sure they could bring one up from planet-side easily enough,” Jack asked.

“Impossible,” Jeff chimed in, his rare voice being heard among the group. “The entire station is structured along those two primary load bearing I-beams, right, Craig? Julie?” he asked the astronauts, pausing long enough to see them nod. “So any rockets capable of providing enough thrust to exit the earth’s orbit would have to be larger than normal vectoring motors, and I’m pretty sure the only place to mount them would be along the x-axis, horizontally.”

Craig jumped in. “Exactly. The shorter y-axis beams are only used for providing cross structure strength. They would not bear a load very well, and I’m not sure they could support a sustained rocket burn.”

Mr. Smith looked annoyed. “What does this all mean in layman’s terms?” He always reverted to that phrase when confronted with what was commonly thought of as techno-babble, Rock thought.

“It means, Mr. Smith,” Marge interjected, “that the Russian space station can only travel to the moon front first or rear first. Not sideways. They still need a steering wheel.” Marge smiled to Lisa, and Rock was surprised to see the gesture returned. Were the two actually working together better? That would be a most welcome development, Rock thought to himself.

“I still don’t see why they need to see visually,” Mrs. Brown said, resuming her note-taking while asking the question.

“Because the insertion window for lunar orbit is relatively narrow,” Lisa said. “Less than one degree, if my calculations are correct.”

“They are,” Marge said, again uncharacteristically friendly to Lisa.

“So if they are out of alignment by even half a degree, then they could be flung past the moon and end up either sailing off into intra-solar space or worse, be directed inward toward the sun. With very limited fuel, there would be no escaping that gravity well,” Lisa said.

“Either that, or end up auguring into the lunar surface,” Jack said.

“Then it would be adios, muchachos, to borrow a line.” Tom chuckled.

“Why not just put cameras on the front and be done with it?” Mrs. Brown asked, again pressing her questions seemingly in support of her report.

“Because they don’t know what took out the Chinese equipment,” Marge followed up. “Neither do we, so if their camera system goes down, they would be flying blind.”

Tom leaned forward for emphasis. “They could fly that bad boy old school with just an HUD on the forward viewport like we did the Apollo missions. As long as they have the HUD calibrated, there is no need for cameras.”

“And if the HUD goes down?” Mr. Smith asked.

“They use an overlay on the glass, measured from the pilot’s seat. No electronics required,” Tom answered.

“You getting all this?” Mr. Smith asked Mrs. Brown.

“I have it. I’ll compile it and send it to headquarters within the hour,” she responded.

“So what do you think the Russians are doing?” Jeff asked.

“Getting ready to place a steering wheel on their station,” Rock answered.

* * * * *

Gordust Space Station

Low Earth Orbit

In the near future, Day 25

Yuri watched as the remains of the mice were jettisoned along with several boxes of American instruments and equipment. One would have thought that Olga had some kind of compassion within her soul, but she was ready to jettison the mammals into space alive. Yuri had to insist as senior commander that she euthanize them first. Luckily they still had a fair amount of ether that the American female astronaut had used to knock the mice unconscious when handling them. Olga dumped most of the ether into an absorbent rag inside their cage and sealed it. The creatures fell asleep and passed within minutes. The ants weren’t so lucky.

Better if the woman had taken them back to earth with her, but they had to keep up pretenses and maintain the façade that they were going to continue with her science projects until a return of an American crewmember. That also gave the diplomats earth-side some cover since they could maintain that by monitoring the American experiments, they were still technically abiding by the terms of the station’s joint use agreement. Yuri was sure that wasn’t going to fly anymore.

He moved over to the port window, watching as Gregori and Nikolai were attaching the space rocket to the long support beam. He was the only person certified to operate the long central robotic arm that was similar to what the old U.S. space shuttle had, except more than twice as long, and it had three times the strength in its hydraulic motors. The last couple of days, Yuri had used the arm to bring the personnel pods into the inner rails, making room for the large rockets.

This had brought another set of issues as the living pods were equipped with radiative fins to disperse heat. Despite the fact that space was neither hot nor cold, a common misunderstanding by most, their main issue was radiating heat away from the station, especially when they were on the sun’s side of the earth. Pulling the pods closer to the station made it harder to radiate excess heat, and Yuri had already noticed a slight increase in the overall average internal temperature range. It increased by nearly half a degree Celsius. It would get worse by another quarter of a degree when the four cosmonauts were primarily inside the craft as their cumulative body heat added to the overall temperature of the station.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were going to shed a tear for those rodents,” Olga said, a note of condescension in her voice.

“It was the humane thing to do, Olya. Don’t start with me today. We have work to do.”

“I tested the internal radio system. You’re cleared to use the open mike on the arm console instead of the handheld,” she said.

“Good, molodyets,” he said, smiling now. “I’ll need both hands to manipulate the arm on the front side. It’s bad enough to be working blind, but to have to use a hand for push to talk, that would be unacceptable,” Yuri said, relieved that she had wired the frequency into his robotic console.

“Every nail has its hammer,” Olga shot back, using an old Siberian saying from the early twentieth century, floating by Yuri and allowing him access to the robotic console. She would allow him to check it. “Veri no proveri, trust but verify, was an even older Russian saying. Yuri would triple check the radio and make sure it was working properly, obeying his voice commands, before utilizing it with his comrades working right next to the arm.

The Americans will never see this coming, Yuri thought, quickly dismissing the melancholy from the earlier activities. Time to look forward… literally. Yuri smiled.

^{Chapter 13}

Planning

People’s Republic Space Command

Outside of Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 20

The connection dropped without warning, and Hun looked at several other monitors in the room. Most were still displaying properly, but a select few were showing only static.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Lin looked at her readout and then checked the back of the monitor. “No idea, sir, the connection terminated. Maybe at the source. Our systems look fine from here.”

“Chon, you’re our signals tech. Can you look into this?” Hun asked.

Chon nodded and then headed over to the communications room to check the servers and verify that all their local equipment was working properly. The link with their chief engineer, Chang, at the rocket construction site had been lost in midstream. Hun had a very bad feeling about this.

“Want me to ask the general’s office?” Lin asked, looking at the doorway that led to the militarized part of the office complex.

“No, send a priority report coded ‘unusual,’ letting them know we have a disruption, but I want to keep this low key on our end.”

Lin nodded and then walked over to her desk, sitting down and starting the unusual occurrence report that would be sent to the general’s office. Hun would follow protocol, but he wasn’t about to raise any eyebrows with the event and he had been hearing rumors. Not every soldier was so quiet when it came to clandestine operations, and bits and pieces were heard since they worked with each other in close proximity. Let the general figure it out. He had a job to do.

It took less than half an hour before Chon returned, and Lin had sent her report within ten minutes. “All servers appear to be working just fine,” Chon said.

“I’ll add this to the report as an addendum and update,” Lin said, returning to her desk.

“So what now?” Chon asked.

“If we can reestablish communications, then we’ll get confirmation that they’ve finished the lander and we’re ready to launch,” Hun said.

“What about the docking idea and two rockets?” Chon asked.

“I was saving that part for last, after Chong finished his report. The general shot that idea down and has decided to abort any plans for a lunar orbiter or reconnaissance mission. We’re to prepare for a direct manned landing.” Hun looked at Chon.

Lin walked back over, hearing the last line Hun said. “Can we do that?”

“We don’t have a choice,” Hun said, rubbing the stubble on his head. He remembered years ago when he had a full head of hair, but now, just stubble. It was better this way, kept out the grey strands.

“We have no astronauts,” Lin replied, undeterred. “Who will they send?”

“My guess would be military types. Perhaps pilots or ship commanders?” Chon speculated.

Lin punched in some commands on her laptop. The written schematics Chang had transmitted were clearly readable, and the lone command chair indicated the general’s new plan. Chang was taking orders directly from the military and working with Hun’s group on the logistics after the fact. Not a wise way to conduct business, thought Hun, but it kept the military in charge. “Looks like a mission of only one astronaut.”

Chon looked pale. “That sounds more like suicide than a mission.”

“Yes, but there will be no lack of volunteers, and the level of automation that’s in this schematic clearly shows they won’t need someone who is familiar with piloting anything, much less a spaceship,” Lin said.

Hun knew she was right. “Yes, it looks like our Long Reach rocket just doesn’t have the boost necessary to carry much more than a few tons to the moon. This entire schematic looks cramped. Less than three square meters of habitable space. That is claustrophobic for anyone, much less someone flying a quarter million miles to the moon. Did we get the entire file before the connection was lost?”

“Yes, sir,” Lin said, moving her laptop so he could see it better, and Chon looked over her shoulder at the display. “The systems check out. They used my numbers for minimal life support as well as proper systems integration of all critical components. They even placed a couple of systems on double redundancy, but not all of them.”

“Which ones did they leave out?” Chon asked, looking at Lin.

Lin grabbed her notes, leaving the laptop so all could still view the interior schematic of the lunar lander. “Every RF scanner sensor as well as the cooling system and the navigation computer.”

“Is that wise?” Chon asked.

“Of course not,” Hun said, “but they are following our recommendations, don’t you see?”

“No, boss, how so?” Chon asked, a bit more informal with Hun than Lin since they had a much longer history together. Considering the culture, this was significant.

“We’ve submitted a detailed list of all critical systems in order to accomplish the mission. The scanners were at the bottom of the list; we can pick up those RF signals from here. The nav computer was higher up, but it had a caveat. If the module had a piloting facet to it, then the navigation computer was less critical. We can relay telemetry data directly to the craft using our ground-based radar as long as the communications systems were triple redundant.”

“They made those double only,” Lin said, looking at her notes to confirm what she already knew.

“What about the cooling system? That seems more than critical to me,” Chon asked.

“You know, they don’t have more than minimal radiation shielding either,” Lin added.

Hun scratched the stubble on his chin now, the extremely short goatee matching the stubble on his head. “Let me think for a second.” His two team members waited patiently, looking over the schematic and the data on the lander. There were several questions they wanted to ask Chang, but that would have to wait.

“What is this?” Hun asked, pointing to the top of the drawing on Lin’s laptop.

Lin peered closer, squinting. “That looks like a return vehicle.”

“The entire lander is supposed to return, isn’t it?” Chon asked.

“Yes,” Hun said. “This looks like a secondary return vehicle, except much smaller.”

Now it was Chon’s turn to look closer at the schematic. “Can you zoom in on that top array?” he asked Lin.

Lin moved the laptop and scrolled to the percent bar, enlarging the drawing by fifty percent, and then moved the screen to the top half of the lander.

“It does look like a return craft, and this would be what Chang was referring to before we lost him,” Chon said, pointing to the top of the landing craft and then tracing a line that looked like a conduit from the top of the lander down to the side and finally ending just above the landing shield near a foot strut.

“Wait a second, I see what’s going on here,” Hun said, comprehension on his face. “The secondary lift vehicle is in case the lander is disabled. The pilot will be able to launch it into orbit with a small payload.”

“You mean the device?” Lin looked at Hun, her face conveying a look of surprise.

“Yes, Lin,” Hun said. “The exhaust from the secondary vehicle would render the first inoperable.”

“That would make it a one-way trip,” Chon said, wiping his brow with his shirt sleeve.

“The entire secondary vehicle is mechanical. Look here,” Lin pointed out. “The systems are not integrated with the navigation computer. Instead they have only one flight profile, lunar orbit.”

“What does it do when it reaches orbit? If it reaches orbit?” Chon asked.

“That part is unknown, but the military would have to have a plan to retrieve it before the Americans or Russians,” Hun said, looking sideways at both his team members.

“Any news on what they’re doing?” Lin asked.

“None,” Hun said. “You know as well as I do the military won’t share that kind of data with us.”

“Yeah, but we hear things,” Chon said, almost whispering now.

“Whispering won’t help.” Lin elbowed Chon. “If they are listening, then it won’t matter.”

“True, but I don’t care about that. I do care that we succeed.” Hun smiled. “Now let’s get the last systems checks done so we can support whomever the general selects to pilot the craft. Oh, and let’s see if we can’t raise Chang by some other means. Did you try calling?”

“First thing I did while checking the servers,” Chon said. “Telephone lines are down as well.”

“They were?” Lin asked, her face contorting a bit as she thought something through.

“Yes, why?” Chon asked.

“Wenchang comms are satellite based only; they never had any cables laid to the island.” Lin smiled.

Hun realized his systems technician was right. “Yes, that means we lost the communications satellite. Raising Chang will be difficult until the government routes communications through another device or mode.”

“That’s one way to slow our mission,” Chon said.

“Right, this has to be from one of the two.” Hun did not name the countries involved. It was obvious. “Lin, go down to the general’s office and inquire about the communications.” Hun waved her objections down. “I know we just sent the unusual occurrence report, but this is different. We need access to Chang and the lander in order to modify the systems and give us the best chance for success. Just do it, Lin, and report back when you’re done. I’d go myself, but I have an idea I want to prepare for the general first and time is short.”

“Understood. I’ll go now,” Lin said.

“Thank you, Lin,” Hun said, watching her pull her papers together and then leave the room.

“You want me to run another systems check on the communication servers?” Chon asked.

“No, stay here with me. I have an idea, but I need your help. Like I said, we don’t have much time.” Hun placed a hand on Chon’s shoulder and smiled. Chon nodded and then pulled up a chair. It would be a frantic day.

* * * * *

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 27

Marge sat with Rock and Jack at a smaller table near the window, watching the sun set. His team had been working well over sixteen hours a day, and burn out was evident. Rock wanted to call for a break if he could get Mr. Smith to agree. His team would be no good anymore if they started to make mistakes or worse, miscalculate due to sleep deprivation.

“So what’s so important to call an emergency meeting?” Rock asked, drinking coffee again. It was a necessity now despite the evening hours. They would work well past midnight and then return in the morning before the sun came up.

“We have a hypothesis, but it’s iffy and we have a problem,” Marge said.

“Well, I’ll take any one of your iffies any day,” Rock said. “What news?”

“The alien signals have remained the same; they cover the entire RF spectrum as well as the usual gamma and x-rays. We approached the problem from the perspective of what could knock out a rover and lander,” Marge said.

Rock nodded. “Go on.”

“Electromagnetic pulse,” Jack said, a smile crossing his face as he enjoyed the look of confusion on Rock’s.

“EMP?” Rock asked. “Come on, we ruled that out on day two.”

“Marge, do you mind?” Jack asked. Rock knew that Marge was more eloquent when it came to explaining things, especially those of a scientific nature, not to mention being more cultured in her word choices when compared to the signals engineer, so Rock took all this in stride.

“Richard,” Marge began, and Rock knew he was going to get one of those type of speeches from his second in command. “We ruled out the radioactive pulse because it has a much longer range and we would have detected it here, planet-side. The electric pulse was ruled out because the shorter range would not have been able to reach the orbiter without us being able to detect it.”

“So? What are you trying to say?” Rock asked, not seeing any progress.

“What if there was an EMP-type pulse that had the range of the radioactive pulse but the potency of the electric?” Marge asked.

“We’re talking impossible here. Not within the laws of physics,” Rock retorted, noticing the arrival of Tom who was bringing a pot of coffee.

“Mind if I join you?” Tom asked.

Rock was thinking this would be harder with Tom around, but relented. The man had fresh coffee. Who could object? “Pull up a seat, Tom,” Rock said, motioning to one of the free chairs and handing out his cup for a refill.

“What’s up, Doc?” Tom asked Marge, filling first Rock’s cup and then his own. Marge wasn’t drinking coffee, and Jack had placed his hand over his half full cup. Before sitting down, Tom reached into his large, voluminous white lab coat pocket. He fished around a bit and pulled out a handful of sugar packets and a couple of small cream containers. “Cream, sugar?”

“One of each, thanks,” Rock said.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Tom said.

Rock let it go and stifled a chuckle when Tom grinned at him. Marge seemed patient enough. “Go on, Marge, finish what you were saying,” Rock said.

“I was venturing a hypothesis about the root cause of the Chinese equipment failure,” Marge said, looking at Tom. Marge continued after Tom nodded. “If the EMP was a hybrid, then it could have blown the electronics out of their equipment. We didn’t detect the pulse because it was of low enough intensity to not be detectable from earth but strong enough to reach the orbiter.”

“So their orbiter is about what? Sixty or seventy miles above the surface?” Rock ventured.

“Sixty-eight point three parked in a frozen orbit,” Marge said. “That’s why it hasn’t decayed yet.”

Rock knew that there were only four orbits at various degrees that could sustain a satellite or orbiter so that it could stay in place almost indefinitely, and the Chinese had used the highest one. “So their rover approached the object when the orbiter cleared the horizon, using the highest orbit that would give them the maximum time for line of sight between rover and orbiter.”

“Correct,” Marge said.

“The rover touches or probes the device and it triggers some sort of EMP, disabling their equipment.” Marge and Jack both nodded. “This EMP is propagated, using some sort of alien technology, enough so that it can reach the orbiter yet remain undetected from earth. Finally, you’re saying that this entire hypothesis of yours basically violates what we know about physics and pretty much all wave technology. Do I have it correct?” Rock asked.

“That’s pretty much it, Rock, but there’s one more detail that affects the entire mission,” Marge said.

“Pray tell, what would that be?” Rock asked.

“Show him, Jack,” Marge said, motioning with her head.

Jack pulled out a large map of the lunar surface with concentric circles. “These are the estimated levels of radiation and electromagnetic energy emanating from the device based on our hypotheses. The levels near the device would be lethal to almost any shielding.”

“My God!” Rock said, realizing the implication. “We’d be sending Craig and Julie to their deaths.”

“Yup,” Jack said, frowning at Rock.

There was a moment of silence before Tom spoke. “What are you going to do, Rock?”

“Time to change our plans. We’ve just wasted two weeks of planning. I think Mr. Smith should know about this now.”

“Well, that’s just great,” Tom said, setting his coffee cup down. “And if the spook doesn’t believe Marge?”

“Then we kill two of our own.” Rock sighed.

^{Chapter 14}

Change of Plans

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 24

It took just over an hour to convene the emergency meeting. Mr. Smith was livid and insisted on notifying the executive branch immediately. Whatever was happening, Rock soon learned that the president and her staff had been alerted and gathered in the White House Situation Room. Rock and his team had been working on a solution for an hour straight, and luckily Marge and Jack had an idea already on the planning board when they broke the news to him.

The president was clearly visible on the large screen in the auditorium. To Rock’s consternation, Mr. Smith had literally called all three teams together as well as the executive branch for this brief. He had hoped for a smaller group to discuss the potential issue in greater detail before just running with it. As a scientist, he was accustomed to testing any hypothesis first before acting on it, but time was running out and if Marge was correct, then they were barking up the wrong tree, so to speak. The entire last two weeks were a potential colossal waste of time. He only hoped they could salvage something from their work, and Marge had come up with a bold but feasible plan.

“So explain to me why we didn’t know about this earlier?” President Powers asked, and Rock could not only see her frustration but hear it in her voice as well.

“This information was brought to our attention less than two hours ago,” Mr. Smith said, looking at his watch to make sure it was indeed within the allocated time frame that he specified. The man was thorough if nothing else, Rock thought.

“Who made the discovery?” the president asked.

“Well, it’s not an actual discovery,” Mr. Smith said while Mrs. Brown tapped away furiously on her tablet from where she stood next to Smith. “It’s a hypothesis for now.”

“So it could be wrong?” the president asked.

“Yes, but the NASA team seems convinced,” Smith said.

Rock noted how the president was asking her questions directly, no staff or aide to facilitate for her, and he thought it peculiar that Smith would create some separation between his agency and Rock’s. This isn’t boding well for my team, he thought.

“Let me hear from the NASA team, then,” the president said.

Marge stood, but Rock motioned for her to sit back down. He would take point on the issue as team leader and not let Marge be a target in case things got ugly. Marge was one of the most brilliant minds Rock had ever had the pleasure to work with, but when it came to dealing with politics and… well, other women, Marge’s skill set was more than a bit lacking.

“Madam President, I’ll handle the details, if you don’t mind?” Rock said, standing from the first row and walking next to Mr. Smith near the camera. President Powers nodded and Rock began.

“You’ve been briefed, and our data has been sent to you in the report. It’s all there. I’m only going to spell out the implications. We have a high confidence level in our data, and if correct, it means the current mission profile is doomed to failure. There is no way for even our Saturn V to be able to lift the payload required if it has to be that heavily shielded.”

Mrs. Brown worked her magic, and a side screen came up on each monitor, showing payload data.

“It would require more than four times the lift capability of the Saturn in order to reach the moon with the shielding weight requirements for success. Not only do we not have that ability right now, but even if we did, we could not successfully launch the equipment in four different loads. It needs to be integrated, and that is literally impossible with our current configuration, not to mention our lack of that many rockets,” Rock said.

“But your team’s calculations could be incorrect?” the president asked.

“The actual energy output of the EMP could be off—we have no reliable way to measure it near the source—but the hypothesis on the propagation profile and power estimates fit perfectly to explain the two phenomenon of the Chinese equipment failure and the inability of our scanners to detect any trace of an EMP pulse,” Rock said. “We know for a fact the Chinese equipment is dead. That should at least indicate the use of caution on our part.”

Rock looked toward Craig and Julie, who were seated near the first row. It would be their lives on the line, not anyone else’s, and Rock intended to hammer that fact home if he had to, president or not.

The president leaned over and whispered something into the ear of the Director of National Security before resuming and looking right into the camera. “Could readings from a probe nearby confirm this hypothesis?”

“Well, yes, if it was sensing the pulse strength and was properly shielded itself, it could measure the EMP strength quite accurately, especially if it was in a different orbit from the Chinese. Given two separate readings, one an estimated range to simulate the pulse strength of the Chinese orbit, and then a ratio could be calculated and a fair approximation assessed for the wave’s strength at the source of origin,” Rock said, his tone one of confusion. “But we have scrapped the plans for a lunar reconnaissance craft and would have no way of confirming the hypothesis without this additional data.”

Powers looked at her notes on the table where she sat, taking nearly a minute to leaf through them and refusing the assistance of one of her aides who was overeager to help. No one dared to bother her, and everyone had the good sense to remain quiet. Finding a specific piece of paper, she resumed her attention on Rock via the camera. “So you need the readings for the EMP using what measurement?”

“Waveform and frequency readings would be enough,” Rock said.

There was another moment of silence, and the Director of National Security actually placed his hand over the president’s mike while whispering something to her. She nodded and then cleared her throat. “Mr. Smith, clear Mr. Crandon’s team for complete access to the latest data from Operation Eagle Eye.”

“I thought my team had full clearance for all data related to the moon and alien device,” Rock said, feeling a tinge of betrayal at the idea that he was misled as to the level of clearance he and his team held.

“Actually, you do,” Mr. Smith said before the president could answer. “There is simply a time lag in the data while we clear it for dissemination.”

“A lag!” Tom practically shouted from the first row, and Rock had to turn, holding his hands up and motioning for Tom to stay calm. “Damn spooks,” Tom added under his breath.

Rock was relieved that the minor outburst by his team member was overlooked or ignored as the president spoke. “Mr. Crandon, you have full clearance, but we have certain protocols to follow when we distribute our information due to how it’s obtained. This involves our HUMINT section and the actual people involved when it comes to gathering our intel. I’m sure you can appreciate the risks taken to the personnel that are providing this important data to us.”

Rock understood why she was a successful politician. Her words seemed to hit home, and Rock was sure his team understood the sanctity of human life. Risking the lives of their astronauts was bad enough, but now he and his team had basically just been told that espionage was involved and someone else’s life was at stake. “Understood, Madam President.”

“Mr. Smith, give the information to Mr. Crandon and his team now. We’ll wait while they make an initial assessment,” the president said.

Mr. Smith nodded to Brown, and she transferred a file to his team’s inboxes. Rock walked over to where Marge had her laptop open perched on her legs, and sat down next to her. The entire auditorium was silent as the engineers from Jeff Wheeler’s team and the academia types fidgeted in their seats.

Marge opened the file and started to read the data to Jack, who was plugging it into his spreadsheet on his tablet. It took only minutes to update the concentric graphic showing various strength levels for the EMP. “Done,” Marge said, looking to Rock.

“Send it to her,” Rock said, referring to Mrs. Brown.

Marge attached the updated graphic and emailed it to Brown, who opened it and launched it on the side screen. The president and her staff looked to their sidebar to see it.

“Satisfied?” Rock asked.

“This looks pretty close to your estimates, is that correct?” the president asked.

“That is correct, Madam President, and the levels are, as we hypothesized previously, lethal,” Rock finished, returning to stand next to Smith, relieved that the data confirmed their suspicions as well as the fact that they most likely saved the lives of their own astronauts, despite making their current mission profile impossible.

“Solution?” she asked.

Rock felt good enough at what they had conveyed to the president and her staff, so he looked at Marge, who gave a slight nod. “I’ll have Doctor Jones explain.”

Marge stood while Rock took his seat. “I won’t ask where you obtained this data, but it verifies our concerns. This means that any landing directly near this lunar object will most likely fail without an inordinate amount of shielding to both the equipment and the crew.” At this, Marge looked at both Julie and Craig before continuing. “We propose the following two changes to the mission profile. First, we insert the lunar command module into a polar orbit instead of an equatorial one. As long as the orbit is within ninety miles of the surface, the moon itself will act as a shield from the electromagnetic pulses.”

Someone started talking off camera in the president’s Situation Room, and President Powers raised a hand to pause Marge’s report. After a few seconds, the president looked into the camera again. “My scientific advisor is asking how this… polar orbit, as you call it, will prevent the device from being in the”—another pause and more talking off screen—“line of sight of our spacecraft.”

Marge nodded. “Yes, well, I was getting to that part.” Rock knew she wasn’t going to mention it, but she seemed annoyed at the interruption and was venting a bit. Marge continued. “As long as the polar orbit is within ninety miles, as I was saying, the rotation of the moon is much slower than earth’s, taking the same amount of time to rotate as it does to orbit. This would give our command module approximately four to six days of safety, being out of the line of sight of this alien object, before the moon could rotate enough to bring our command module within range of the object’s EMP. Could you check your inbox, Mrs. Brown?” Marge asked the lady.

Mrs. Brown looked up and then back to her tablet. “I have three files here from you.”

“Load the first file and put it up for the president, if you don’t mind?” Marge asked.

Soon the sidebar showed an illustration of the moon with the line of sight angles from the object to the command module. The dashed lines indicated the cone where the EMP was present. “As you can see from this first illustration, the polar orbit will allow us to stay in lunar orbit and keep the command module functioning with minimal shielding. Now for the tricky part, and excuse the animation if it seems crude. We had to use an older program for it, and we had little time to polish it.”

Marge nodded at Mrs. Brown, who launched the second file. “Normally when a lander detaches from the orbiter, it would follow the same path as the orbiting module and land down range.” The animation showed a small object detaching from the orbiting command module and landing on the moon’s surface farther north from where the lander unhooked.

“Load the third file, please.” Marge indicated to Brown. “Now this third animation will show the lander slowing almost to a stop above the equatorial plane after detaching slightly above its south pole. Our calculations show the lander coming to a relative halt along the north-south y-axis at around forty to forty-two miles above the lunar surface. It would then execute a lateral burn, approaching the alien object from the retrograde side of the moon along the x-axis here.” The animation showed the small lander icon moving along the moon’s equator toward the large red X that indicated the location of the alien object.

“While approaching, the moon’s gravity will be pulling the lander to a contact point roughly about here.” She motioned to the side screen where a blue circle suddenly appeared and started to flash. “This location is about thirty miles from the target sight and is protected by a partial rim of an old meteor impact crater and this range of hills or mountains, thus protecting the lander from the pulse as well. From this blue circle landing site, our crew would approach the target in a shielded surface craft with protective suits enhanced to handle the increased radiation. Any questions?”

“Are they mad?” The words were clearly audible from the speakers broadcasting what was presumed to be the president’s scientific advisor who was still off camera.

The president raised her hand to quiet him. “What makes you think this plan will work?”

“We aren’t sure it will work. We’ve had less than a few hours to even design something this complex, but the nature of the mission, along with its urgency, mandates that something be done. This is our best attempt,” Marge said, her tone sharpening a bit.

This didn’t dissuade the scientific advisor as there was more of the commotion in the Situation Room. This time it was the president herself who covered her microphone, but the effort was half hardy and Rock heard the protests coming from her advisor.

“Are there any other plans being developed?” the president asked.

Rock stood and walked next to Marge, slightly touching her elbow so she knew he was there as he addressed the president. “There are no other plans being developed at NASA. If you or your advisor have a different idea, then by all means, inform us and we will consider them. If not, I suggest you allow my team and I to move forward on an official feasibility study after we’ve calculated fuel requirements and the necessary payloads this sort of mission would require.”

There was a moment of pause as the president consulted with others off screen. Finally she addressed Rock for the final time. “You have forty-eight hours, Mr. Crandon. Use them wisely.”

“We will, Madam President,” Rock said.

^{Chapter 15}

Respites

Vostochny Cosmodrome

Siberia, Russia

In the near future, Day 28

“Blyad!” Vlad cursed, sitting in his chair and tossing the folder back on the table. Irina looked at him and then quickly left his office, returning to her desk.

“I told you the news would not be pleasant,” Aleksey said, leaning back in his chair opposite Vlad’s desk, putting his hands behind his head and closing his eyes.

“So our store of liquid hydrogen is also as low as the liquid oxygen?” Vlad asked.

Alex opened his eyes and looked out the door toward Irina. “I can see why you hired her.”

“Not now, Alex. The fuel stores, are they indeed below fifteen percent?” Vlad asked, a sigh escaping his lips as he rolled his eyes.

“What? Oh, yes, the figures are correct. They came directly from Moscow this morning. I’ve asked our quartermaster for an update once we can expect a new shipment,” Alex said, looking back from Irina’s desk and giving his boss a large smile.

“So enough for one more launch.” Vlad made a statement rather than a question.

“Correct, that is why I came to see you. With the extra personnel on board the Gordust, their provisioning will take a priority. I need to swap out the payload,” Alex said.

“We sent up over a month’s worth of supplies,” Vlad said, the tone of frustration evident in his voice. “Why do we need more?”

“It may take a week or two to secure the propellant. Our heroes need to eat during the meantime, and there are six of them, not four as previously planned. We needed the extra hands for the shielding construct that we built. That uses a lot more energy, you know.”

“I know that, Alex, but after six launches in such a short amount of time, I feel we are so close and now this. Instead of only two more launches, we may have to make three. This is unacceptable.”

“Calm down, Vladimir. We’ll still get to the surface first from what the news reports say, and this time I even believe them. We made it there first with the orbiter,” Alex said, a touch of pride in his voice.

“Yes, I saw the pictures. We can all hold our heads up high for that one,” Vlad said, a bit calmer now.

Alex leaned in closer, whispering, “I was surprised they showed them so quickly. I thought for sure the State would have kept them under wraps.”

Vlad pondered his chief engineer’s words for a moment before responding in his normal tone of voice. “No need for discretion now, Alex. The pictures show the world that we have succeeded where the Americans have failed. It’s a moment of national pride, and rightly so. We have worked hard to earn this moment.”

Alex leaned back. Habits were hard to change, but he made the effort speaking normally and matching his boss’s tone. “Agreed, Vladimir, but we’re taking chances that could allow the Americans, or even the Chinese, to glean something from what we’re showing.”

“Nonsense,” Vlad responded. “It’s just a better detailed photo of what was circulating around the internet from those grainy Chinese versions. I don’t think anyone knows what the device does or how to access it, and the code is still unbroken by any expert.”

The Russian orbiter had entered lunar orbit and taken high definition photos of the alien object, which was difficult to see from the overhead angle that it took. More definition on its shape and outline was determined by its sharp contrasting shadow laid across the lunar ground. The news, with the pictures, were broadcast on all Russian television channels the day before and had made a large global impact as most everyone on earth had looked at them in one form or another.

Vlad wasn’t sure what the agenda was in releasing the images—Moscow always had one—but the impact was more than astonishing, and Vlad couldn’t help but feel that he and his team members played a very important role in current events as they were transpiring relative to the alien object. Getting there with people to secure the object was going to be harder and a bit longer.

Alex looked again at Irina, shaking his head before turning his attention back to Vlad. “So any word from Minister Osnokov?”

“Not yet. It’s still early. He left only two days ago, and no doubt this revelation had something to do with it. I’m not sure even he knew that the Americans had purchased every contract for propellant delivery in the next ninety days on all the global markets,” Vlad said.

Alex whistled and sat up at that news. “So that is the hold up. It’s a good thing we’re producing at the levels we are now, otherwise there wouldn’t be another launch till next month.”

“Yes, Alex,” Vlad said, looking intently at his main confidant on the facility. “That is why I ordered max levels for propellants as soon as I saw that hair-brained plan that Moscow cooked up.”

“Hair-brained?” Alex looked dubious.

“You think it a good plan, Aleksey?”

“Not ideal, but it will work.”

Vlad leaned back and eyed Aleksey seriously, looking for any sign of jest. “It should work, but it’s still not the way to plan a lunar landing, especially for our first time.”

“Agreed, Vlad, but time is important and we must arrive before the Americans.”

“You’re not worried about the Chinese?”

“Should I be? They barely have the lift capability to reach lunar orbit, much less send a heavy load to the surface and back. Their orbiter was on a one-way trip.”

“Never underestimate the will of over a billion people, Aleksey, never.”

* * * * *

People’s Republic Space Command

Outside of Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 31

Hun waited for the communications to be restored again. The main communications satellite that his country had relied upon for the last decade was no more, so for priority communications, they resorted to pinging a signal off of one of the military’s reconnaissance birds as it orbited the planet in low earth orbit. The tradeoff was for every thirty minutes that they could use the military sat, there were two hours when there was no other satellite within range.

“Inexcusable,” Chon said, putting his smartphone away in one of his cargo pant pockets.

“The Russian photos?” Hun asked.

“Yes, they make me sick,” Chon said, eyes downcast.

“I can’t believe you pulled that up in here,” Lin said in a hushed tone.

“What? Everyone’s seen them. What’s the big deal?” Chon asked defensively.

“Yeah, but not in the command center, Chon. Save it for your quarters,” Lin said, giving Chon a sharp look.

“Quiet, both of you,” Hun said, his tone both urgent and serious.

“Why? Won’t the general be here when the coms are reestablished?” Chon asked.

“Who knows?” Hun answered. “He should know already that we will only have thirty minutes.”

“Pride, as usual,” Lin said, shrugging her shoulders.

Chon leaned forward. “So do you think Chang successfully implemented your plan, boss?”

Hun nodded. The Russian pictures were bad enough. They were being shown worldwide on the news, and almost every internet page seemed to have them. Most had prominent arrows pointing at the alien device and the now defunct Chinese rover. Instead of being hailed as successful explorers and discoverers of the alien artifact, the Western news outlets were talking non-stop about the demise of the Chinese equipment and the failure to retrieve it. Most of the news now speculated on who would get to the moon first, the Russians or the Americans.

“Here he comes,” Lin said, motioning with her head toward the door as General Wang entered the room and took the main center seat facing the screen. Within seconds, the screen came alive with an image of the Wenchang control room. The face of a military officer peered back at them.

“All ready, Major Wu?” the general asked.

“Ready here, sir,” Major Wu responded, stepping aside and allowing Chief Engineer Chang as well as the operations manager for Wenchang, Ki Fong, to appear on the screen.

“Mr. Fong, will we be ready for the dual launches next week?” General Wang asked. The word “dual” perked up all of Hun’s team.

“Yes, General Wang. We have prepared the second Long Reach and it should be ready by your deadline.” Fong nodded.

“Excellent.” The general then turned to look at Hun before returning his attention to the main screen. “We’ll go ahead with Director Lee’s original plan for a dual launch and subsequent docking. Since Operation Liquid Eye has been cancelled, we will proceed with Operation Morning Glory instead. We have selected our astronaut, and he will be arriving at Wenchang shortly. See to it, Mr. Fong, that Colonel Hen Sing is welcomed properly.”

Hun recognized the name immediately. Hen Sing was a virtual hero after piloting his fighter back to safety after having a run-in with an American P3-Orion nearly three decades earlier. Hun hadn’t heard any news about Hen Sing for at least ten years. He thought the man had retired. If so, the military was activating him again as was evident from the fact that the general referred to him using his rank.

“We will see to it.” Fong nodded.

“And the docking device?” General Wang asked.

Fong looked at Chong, who leaned forward. “General, sir. The docking devices have been placed on both the orbiter and the energy module so that they can be mated together. Also, the shielding has been upgraded per the specifications that were calculated by Director Lee’s team.”

All eyes turned toward Hun. This was unexpected since the general had turned his original request down. Hun was going to propose a robotic lander with the astronaut commanding it from orbit using shielded optics and sensors, but he hadn’t had a chance to present his proposal to the general. It was also likely to be rebuffed as it required the construction of a robotic device. This news was better, so Hun decided not to mention the robotic proposal.

“Director Hun? Is your team ready for the mission?” the general asked.

“The one that we specked for, yes. If there were no major changes to the profile, equipment, or procedure, then we are ready now.” Hun looked at the others.

“Very well,” the general said. “We launch first thing next week. See to it that Colonel Sing is trained and familiar with the command module. You have just one week.”

There would be no discussion and no objections. China would launch a state hero to the moon in one week’s time and surprise the world.

* * * * *

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 34

Rock stretched his legs out while taking another sip of his beer and looking into the evening sky. The final preparations were made, and the mechanical work was continuing under the supervision of Jeff Wheeler and his group.

Sally had cooled down since the news broke and was serving drinks and setting their outside table with plates and utensils for him and his team. Rock had half expected a large group of FBI agents to show up at his house when he informed Mrs. Brown that he and his group were done for the weekend. Mrs. Brown objected at first and then took her cellphone out and walked into the hallway. Rock and his team used the time to exit the building, get in their cars, and leave. It took only twenty minutes to arrive at Rock’s house where his wife, Sally, had prepared a large dinner and fired up the grill.

“I actually think they won’t come for us,” Jack said, taking a sip of his beer as he sat next to Rock and enjoyed the spring breeze coming from the nearby gulf.

Sally spoke while setting the large outside patio table without looking up. “They have an unmarked car outside our house. It’s sitting down the street near the corner.”

“God, I hate spooks,” Tom said from where he stood near the grill, poking at the steak and burger patties with a spatula.

“If I had a dollar for every time he used that word, I wouldn’t have to be here now,” Marge said, pulling up a chair near the table and sitting to face Rock and Jack.

Lisa laughed and then looked at Rock. “Thank you, Richard, for doing this for us. I called Ed and he was in shock. You really made our day, or should I say weekend?”

“No problem, Lisa,” Rock said, wiggling his legs and enjoying the freedom of being out from under a desk. “I know you and Jack have family, and the rest of us were getting just as braindead as you were. Besides, once the plan was set, we had everything done and just needed to wait on the engineering team to make the necessary equipment modifications. I don’t see how running the numbers another dozen times over the weekend would help.”

“You’re damn right,” Tom said, belching the carbonation of his beer out.

“You’re disgusting, Tom,” Marge said half-heartedly. “Drink your brew a bit slower, please.”

“You bet, Doc,” Tom responded. “I second the thanks, Rock. I may not have family here, but I sure as hell had my fill of spooks.”

“No kidding,” Lisa said in a rare agreement with Tom. “I don’t think I could handle Mrs. Brown peering over my shoulder for one more day.”

Marge laughed. “I thought I was the only one that felt that way.”

“No, Mrs. Brown is bad enough, but that Mr. Smith gives me the creeps,” Jack said, making a shivering motion with his body and gritting his teeth.

“Thanks for the invite, Mrs. C.” Tom cut in as Sally stepped to the grill to turn the meat.

“My pleasure, Thomas. It’s always good to see you all… when Rock allows it,” Sally said, her tone one of disapproval.

“Sorry, boss. I was hoping we wouldn’t be imposing,” Jack said.

“No worries. Sally’s still upset about the alien news is all,” Rock responded.

“Not at the news,” Sally retorted, “at your lack of news.”

Tom walked over to join the group, pulling up a chair around the table. “All is forgiven now. What matters is how long we can go without the feds looking for us.”

Rock leaned forward, setting his bottle on the table. “I cleared this with John yesterday. There will be no interruptions this weekend, so make sure you all get plenty of rest and downtime. Next week we will be very busy.”

“Will do, boss,” Jack said. “Did you see the news this morning?”

“I try not to anymore. I find the myriad of speculation only confuses me more.” Rock smiled.

“Exactly,” Marge said. “The constant speculation will only cloud our minds, making us subjective on this subject. I prefer to keep my thoughts clear at the moment.”

Tom took another long swill on his long neck before talking. “Fine, Jack, I’ll bite. What’s up?”

Jack ignored the looks from Rock and Marge. “Well, the Russian pics showed the top of the alien device along with the shadow. Analysts say it looks like a three-sided pyramid—”

“Not that old tripe again, please, Jack,” Marge said, rolling her eyes.

“What? It could be true.” Jack looked around at the group.

“Well, that would be just great,” Tom said. “The damn aliens built the pyramids, and the conspiracy folks were right all the time.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Rock felt obliged to step in before Marge retorted again. “We should focus on what we know first and keep the speculation and news in the background for now.”

“Spoken like a true scientist,” Tom said.

“Do we know what’s expected of Julie and Craig when they get there?” Lisa asked. “I mean, all we have are the pictures of this oblong metallic object. What if it’s attached to something, or does the NSA expect them to just pull it up and put it on the rover?”

“Good question, Lisa,” Rock answered. “I’m not sure what the feds are expecting, but we need to prepare for all contingencies. They will have a small tool kit to dig around the base of the structure. It looks tall, but it appears to be rather thin in nature. Besides, I think they need to focus on the scientific part of the mission first, and analyze the object’s material and take readings around the area. I doubt something that small could house an energy source that could transmit signals as strongly as it’s doing.”

“You’re probably right, Rock.” Marge nodded, readying her plate for her food as Sally started to serve around the table. “We have all of next week to plan. In the meantime, I’m tired of microwave dinners.”

“Me, too,” Tom said, smiling at Sally.

“Aren’t we all,” Jack finished as the group enjoyed a rare home-cooked meal. It would be a pleasant weekend until the frenzy continued next week. Rock just hoped the Chinese and Russians would take a weekend off as well. Probably not, he thought, but damn this space race, anyway. Better to get it right than wrong, and Rock had adopted an old NASA motto long ago: failure is not an option.

^{Chapter 16}

Russian Plans

Gordust Space Station

Low Earth Orbit

In the near future, Day 35

The construction and modifications had been completed for several days now, and the cosmonauts were restless. First it was work, work, work, and then it was wait, wait, wait. The only good news, Yuri thought to himself, is my old friend Vladimir had ensured that the station has extra fuel for the lunar burn. This was important because the fuel load was the primary calculation that the engineers in Moscow would use to plot a slingshot trajectory around the earth. A tighter ratio meant a higher angle of attack for the trajectory.

Unlike those American movies, in space, when one died, there was no scream. Sound did not carry in a vacuum, and Yuri and his comrades would die silently if their station broke up once it cleared the planet, or they would die with screams of pain and fear if they burned up in the atmosphere high above the planet. Either scenario was troubling, to say the least. The risks were higher as the angle of attack increased. The exact edge of the earth’s atmosphere could vary and even stray hydrogen atoms could wreak havoc on any object moving at a high enough velocity, but Vladimir had ensured that the risk would be lower.

The entire front of the station had a new pod placed on the Gordust’s strong frame, but sideways with a large reinforced window looking forward. Yuri floated in the module looking out the large viewport and marveled at its strength. Normally the viewports were much smaller, but the engineers in Moscow had determined that the station’s crew needed a much wider field of vision, and the curved arch of this window was impressive.

“You spend a lot of time here, Yuri,” Olga said, floating silently behind him. Yuri didn’t bother to turn around. He would prefer the sight of the earth’s curvature and the beautiful field of stars off to his right than to see her face again.

“Y chto?” he asked.

“No need to be defensive,” Olga said calmly despite the slight rebuff. “Nikolai wants to run another systems check.”

“The man is bored. Tell him to stand down and prepare for the lander when it arrives.”

“You mean if it arrives.”

“Olga, it will be here. Vladimir will see to that.”

“Your old friend isn’t even part of the command crew in Moscow. I doubt they share with him your sense of optimism,” Olga said, her voice remaining calm and even.

Now Yuri did turn to look at Olga, wanting to gauge her words better. “Nothing comes here unless it goes through Vostochny.”

“Understood, Comrade Yuri. I was just making an observation.”

“As was I,” Yuri countered. “Tell Nikolai he and his men will be busy soon enough.”

“I’ll pass the message along,” Olga said, starting to turn herself around to exit the command pod and return to the main section of the station. “Do you think we’ll be successful?”

Yuri pondered for a moment before answering. “Da, we will reach the moon, Olga. I have no doubt of that.”

“Ochen xorosho,” Olga said, a rare smile crossing her face as she pulled herself along the small handrails and propelled herself down the narrow corridor, leaving Yuri alone again in the command pod.

“But I have no idea if we’ll return, Olga. No idea at all.” Yuri turned to look out the large port window again, his words dying, unheard by anyone else.

* * * * *

Vostochny Cosmodrome

Siberia, Russia

In the near future, Day 35

The reports were looking promising, and Vlad felt optimism as he read the latest on the propellant procurement. Using extra cash and cannibalizing a few military assets would allow for the launches to continue, albeit with a delay. Moscow had decided that the food stores were sufficient, and in an emergency, they could launch a resupply module to the moon. The cosmonauts may end up hungry, but as long as they were hydrated and had oxygen to breath, then the mission profile stood as originally planned.

Usually Vlad was in charge of the space operations from ground-side to orbit. Once in orbit, the central space command for Ruscosmos, located just outside of Moscow, would take over. Ruscosmos ran the day-to-day operations for the Gordust space station, and while Vlad was kept in the loop on provisioning and transit requirements, he seldom had much to do with regards to orbital procedures.

That was about to change. Vlad had received word from Dmitry that the lunar operation would include his small team at Vostochny via telecoms as Ruscosmos wanted to ensure the highest chance of success. Earlier that day, he had received the full mission profile documents that had been under guard in Moscow and he saw the exact plan instead of just the payload manifest which required a slight amount of speculation each time he put something into orbit.

Irina had given him the latest, and Vlad noticed that the next payload would carry the lander followed by the last payload consisting entirely of fuel for the lunar trip. The lander would arrive the next day, and he and his crew had three days to secure it to the Energia rocket before the scheduled launch date.

“Mr. Gorky is here to see you,” Irina said, using the intercom system.

“Send him in, Irina,” Vlad said, setting the report down.

Aleksey arrived looking fresher than normal since he and his crew had a few days’ downtime due to the lack of propellant which meant no launches the last two weeks. “Well,” Aleksey said, shaking hands with Vlad and sitting on one of the two chairs facing the desk.

“We’re in, Aleksey,” Vlad said, motioning to the report on his desk. “Moscow will be linking us in remotely during the lunar operation. Is your team ready?”

“Da. I have Yosef and his boys on standby even now, and our systems personnel will be prepped and ready by next Tuesday.” Aleksey reached for the report and opened it to peruse the first few pages.

“Good. Moscow will handle the comms and signals as well as flight telemetry and system functions, but we’ll be part of the equipment checks and deployments once the time arrives. Can you mount the lander in only three days?”

“We’ll have it secured, don’t you worry. It was nice to have a short break, but it makes me wonder what our adversaries have been up to in the meantime.”

Vlad looked around and then leaned forward, lowering his voice. “If word is correct, then the Chinese and Americans are knee-deep into a pissing match.”

“We’ve heard… well, we’ve heard things, but nothing that serious.” Alex nodded.

“I’m not one for politics, but if Dmitry is correct, then our superiors have maneuvered us well. We stand a good chance of reaching the moon first,” Vlad said louder, leaning back in his chair.

Alex dropped the report on the desk, not really looking at it. If it contained something important, Vlad would have just told him. “So you think this idea will work?”

“You tell me, Alex. You’re an engineer.”

“Well, theoretically you could pilot a brick to the moon and back provided you had enough delta v and fuel to escape the earth’s gravity well. It’s not like the Gordust needs to be aerodynamic or anything.”

“Agreed, and that’s why I think this plan may actually succeed. It’s audacious and cunning, bold but simple,” Vlad said, looking at his chief engineer with a gleam in his eye. “Who could have imagined a low earth space station being converted to a lunar spaceship?”

Alex wasn’t sure if his boss’s question was rhetorical or not, so he answered anyway. “The Gordust certainly will look like a pig soaring through space; that much is sure. It looked fine as a floating station, but despite the lack of aerodynamic requirements, I think it will just look plain ugly up there. That isn’t a concern, however, as long as we make it there and secure the prize.”

Vlad stretched his arms and yawned—not the most professional thing to do for the Director of Space Launch Operations, but he didn’t care. He was more than tired and glad for the downtime, having finally caught up on some of his sleep in the meantime. “Well, hopefully this time next week, or soon thereafter, we’ll be watching the Gordust as it heads to the moon.”

“That will be a good thing, boss,” Alex said. “Did you see the latest pictures?”

“Ah, you mean the ones from the horizon angle?” Vlad asked.

“Yes, they were taken from farther away, but with the high resolution lens and the horizon angle, the alien device can be seen in an interesting perspective. Some of the newscasters are already commenting on the bulge in the lunar soil at the base. This will be very interesting once we’re there,” Alex said.

“The signal strengths are a bit higher than we anticipated, but the shielding on the orbiter is holding and all systems are still functioning. Our signal technicians are still trying to make sense of the data stream from the alien broadcast. Between the pictures and the data, things are looking interesting,” Vlad said.

“I was wondering if we were making any headway with the signal. This is good to know that the orbiter isn’t experiencing any of the same issues that the Chinese equipment did,” Alex said.

Vlad nodded. “I agree, and speaking of equipment, Dmitry has asked us to review the manifest as well. That is part of the reason why I asked for you today. I hated to interrupt your downtime, but we need to assess it before the lander is mounted in order to secure any other equipment that they may need to investigate the device.”

“I assume Moscow sent a list already along with the equipment?”

“Yes, it’s in the report, but Irina has made copies with just the proposed equipment manifest as is. If you or Yosef can think of anything else that our cosmonauts may need, then we have to have it ready and secured in the lander in less than two days. The second launch will carry nothing but fuel pods for the trip, so this is our last chance,” Vlad said.

“I’m sure they thought of everything already, but it doesn’t surprise me that we have only two days to review this list and secure any necessary equipment. Typical for Moscow,” Alex said, his face scrunched in a frown.

“Well, it would be easier to load and secure any extra equipment now, but if not, you still have the three days afterward for final preparations. It will just be more difficult to work on storing the equipment when it’s one hundred meters in the air.” Vlad nodded.

“Oh yeah, I don’t fancy the crewmember who will have to scramble around inside the lander once it’s attached to the Energia. Best hope they don’t need anything bigger than what they have listed already.”

“No worries, Alex. I’m sure they will be successful with whatever we send to them. We just need to make sure we cover our bases so those bureaucrats in central don’t have a goat to scape.”

“What?” Alex asked, his face puzzled.

“Never mind. It’s an English term I learned years ago. We don’t want to be blamed for any potential failure, so make sure you and Yosef give this a good once over.”

“Understood. We’ll start on it right away,” Alex said, standing and heading out the door, stopping for one moment and turning to face his boss.

“Yes, Alex?” Vlad asked, looking up.

“If we don’t succeed? Has anyone discussed our options on this matter?”

“No.” Vlad shook his head and lowered his eyes. “If we fail, the consequences would be too serious to contemplate given the nature of our mission.”

“That serious, then?”

“More so. Let’s not find out what fate awaits a failure.”

Alex didn’t speak again and looked down first before leaving the office. Vlad wasn’t sure what his government would do if the entire mission failed, and he feared more for his boss and friend Dmitry. There would be no dacha, no pension, and no retirement for him if they did fail. God help us, Vlad thought to himself, pulling open the report and starting to read it for the second time that day.

^{Chapter 17}

China Strikes First

People’s Republic Space Command

Outside of Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 41

Hun watched the screen from the control room as two technicians strapped Hen Sing into his chair in the command module perched on top of the Long Reach. This would be the second launch in three days of the Long Reach rocket. The first one contained the power and fuel modules for the lander, and this one held the actual lander and other electronic equipment with upgraded shielding.

The secondary screens showed the plot trajectory of the first launch as it hurtled toward its rendezvous with the moon. It had traveled nearly two thirds of the way there, and several control and command technicians were updating the telemetry on its flight path hourly. Hun knew his team was being observed by the general’s staff, as was his consoles and data streams. While he was given operational command over the mission, the entire team was compartmentalized to the extent that communications between them were impaired, if not completely interrupted.

“How do you feel, Colonel Sing?” Hun asked through his headset.

A thousand kilometers away, he could see the colonel tilt his head toward the internal camera, despite the helmet, and an almost imperceptible nod. “Fine, Director Lee, though the accommodations are rather tight in here.”

Hun stifled a chuckle as he watched the two technicians finish strapping the colonel in his seat and crawl toward the exit hatch. There was almost no room for the three of them inside, and Hun knew that only someone like Sing could get away with some levity while the general’s staff was monitoring their communications.

“You’ll get accustomed to it soon enough. The flight profile is the same as the energy module, which precedes you by a couple of days. You’ll receive updated information on your primary monitor in front of you. In the meantime, our health and wellness specialist will be monitoring your vitals and talking you through the launch. Let my team and I know if you have any issues during the flight.”

Sing nodded. “Very thoughtful of you. After piloting the MiG-55, I’m sure I’ll be fine handling the Crimson Glory.”

“Very well, Colonel. Success and honor,” Hun said.

“Success and honor,” Sing replied in kind.

Hun watched as the door to the module was shut and sealed as red lights on one of the system consoles changed to green. Hun knew the MiG-55 required a flight pressure suit as it could pull over nine G’s in supersonic flight, so the colonel would not be surprised at the thrust and inertia factors that were about to be thrown his way. At least in this regard, he felt the general had made a fine selection.

Hun took his headset off for a second as Lin sat next to him and leaned in to speak to him. “It would have been better if the colonel had the opportunity to spend some time in a simulator.”

Chon looked up from his console next to Hun’s and also pulled his headset off before speaking. “The lander and entire module are new. No time for programming a proper simulation of something this complex.”

Hun nodded. “Yes, even if we had the time to program something, the entire simulation would have needed a good testing and the military wasn’t going to allow a delay for that.”

“The colonel is a brave man,” Lin said, her voice conveying the sincerity of her statement.

“Yes, he is,” Hun said, placing his headphones back on his head. “A brave man, indeed. Now let’s get him there and back again safely.”

Lin and Chon nodded, placing their headphones back on as well and turning to their consoles to prepare for the launch. Today would be their day.

* * * * *

Bridge of the USS Berkshire

Fifteen miles off the coast of Wenchang, China

In the near future, Day 41

“That makes three close calls in only two days, Captain,” Lt Commander Jensen said to his superior as they stood outside the bridge facing north toward the Chinese island of Wenchang where the Chinese space base was located fifteen miles distant. The Berkshire, a navy destroyer, was shadowing the American navy trawler Orca, which was located just outside of Chinese territorial waters. Two Chinese frigates were in turn shadowing the Berkshire between it and the Orca.

Captain Hansen lowered his binoculars and looked at his second in command. “Did we get the data feed from the Orca?”

“Yes, sir. All data has been encrypted and forwarded to Fort Meade per orders, sir. Now can we bug out before one of them actually fires on us?”

Hansen knew his second’s fear of hostilities between the two superpowers was more than just an idle fancy. Ever since the alien communication had been broadcasted, every government on the planet had seemed to go into defensive mode, and the superpowers were taking it two steps further by elevating the game dangerously close to something ugly.

The flybys of the Chinese MiGs were more than provocative as they probed the resolve of America’s naval forces. The Orca had been nearly rammed twice by aggressive Chinese frigates, and Hansen couldn’t blame them. If a Chinese carrier group set up shop off the coast of Canaveral in Florida, then he was sure the U.S. would be more than a little edgy. Add to this the U.S. spy trawler which was anything but inconspicuous floating dangerously close to the edge of Chinese territorial waters, and things were starting to get out of hand.

“That last one was not only closer but they ran four MiGs our way instead of the lone wolf,” Hansen said, looking northward at the sky.

“They did, but the Clinton kept them at bay.” Jensen nodded.

“Yeah, pretty amazing what a half dozen F41 Stealth Sprites will do to a wing of MiGs.”

“They did bug out pretty quickly when our flyboys arrived.”

“Yeah, but next time they’ll come in with an even dozen,” Hansen said, looking at Jensen for a reaction.

“Then we’ll have to send two,” Jensen said, a grin crossing his face.

“Do you have the latest positioning report?” Hansen asked his second.

Jensen handed the waterproof clipboard to his captain. “Updated as of ten minutes ago.”

“Jesus H. Christ!” Hansen said, looking at the chart. “What the hell does he think he’s doing?”

“Awfully close, isn’t he, sir?”

“This mark puts him less than two hundred meters from their waters,” Hansen said, shaking his head. “He’s going to start a war if he’s not careful.”

“Probably following orders,” Jensen said, waiting for the clipboard back which was not forthcoming.

Hansen looked to the horizon and then back to the board again. He could clearly see the trawler, a smaller black dot near the horizon followed by two larger black objects. It was bad enough that his destroyer was only three miles from the border between international waters and Chinese territorial waters, but the Orca was flirting with disaster. He was sure the U.S. carrier task force a couple hundred clicks farther south wasn’t going to calm the situation down any more than this.

“You’re probably right. The poor bastard is more than likely doing what he’s been told to do.”

“Just like us, eh, skipper?”

“Oh yeah, number two, just like us sorry bastards as well.” Hansen sighed, giving the clipboard back to Jensen and raising the binoculars to observe the Orca. If one of those frigates was going to do something, he wanted to see it with his own eyes.

* * * * *

NASA Space Command

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 43

“Are we still reading go?” Rock asked Marge from his command console in Houston. It felt good to have a full crew in the control center.

“All systems showing go, coms are five by five, and we’re awaiting the ball,” Marge said, referring to the hand off of mission control from Canaveral Launch Command to their Houston Space Command.

“Is she still there?” Rock asked, rolling his eyes.

“Oh yeah, Rock, she’s still there and giving you more than an eyeball.” Marge motioned with her eyes.

President Powers had flown in on Air Force One just two hours earlier and had taken up shop along with her staff and more Secret Service agents than Rock had seen in a long while, without saying a word to him or his staff.

The past two weeks had been busy as they readied the lunar lander and prepared the Saturn V for liftoff. Mr. Smith had gone to the observation room to discuss the mission with the executive branch, leaving Mrs. Brown on the floor of the control room near Rock’s console. At least the woman had the sense to give me my space, Rock thought to himself.

Craig and Julie had finished their training and were flown to Canaveral two days earlier after being given a full day to spend with their families. Rock had watched on the closed circuit video feed as they were strapped into their chairs, and gave the thumbs up sign before the tower technicians vacated the capsule.

Rock was still in awe as he looked at the widescreen field monitor and saw the huge Saturn V sitting gracefully on the launch pad, awaiting history. From the agitation Mr. Smith displayed, and the reports he had received from Mrs. Brown, it was obvious that the U.S. was a couple of days behind the Chinese and there was no news from the Russians other than the fact that they were still modifying their space station into something dramatically different.

What would the ramifications be from a Chinese landing first? Rock pondered the rhetorical question and then discarded it from his mind. He had to focus if they were to succeed.

“You doing okay, boss?” Jack asked through one of the private console-to-console channels.

Rock looked down a couple of rows and off to the side where Jack was overseeing four consoles on signals data and communication servers. “I’m doing just fine, thank you. How ’bout you and your folks?”

Jack looked at his crew. “Doing well. A bit of nervousness as most my crew are used to handling data from robotic missions. Nothing with a life on the line, but they’ll settle down. It’s a three day flight to the moon, so that will give them some time to settle in and adjust. How you and Marge doing with the big eye of Sauron looking over you?”

Rock resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. He considered it a sign of weakness and would display, in his opinion at least, a lack of professionalism on his part if he was more concerned with the observers and not the mission. “We’re making do. Not an ideal set-up, but it could be worse. Just make sure we don’t miss anything once we get the ball. I don’t feel particularly fond of walking knee-deep into it with the prez watching.”

“You got it, boss. We’ll keep things tight on this side.”

“I know you will. Thanks for the thought,” Rock said, flipping his com channel to mute and dialing up the tower frequency from Canaveral.

“We’re T-minus sixty now,” Marge said over the intercom.

“Damn chinks, we shoulda kept a nuke for them on top,” Tom muttered into the mike.

Rock flipped his com over to private and hit Marge’s push to talk on the private intercom. “Did Tom just say what I thought he said?”

Marge never bothered to look back. “Oh yeah. Look at the newsfeed in the lower right corner and you’ll know why.”

Rock looked at the bottom of his main screen and realized he didn’t have the news screen feeding into one of his picture-in-pictures. He looked at one of the many side screens in front of him and saw the CNN newsfeed. It looked like video of the Chinese-manned space flight that was almost to the moon. He could see the red flag, emblem, and uniformed military spokesperson making some sort of statement. The speech was closed-captioned as they had the volume muted on all sub screens except the main tower one.

“He’s watching the news?” Rock asked.

“What else would he be doing? His section won’t have much to do till they reach orbit,” Marge said, a slight nod in Tom’s direction.

Despite the bigoted remark, no one seemed to notice, didn’t care, or were simply used to Tom’s antics. “T-minus twenty seconds,” came the call.

“Lisa, are you seeing the pressure in the second stage?” Rock heard Marge asking Lisa over the mission intercom which was a separate frequency than the tower. The launch frequency was the one that everyone was listening to, so Rock’s team was still speaking privately to a certain degree, if one could call two dozen participants private.

“Just now seeing it. It looks marginal at best. You want to notify the tower?” Lisa responded.

“Watch the gauge while I dial them up,” Marge started to say, and then Rock heard Lisa cut in.

“Oh shit! We’re losing second stage compression,” Lisa exclaimed, her words frantic.

“Abort, abort, abort!” Marge started to call over the tower frequency, but the tower was on top of the issue and the two spoke over one another.

“T-minus eight, seven.” Then a pause as the tower aborted the countdown. “Launch aborted. Status stand down at T-minus six,” came the monotonous female voice.

Rock watched the screen as suddenly a large plume of white gas started to vent from the gasket seals between the first stage and second stage of the immense Saturn V. The walkway bridge was frantically being pushed into position to evacuate the astronauts. A large amount of liquid hydrogen suddenly started to gush out as the leak became worse, spraying the tarmac and coating the entire lower side of the rocket.

Technicians secured the bridgeway and then assisted the astronauts from their seats as they headed toward the express lift at the rear of the launch tower. Rock could see everyone struggling to move quickly as Julie and Craig were wearing suits with extra shielding that weighed nearly twice the current streamlined ones, and the technicians all had fire-resistant suits that covered them from head to toe.

Finally the crew and support staff left the tower in a low floor mini bus, racing out of site as the constant drone of the tower announcer spoke over the main public address system. Rock noticed a nod from Jack, and finally Rock broke with protocol and looked over his shoulder just in time to see the president leave with her staff. It appeared the U.S. would not make it to the moon anytime soon. Rock leaned forward and put his head in his hands and closed his eyes.

^{Chapter 18}

The Russian Strike

Gordust Space Station

Low Earth Orbit

In the near future, Day 44

Yuri checked his straps for a third time, pulling hard on each one and making sure the buckles would hold. The G-forces for the slingshot maneuver had been increased from five to eight. The pressure suits would help, but they would not be helmeted in order to read the gauges easier and to react if necessary. Despite the computing power of today’s machines, the need for a human presence always prevailed, and this would be no exception.

“Nikolai, Gotov?” Olga asked over the intercom system.

“Ready Nikolai,” he responded.

Yuri listened in as Gregori, Viktor, and Ivan all reported their status as ready. The lander had arrived two days earlier, and after two days’ worth of spacewalks, it was secured to the station and the fuel pods were attached as well. The newsfeed was sporadic depending on their orbital positioning, but they were watching with interest the Chinese video stream of their lone astronaut preparing to enter lunar orbit.

“Damn bold of them, eh, Yuri?” Olga said, punching in the last commands on her data console and securing her gloves and helmet to her chair.

“You mean the Chinese?”

“Of course. You can’t think I mean the Americans, do you?”

“Nyet. Their little fiasco yesterday secures our lead today.” Yuri checked the strap to his helmet to make sure it was also secure and it wouldn’t float away or be slammed into the rear bulkhead once they ignited the rocket motors.

“You’re forgetting the Chinese are almost there. What does Moscow think we will do once we arrive if the man has already claimed the prize?” Olga asked, a bitter tone in her voice.

Yuri finished his checks and then turned to his copilot. “If I know Moscow, we’ll pull down his flag and plant our own. It’s six against one with no chance for them to reinforce.”

“That’s just plain stupid, Yuri,” Olga shot back. “I was serious when I asked. We can’t undo history if their video feeds show them landing and claiming the device for themselves.”

“Da, I know. We’ll just have to show up late to the party and see what we can do. This isn’t over by a long shot.” Yuri nodded.

Moscow Central Control addressed the Gordust at that point, and Yuri prepped the station by initiating an x-axis burn to point the station at the oncoming earth horizon.

“Initiate burn in ten seconds,” the command came in, and Yuri noted the half second delay as the signal was bounced off a satellite. The delay didn’t matter as the computer was synched to the earth-based one atomically and the audio countdown was as much for show and a false sense of control as anything else. When the timer hit zero, the rocket motors would ignite, propelling the station on a downward vector coming within a hundred twenty kilometers of the planet’s surface from their current altitude of over ten thousand kilometers.

“Three, two, one, ignition.” The command came a tad late as Yuri felt himself pressed back into the command seat as all four rocket motors came to life, hurtling the Gordust at over thirty thousand kilometers per hour toward the curvature of the earth.

The flight was one that didn’t really require piloting. The trajectory was a ballistic one, and Olga was monitoring their flat path against not only the ground-based radar track but also the planned flight path, looking for the slightest deviation. Once noticed, she relayed that information to the navigation computer which would either adjust the thrust of the four motors accordingly or, if major enough, also add lateral thrust via twelve positioning thrusters that used compressed nitrogen ejected into space to give the station a push one way or the other. If done early enough, the slightest deviation would change or correct their trajectory by hundreds of kilometers once they slung themselves toward the moon.

The entire trip would take them just less than ninety minutes. Yuri smiled as he recognized the North American continent rapidly approaching them along the horizon. Moscow Central Control had also waited for the correct alignment of not only the moon but the correct trajectory to keep the Gordust away from Asia at its lowest approach. Rumor was that the Chinese still had at least one, if not more, anti-satellite killers in orbit above its country. Moscow would take no chances, and for once Yuri agreed with them.

The flight in was uneventful until they reached perigee and the station began to vibrate violently. The small shield panels that were erected on the left side of the station weren’t even remotely designed to be aerodynamic. The large station size combined with the literal wall of shielding panels managed to capture, ricochet, and otherwise collide with every hydrogen atom in their way, or so Yuri thought.

He knew it was going to be rough when Olga stopped her navigation monitoring and gave him a long look bordering on a stare.

“Are we still at optimum angle?” Yuri asked politely, attempting to distract Olga with one of her duties.

The question had its intended effect as Olga looked down at her console and punched a few more buttons to zoom in on their current path. “Da, tochno,” she said, a nod of her head.

Yuri could hear a commotion from the living quarters pod despite it being over ten meters from their command module. Normally, procedure indicated that the corridor between the pods would be sealed shut with the pressure doors, but the entire crew felt that if the station suffered that kind of failure, it would be catastrophic and unrecoverable. They wore their suits in case of depressurization during the maneuver with only Yuri and Olga not securing their helmets during the flight.

“Gregori, you all right back there?” Yuri asked, having tuned their coms channel to the intra setting, leaving Moscow in the dark.

“Da, no problem. We all good now,” the lunar mission leader responded. Gregori would have control of his team members once they reached the moon, and Yuri was the station leader. Whatever it was, Yuri let it go. It wouldn’t be the first time he had seen or heard of a national hero pissing his pants during something heroic. It only mattered if it was made public, so Yuri clicked the intra channel off, allowing Gregori to handle his own crew.

The shaking lasted only ten more minutes until the Gordust started to gain altitude, and Yuri watched as Europe approached while the Americas had disappeared behind them. They would never really orbit above Asia as their trajectory led them up and out from the western edge of Spain.

“There she is,” Yuri said, almost to himself.

“Ochen krasivaya,” Olga responded, also speaking as if in a dream.

“Very beautiful, indeed,” Yuri said, clicking the network server to life and allowing all internal data to be streamed to the geosynchronous satellite off to their right. The moon itself still seemed so far away—a large white ball with grey specks on it—but it was fully lit as if it faced the sun. A full moon, Yuri thought, how appropriate.

“Hard to believe we’ll be there in less than three days,” Olga said, continuing to stare at the earth’s sole natural satellite and quickly forgetting her fear from the tenuous touches of the planet’s atmosphere.

“Hard to believe, indeed. It worked, Olga, it worked,” Yuri stated, elated at their success.

Olga smiled and then looked at Yuri with glee. “We are making history, comrade.”

Yuri nodded and returned the smile. The first, most likely, ever since they were put together in such close proximity six months ago. Russians had never made it to the moon’s surface before. Now that would all change.

* * * * *

Vostochny Cosmodrome

Siberia, Russia

In the near future, Day 44

“Suxha sin,” Alex said from his seat in the observation lounge as they watched the large monitor. “It actually worked.”

Vlad watched intently as the radar track from the Gordust showed the station, now more like a ship, clearing the earth’s lower orbit and heading toward the moon. “Incredible. I was worried, but this is fantastic.” He looked at Alex and smiled.

“You gave them more than enough propellant, Vladimir,” Alex said, looking at his laptop and pulling up a small window on his browser tab.

Vlad looked at his tablet as well and tapped the fuel icon where the status bar showed nearly forty percent left in the fuel pods. The plan called for a minimum contingency of fifteen percent as a reserve and they only needed ten percent to escape the moon’s gravity well, so that left nearly fifteen percent extra fuel for a very large safety margin.

“You know some suit in Moscow will call it a waste of resources,” Vlad said, a slight frown on his otherwise happy face.

“Perhaps, but the crew will be more than satisfied. This gives them a few options with regards to their lunar operations.”

“Yes. They can enter a lower orbit or perhaps transfer fuel to make more than one lunar landing. That wasn’t in the original plan, but now that would be feasible,” Vlad stated.

Alex nodded. “Especially if they go with a lower orbit.”

Irina approached the men, bringing one of the secure radio phones the base used when communicating with Moscow. “Minister Osnokov on the line, sir.”

“Thank you, Irina,” Vlad said, taking the phone and nodding at Irina, who quickly turned and retreated to the support room with a half dozen other staff. “Hello?”

“Ah, Vladimir, you watched the flight, then?” Dmitry asked from Moscow.

“Da, excellent results, sir. I congratulate you.” Vlad adjusted the phone to his other hand so he could see the screen and speak with his boss comfortably.

“The praise is one for the entire team. Our superiors are most pleased, Vlad. I wanted to personally congratulate you and your team on your outstanding efforts to lift all the necessary equipment and supplies into orbit. I made sure the politburo heard your name.”

Vlad half smiled and wondered if that would be such a good thing or not at this stage of the game. He also wondered at all the optimism considering the fact that they were running three days behind the Chinese, despite being ahead of the Americans, who had apparently had their pants pulled down on them in front of a global audience.

“Sir, if I may ask, how is it that our mood can be so… celebratory considering our current positioning?” Vlad asked, more than a bit confused.

Vlad couldn’t see his old mentor and current boss, but the elation in his voice was enough to perk Vlad’s ears. “Let us worry about the Chinese. The Americans aren’t the only ones with a dose of bad luck.”

“Sir, what exactly is that supposed to mean?” Vlad asked, looking at Alex, who shrugged since he was listening to only half a conversation.

“In time, my good friend. Due to our security issues that we discussed last month, I can’t discuss the details with you, but rest assured the race has yet to finish. We have much work to do, and as I said, the politburo is more than pleased with our handling of the program, Vlad. There’ll be medals for everyone for this one. Trust me on this.”

Vlad nodded though his superior could not see the gesture. “Understood, sir. We’ll have to wait, then, and wish our real heroes well.”

Dmitry comprehended immediately. “Yes, they will be very busy soon, and we expect nothing short of perfection on this. We’ll have the video lines installed by the time they reach the moon.”

“Yes, I know,” Vlad responded. Vlad knew they had the ability to teleconference already, but Moscow had implemented a new security protocol that required the laying of special optic fiber wires that in the past had been considered blasé, to say the least. Wireless communicating, as well as cloud storage of data and information, had been all the rage for at least two decades now, but in a world of serious hacking, it was back to some old school technology, and Vlad’s base was being connected to an older fiber optic system that connected directly to Moscow. It would be impossible to intercept.

“Good. Pass on our congratulations to your crew and let them know they have done well. We’ll talk again tomorrow,” Dmitry said.

“I will, Dmitry, and our congratulations to you and the mission team there as well.”

Dmitry hung up the phone, severing the connection so only static came over the radio phone.

“Well, what was that all about?” Alex asked, his face screwed up into a tight ball, brow furrowed.

Vlad almost laughed. “I don’t know, Alex, but it seems our competition may have the lead but they won’t cross the finish line anytime soon.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No, I’m not. It appears our efforts may not have been in vain. We may indeed reach the moon’s surface first.” Vlad nodded and smiled at his chief engineer.

“Interesting. I wonder what could have happened to the Chinese cosmonaut?”

“I wonder as well, my friend,” Alex said.

^{Chapter 19}

Regroup

People’s Republic Space Command

Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 44

“Pull the manual lever up and secure it before pressing the ‘separate’ button,” Chong said from his console at Wencheng.

Hun watched as Sing recharged the lander’s separation device manually, pushing the handle several times in quick succession and then locking it into place and hitting the button that would normally detach it and allow him to pilot it to the moon’s surface. Sing pressed it several times and then recharged yet again before repeating the process without instruction from Chong.

“Is it possible to detach from outside the module?” Lin asked Chong through their newly established video connection.

“Not without the correct tool,” Chong said.

“Someone’s going to ask,” Chon said from next to Lin.

“Who would have thought we’d have two failures in the same system?” Chong said, a slight tone of defensiveness in his voice.

Hun knew that as the chief mechanical engineer for this mission, the military would place a large amount of blame on Chong, and by extension his feet, despite the fact that they weren’t responsible for the actual construction of the lunar lander. Both the automatic release and the manual lever had malfunctioned, and the explosive bolts didn’t fire either. In that regard, Hun considered it more of a triple failure.

“Mission control, did you copy my last transmission?” Sing said, and Hun lifted his mike a bit higher to respond.

“That’s affirmative, Crimson Glory, we copy. Standby while we troubleshoot.” Hun clicked his mike off and looked at Lin. “Is the signal strength still the same on all wavelengths?”

Lin looked at her computer from her desk in front of Hun’s. “Yes, all readings have been the same with the peak readings occurring during perigee above the device. Those readings are at least eighty percent higher than we calculated.”

“They don’t exceed the shielding threshold, though they come close at their highest point,” Chon added from his desk next to Lin’s.

Hun thought about that for a moment. They couldn’t blame the device nor its odd transmissions for the detachment failure, and a triple one at that. The entire docking operation had been a resounding success as Sing’s craft, the Crimson Glory, docked with the first module that had been launched two days prior containing the primary energy source and fuel pods. Sing’s craft had been operating on only battery power, and Hun was sure the mission would be seriously criticized if something had happened during the three-day transit to shut down the power on the Crimson Glory.

Once coupled, the decaying plutonium reactor on the energy pod would provide more than enough power to not only recharge the command module but to also provide for a longer mission profile, if necessary. They would run out of food and water before they did power.

“Chong, look at the schematics again and find Sing a way to separate the lander,” Hun said, adjusting his headphones.

“Good thing we doubled the shielding,” Lin said.

Hun nodded and then opened his mike again to the Crimson Glory. “How you doing up there, Colonel Sing?”

Hun could see Sing’s image starting to fill with static as the spaceship orbited within range of the alien device. Each orbit was taking just under two hours, and Hun and his crew literally held their breaths each time Sing was exposed to the device.

“I feel like I’m in a microwave getting cooked,” Sing said, his smile just visible as he spoke, and the connection worsened.

“That may not be far from the truth. Our engineers are working on the problem, Colonel. Standby and we’ll advise before the next orbit.” Hun nodded again, and Sing started to prime the lever yet again. The man will not give up, that much is for sure, Hun thought to himself.

“How much time do we have before the general intervenes?” Lin asked through the private channel that was perhaps not so private.

“Focus on the readings and let Chong do his job,” Hun responded coolly, just in case they were being monitored. Hun knew that there were at least a dozen engineers with Chong at their space base, but Chong was his team member and chief engineer. He would have to figure it out… or not.

There was a slight commotion as the doors to their command center opened and General Wang walked in with some of his staff and two rather serious-looking soldiers armed to the teeth. Hun sighed and leaned forward in his chair, ready to stand when the general arrived.

“Director Lee, report,” the general commanded, his voice a booming bass tone of authority.

“Flight and docking mission objectives accomplished to date. Currently troubleshooting the detachment issue with the lander, sir,” Hun said, a tone of formality in his voice as he steadied himself after standing so abruptly.

“There will be no chance for Morning Glory to fail, is that understood?” the general asked.

“Understood, sir. We’ll find a way to separate the Morning Glory from the Crimson Glory.” Hun nodded, his arms now at his side.

“You have less than forty-eight hours. Show him.” The general nodded, and one of his aids pulled out what looked to be a picture of a star field followed by another one with a blurred space station. The Russian station, if Hun remembered what the Russian Pride looked like.

“What are these?” Hun asked.

“This is the Russian space station in route to the moon. They departed earth orbit this morning and will arrive in less than sixty-eight hours. It is imperative that Sing reach the moon’s surface before they arrive.”

Hun looked at the pictures he was given and saw both Lin and Chon looking his way, but they didn’t approach. “We will find a way, sir.”

Hun tried to return the pictures, but the general shook his head and his aide retreated his hand. “See to it that it happens, sooner rather than later. Keep the pictures as motivation.” Wang left the room, and Hun could still hear the click-clapping of their hard-heeled boots against the polished floor. The next time Hun heard that, it could mean something far worse if they didn’t fix this dilemma.

* * * * *

Tower Operations Launch Center

Cape Canaveral, Florida

In the near future, Day 45

Craig was more than upset, but Julie seemed to be taking it all in stride as they sat in the Canaveral debriefing room and listened to the analysis of their close call. The primary gasket seals between the first two rocket stages had failed. It was indicated that the rubber part suffered a serious deficiency during the curing process, and when exposed to the super cold liquid hydrogen, it became brittle and started to crack. The materials expert said it was fortunate that the failure was as catastrophic as it was, causing the crack and subsequent leak to become noticeable before the actual launch. Had it failed slower, then Craig and Julie’s bodies may have never been discovered and their final resting place would be somewhere at the bottom of the Atlantic.

“So what’s the next phase?” President Powers asked via the teleconference system.

“We are prepping the second Saturn V, the prototype one, and it should be ready in two to three days,” Jeff Wheeler said, motioning to his monitor as a schematic of the project Gant chart appeared showing the progress on the rocket’s preparation on everyone’s screens as well as the main Houston control monitor.

“So this puts us last.” It was a statement more than a question, and no one answered the president’s rhetorical musing. “How long afterward till we can launch?”

Rock pulled his mike closer as Jeff looked his way. Once the rocket was ready, the launch procedure would fall on Rock’s team. “We can be ready in twelve hours assuming there are no problems with mounting the lander on the new rocket and that the weather holds up.”

“What is the forecast?” the president asked.

Jim Montgomery, NASA’s chief meteorologist, spoke up from one of the back wall chairs around the large conference room overflowing with NASA employees. “The skies look clear for the entire week. I think we caught a break there.”

“Madam President,” Mr. Smith chimed in, “the real issue now is do we still launch at all? Perhaps Plan B is in order?”

Rock had no idea what Plan B was, but the president’s dour expression didn’t convey any favorability for it.

“No, I think we continue as planned and allow our astronauts the chance to at least reach lunar orbit. If nothing else, they can observe what’s happening with the Chinese and Russians on the moon’s surface.” The president nodded.

“So our crewmembers will observe only?” Director Lui asked from his seat next to Rock, his tone one of disdain if not defeat.

“Perhaps,” Powers said, looking intently at her monitor. “We don’t understand why the Chinese are delaying their landing. We think maybe they have reached some sort of agreement with the Russians for a joint expedition to the surface, but we can’t confirm this yet.”

Rock stood almost instinctually before responding. “I’ve worked with the Russians and their space program, Madam President, and while I’m not a history expert, I would say that despite both countries being communist in the past, I don’t see them working together when it comes to this particular matter.”

“No, you’re not a political expert, Mr. Crandon.” Powers looked at Rock as directly as any monitor could convey. “We don’t know what’s going on up there with any degree of certainty, so we have to be prepared for all contingencies. I want the new Saturn on the launch pad then in seventy-two hours ready to go, and both of our astronauts fully briefed and equipped for the mission.”

Director Lui subtly grabbed Rock’s arm and gave it a gentle pull, just enough to have Rock sit back down again. “We’ll be ready, Madam President.”

President Powers nodded, and then someone disconnected the video feed and the screen went dark. Several people started to file out of the room, and Rock’s team gathered around Director Lui and their team leader.

“Well, that would just be peachy if true,” Tom commented, pulling up a chair that was just vacated by one of the director’s administrative assistants.

“You’ll be okay?” Lui asked Rock.

“Yeah, we’ll have a pow-wow first, and then back to the drawing board. Thanks for the support.” Rock smiled.

Lui left the group and headed out the door, leaving Mr. Smith and Mrs. Brown in the corner of the room eying Rock and his group suspiciously.

“They seem intent on something,” Marge said, motioning with her head at the two NSA employees.

“Forget about them,” Rock said. “We need to make sure there are no other screw-ups. We got awfully lucky with this last launch.”

“Don’t you mean unlucky, boss?” Jack said.

“Yeah, very luckily unlucky,” Rock said. Jack and Lisa chuckled while Tom scratched his head.

“I’m just glad Craig and Julie aren’t here to hear us,” Marge commented, a sour look on her face.

“Oh, come on now, Marge, you know we dodged a bullet, and sometimes a little humor is what we need to take the edge off,” Tom said, looking at his junior leader intently.

“Well, you’re both right,” Rock stepped in, cutting off any retort by Marge, who never looked happy when engaged with Tom. “Either way we are late to the party and may not even get to dance. We can, however, still execute a flawless mission with the utmost safety and professionalism even if it’s for last place in this screwed up race we find ourselves in. I’ll need your best, so let’s make sure we give this our A game, all right?”

Everyone nodded at Rock, and he took a deep breath. “Marge, have you and Jack had a chance to look at the data embedded in the RF signals yet?”

“Yeah, during some downtime we managed to get a sample of the feed and look it over, but nothing makes sense.” Marge leaned back in her chair.

“So the goons gave you access, eh?” Tom asked.

“I thought you said they were spooks?” Jack responded.

“Well, now they’re goons.” Tom arched a brow at Jack.

“Would it be helpful to have access to the entire data feed?” Rock asked Marge.

“Of course,” Marge responded, “but we had to pull teeth to get them to give us a sample. Top secret, compartmented and all that,” Marge said.

Rock stood and motioned to Smith and Brown, getting their attention, and then sat back down again when they walked over. “Mr. Smith, can my team have access to the entire data stream from the alien device?” he asked.

Brown leaned over and whispered into Smith’s ear before Mr. Smith responded. “Why do you want to analyze the alien signal?”

“That’s part of our job. Send up the proper equipment for our astronauts to do their work. Being able to analyze what, if anything, the signal is intended for could help us to equip them properly,” Rock said.

“Your team has already been given a sample of the signal and failed to decode it,” Smith said, looking at Marge. “Isn’t that right, Mrs. Jones?”

Rock held his hand up to silence Marge. “A sample won’t cut it, Smith. We need to look at the entire data stream from start to finish, including any pre or post data info, so this would include the countdown as well.”

Marge stayed silent, and Mr. Smith looked at Rock closely, if not actually scrutinizing him and his intent. Finally Smith responded. “What makes you think your team can do anything with this when we have over a hundred SIGINT analysts working the problem twenty-four-seven?”

“I don’t think; I just want full access to whatever’s up there if I’m responsible for the lives of two of our own. Besides, you said it yourself, you have a hundred experts looking at it right now. What harm is there in a couple of my folks reviewing it?”

“Over a hundred,” Mrs. Brown interjected.

Smith took the time to look at each team member in turn, pausing long and hard to look at Tom.

“What? It won’t be me. I want nothing to do with no signals from little green men.” Tom shrugged his shoulders and held his hands palms up out to his side.

Smith paid him no more attention and turned to Rock. “Fine, I’ll release the complete data stream on one of our secure laptops that you can check out from Mrs. Brown. When not working on it, the computer must be returned to us for safekeeping. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Rock said, nodding his head and watching as the two security handlers left the room.

“You know they’re just in the hallway, not like they’d leave us alone for any great length of time,” Jack said.

Marge looked at Rock, her face conveying surprise and a hint of a smile. “I can’t believe they agreed to your request so easily. It took Jack and me nearly a week to even get them to give us a small sample.”

“That’s because they’re afraid Rock will call his girlfriend if they object and she’d just give him what he wants,” Tom said, his tone serious.

“You mean the president?” Lisa asked.

“Oh yeah, she has a crush on ole Rock here. Seen it from day one.” Tom smiled now.

“I should have known,” Lisa replied. “Sally would smack you good for saying that.”

Tom held his hands up again, conveying the idea of surrender. Rock looked around at his team and then thought for a second before speaking. “Find out what our astronauts are going to face up there, Marge. I don’t want to get caught again with my pants down.”

The group nodded, and everyone started to get up and leave. Rock could just hear Tom’s comment to Lisa as they left. “Now that’s something I didn’t want to visualize.” Rock suppressed a smile as he heard stifled laughter coming from his team.

^{Chapter 20}

Difficult Decisions

People’s Republic Space Command

Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 46

Hun didn’t know if he would see Chang again. After two days with no results, Hun woke on the third day to the news that his chief engineer had been relieved of duty. Lin and Chon were both unusually somber and not very talkative. A military engineer had been assigned to work with Chang’s replacement, a very old engineer by the name of Wu.

Wu spent most of his time pouring over the schematic of the lander Chang and his team had built. Hun checked in with the old man every two hours, and each time he had the same thing to report—still working on the problem.

The only good news was that there was no sign of General Wang. It didn’t take long before rumor had it that the general had been called to the State Council to report. By early afternoon, the radar track of the Russian space station was being broadcast on one of the smaller monitors while the main monitor continued to display a somewhat clear, if not boring, image of astronaut Hen Sing as he meditated. On more than one occasion, the health and wellness technician broadcast a signal to Sing just to get a response even though his vital signs could be seen on one of the smaller accessory data terminals.

“Why does he do that?” Lin asked, looking at the smaller bank of screens across Hun’s console. Hun had asked for Lin and Chon to pull up chairs at his workstation to discuss their latest update.

“Forget Sing and his sleeping, I’m surprised the military is allowing us to watch the Russian track,” Chon said, looking at the main array of screens at the front of the room in mission control. “It’s interesting that they are taking a retrograde orbit. Any idea why?”

Hun shook his head and looked at the monitor showing the Russian craft as it was approaching, prepared to enter lunar orbit in about twelve hours, circling in a retrograde path across the equatorial band of the moon from east to west instead of the standard west to east configuration that most spacecraft took when orbiting an object.

“It will make it more difficult to land with that orbit,” Lin said, also watching the radar track update every few seconds.

“The Russians won’t mind. They sent up enough fuel to descend to the surface and return more than one time, even in a more costly retrograde orbit.” Hun sighed, remembering the latest news casts that were filtered into his country. It was technically illegal to be listening to Russian broadcasts and Hun didn’t speak the language, but the English version from Vladivostok was clear enough, even if it wasn’t meant for Chinese ears.

“You listened, too?” Chon whispered at Hun.

“Who doesn’t, especially now?” Hun responded.

“That doesn’t explain their choice of orbits,” Lin said. “Why do something that is more difficult if it isn’t necessary?”

Hun thought for a moment and again rubbed the stubble on his head. He immediately noticed the slight grins coming from his rapidly reducing mission crew. “What?”

“You should have kept some hair up there,” Chon said. Lin wouldn’t dare tell her boss something that direct, but Chon and Hun went way back.

“Yes, I often wonder if I rubbed all my hair away or if I cut it. It’s been so long, I can’t remember. No matter,” Hun said, shifting subjects, “if the Russians are taking the hard way, you can be sure they have a pretty good reason. In the meantime, Lin, get a projected track on their craft and plot just how close it will be to our orbiter. I’d hate to have something happen up there now.”

Lin immediately returned to her console, and Chon adjusted his seat for better comfort. It looked like he was going to stay awhile. “You don’t really think they could get that close to our Crimson Glory, do you?”

“No, of course not,” Hun said. Space was vast, and there were only three objects in orbit above the moon at that time, unlike tens of thousands of objects whizzing around the earth. It was relatively sparse, and the likelihood of any near miss was on par with one’s lottery chances. “I do, however, think the Russians may purposely route their orbiter near ours in order to take readings of our systems, or to even observe what we are doing.”

“That would give them a very short window to observe. The rate of closure would be phenomenal between the two,” Chon said.

“They only need a few milliseconds to have their scanners pick up whatever we are transmitting, as well as to take a thermal reading of the Crimson Glory and the moon’s surface near the object. They’ll be able to tell if Sing is on the surface or still in orbit.”

“You think they would do something to our craft?”

Hun raised an eye at his technician. “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t put it past them considering the stakes. Probably they won’t once they realize we are stuck in orbit.”

“They won’t know that for sure, will they?”

“Not for sure. The dark side of the moon is never visible to our earth-based scanners, but every two hours their unmanned orbital reconnaissance probe is taking pictures and reading data feeds from every conceivable source as it passes the alien device. They would know if we had landed as it would take much longer than two hours to get there and return to orbit. No, Chon, I think they will speculate, quite accurately if I may add, that we have not been to the surface, and then they will act accordingly.”

Lin returned then, looking excited. “The Army already plotted the Russian track, sir, but they left something off that I found interesting.”

“Go ahead,” Hun said, leaning forward now in his chair.

“If they vector in at about the same altitude as their orbiter, their trajectories will be opposite each other,” Lin said, excitement in her voice as she looked to Chon and then back to her boss.

“What exactly do you mean?” Chon asked, not quite following.

“She means they will always have one of their two crafts on the far side of the moon,” Hun explained for Lin, who simply nodded and smiled.

“Things are going to get uglier before they get better, aren’t they, sir?” Chon said, defeat in his voice.

“I’m afraid so. There is no way to detach the lander without destroying the mating collar. Even if Sing could land and come back to the orbiter, he would have no way to return to earth.” Hun and his team knew that the lander doubled as Sing’s life support module and transport vehicle. The energy module could return to earth, but without its astronaut. Hun’s team had come to that very conclusion after only a day’s work of effort, but kept the fact secret.

“The old man is going to figure it out, isn’t he?” Chon asked, looking over his shoulder at the empty monitor that was streaming a live feed from Wenchang.

“Yes. He may be slow, but he’s thorough. I think he’ll figure it out in the next work session or two,” Hun said.

“Oh no…” Lin said, her face turning pale. “You don’t think…” She left the rest of her sentence unspoken.

Hun sighed. “If I know the general, then I think Sing’s medal will be awarded posthumously. He’ll order it for sure.”

* * * * *

Gordust Space Station

Intrastellar Space

In the near future, Day 46

Yuri watched through the large view window as the Gordust rocketed toward the moon. It was still mostly a full moon, and the features of the plains, darker grey blotches around areas of taller mounds, were incredibly beautiful. The star field was still pale as they were looking into the bright reflected sunlight from the lunar surface, making the pale starlight beyond nearly invisible.

“Can you see the Chinese spaceship?” Gregori asked from behind.

Yuri looked over his shoulder at the cosmonaut as he floated horizontally behind them, feet sticking back into the open corridor. “They’re still too small, and even if we spot them, they’ll be coming at us at a high rate of speed. We’d be lucky to see blur, if anything at all,” Yuri answered.

“Don’t be so pessimistic, Yuri,” Olga said from her seat beside him as she dialed a few radio control knobs into new positions. “We can track them on radar and triangulate their location from their radio transmissions.”

“Fine,” Yuri said. “Get a read on them when you can and track their trajectory closely. I want to make sure we are a few clicks above them when we commence reentry burn. Let’s keep them between us and the moon.”

“Yes, will do, Commander,” Olga answered, focusing her efforts on her new mission orders, though she had already started the work an hour earlier.

“Gregori, have you decided on which team members will go to the surface?” Yuri asked.

“That was decided before we launched, and nothing has changed. Ivan and I will pilot the lander to the device and retrieve the transmitter,” Gregori replied.

“Who will transfer the fuel, then?” Yuri asked.

“Viktor will perform the EVA while Nikolai mans the control console. You and Olga will provide signals and communications support as agreed, da?” the man said, floating a bit too close for Yuri’s comfort, and Yuri returned his attention to the main window forward.

“Sounds exactly as we planned,” Yuri said, his tone flat.

“Good. We’ll turn in for six hours and then run through the checklists before we arrive in orbit. Let me know if Moscow sends any commands contrary to our mission profile. Wake me if you have to. Understood?”

“Da, understood. Have a good rest. We’ll take turns up here and be ready when you are,” Yuri said, not looking back.

Gregori had been Spetsnaz and airborne special ops before joining Ruscosmos as a command and control leader. Yuri knew that Ivan would do the actual piloting since his background had been in the Russian Air Forces where he primarily piloted a MiG-49 for most his career.

Yuri had grunted in the affirmative and allowed the man to return to the crew pods for a short rest session. An unusual name for sleep, he thought to himself. He and Olga would only leave the command pod to use the facilities and to get something to eat, and one of them had to man it at all times.

In the meantime, they would monitor communications for updates from Moscow and obtain whatever intel they could on the Chinese. At least the Americans weren’t here. Yuri feared them more than the Communists.

* * * * *

Vostochny Cosmodrome

Siberia, Russia

In the near future, Day 46

“Irina, are you sure these reports came in this morning?” Vlad asked, perusing the latest printed reports from Moscow and noticing the dates were from yesterday evening.

“Yes, Vladimir,” she said, walking over to his desk to look at them. “You know Moscow time is earlier than our time here.”

Vlad looked up and noticed her smiling at him nervously. Damn, she is beautiful, he thought to himself. No time for that now, such a distraction. He needed to focus. “All right, but not by more than twelve hours. Check our connection with the IT people and make sure we are receiving our feeds from Central Space Command in real time.”

“I’ll do that right now,” Irina said, walking to the door and stopping to adjust one of her high-heeled shoes, looking back seductively at Vlad. She isn’t even trying to be discreet, Vlad thought as she finished and left their office complex. He could still hear her hard heels clicking on the marble floor in the hallway.

Something felt odd, a little off in the way Irina was interacting with him lately. On a hunch, Vlad picked up his phone and dialed the switchboard operator. “Get me Minister Osnokov,” he said, and then patiently waited for the call to go through.

“Allo?” the familiar-sounding voice came though the line.

“Dmitry, this is Vlad. Did I call at a bad time?”

“Nyet, good to hear from you. I just arrived at the command center to oversee the lunar operation personally. I expect you’ll be joining us in a few hours on the video connection. It will have to be a long day for you, my old friend,” Dmitry said, his voice optimistic.

Vlad hated to even voice his suspicion, but he had to know. “The data from the Gordust that was sent yesterday evening, what time did you authorize its release?”

Dmitry’s tone changed a bit to one of confusion. “I don’t know, Vladimir. I’ve authorized you and your team for complete access once a proper update is submitted. I’d have to check with my logistics manager, but I was sure it was before we left for the evening. I wanted to make sure you had it first thing this morning. Why do you ask?”

“I just received it this afternoon. I thought due to our conversation a few weeks ago that perhaps we were only authorized for certain information, need to know… that type of clearance,” Vlad said.

“No, no, the FSB cleared you and your crew over a week ago. That was why we included you in the mission control operations instead of just using your services with the orbital insertions. The Kremlin felt it important enough to have a backup involved, and logically I recommended you and your staff.” Vlad could hear Dmitry breathing heavier as he spoke.

“Well, these reports state that, with a high degree of probability, it appears the Chinese cosmonaut hasn’t landed on the moon’s surface yet. This would be important information, and I don’t understand the reason for delaying its dissemination to us for several hours,” Vlad stated.

“Correct, but you should have had it first thing this morning. I’ll look into it—” Vlad heard a commotion coming from the other end of his line.

“What’s going on there, Dmitry?” he asked.

“Hang on a second,” Dmitry said.

Vlad could hear noises and then screaming followed by a series of loud popping sounds. “What is that?” Vlad asked.

“I think I hear gunshots,” Dmitry said, not into the handset, his voice fainter.

Suddenly there was a loud booming sound followed by the static of a dead line. Vlad pressed down in quick succession on the handset clicker. Despite the advances in cellular technology, the telephones were the same as they were decades ago.

“Dmitry, can you hear me?” Vlad knew the line was dead, and this was confirmed when he heard the warning beeps coming from his handset indicating it had been off its hook for more than thirty seconds.

Vlad returned the phone and sat back down. He didn’t even realize that during the frantic end of their conversation he had stood, leaning over the desk to reach the phone cradle easier.

It didn’t take long before he heard a commotion coming from his own hallway. Vlad got up and walked out of his office, past Irina’s desk, opening the door and looking down the long corridor that led to the main lobby. He got a quick glimpse of Aleksey as the man ran across the hallway toward the staff break room.

Vlad hurried down, finding the doors open and several of his staff watching a television monitor mounted on the wall. A few uneaten lunches were sitting on various tables as everyone’s attention was fixated on the monitor.

Aleksey made eye contact with his boss and motioned him closer. “Vlad, you won’t believe it,” his chief engineer said, his face ashen, jaw dropped open slightly, and a glazed look over his eyes.

Vlad heard a cry stifled and saw Irina and another female technician holding each other. Tears were welling in their eyes. Vlad turned his attention to the newscast where a large, very familiar-looking building was half demolished. Large plumes of black smoke were streaming from it at several locations and combining into a large one that slowly billowed out from the building.

“Bozhe moi!” Vlad said, bringing his hand to his mouth and watching the destruction as it was panned out in front of the screen. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yes, Vladimir,” Alex said. “Someone blew up the Ruscosmos control center.”

Vlad could only watch the devastation, and this thoughts were on his old friend and mentor, Dmitry. “God help us,” he mumbled.

^{Chapter 21}

BlackJack

White House

Washington D.C.

In the near future, Day 46

“Bring us to Defcon Two,” President Powers ordered, sitting in her seat in the bunker of the White House command and control room.

Vice President John Lee looked at her with his brows raised. “You know the new protocols mean that one of us will have to leave, Gloria,” he said.

“I know, John. I intend to stay here. You go airborne, fly to Houston, and oversee our space operations personally.”

“That’s your baby, Gloria. I can man the bunker, if you’d prefer, John said, ignoring the rest of her staff as they had a private conversation that wasn’t so private.

President Powers looked him in the eye. Her face was serious, the scar creasing along the side of her head a reminder of the assassination attempt on her life not yet a year ago. Her hands gripped the arms of her chair intensely, and John Lee could see the leather fabric strain under the force. Finally she took a deep breath, and her words came out calm and measured. “My duty is here, to stop a world war. I trust you to keep me apprised of our progress. Can you do this for me?”

John stood up before addressing her. “Yes, Madam President,” he said more formerly now, a show of respect for her despite them being friends for a very long time. “You’ll handle the initial launch, then, today?”

“Yes, I’ll take care of that over the secure teleconference line. Call me when you arrive.”

Vice President John Lee grabbed his folders and nodded to the Director of National Security as he left the room toward the east lawn where the presidential marine helicopter would be standing by.

“David, are we ready for the launch?” Powers asked her Director of National Security.

“We are, Madam President. I wasn’t going to pull them up onscreen quite yet till we finished with the debriefing, but we can if that’s what you want,” he said, looking at her.

“I think the NASA team should know. Bring them up and let’s get this started.”

David Rose nodded and motioned to one of the Air Force officers who was manning the communication’s console. Within a minute, there was a split screen on the primary display showing the Cape Canaveral launch pad on the right side with a large view of the main control center in Houston on the other.

President Powers noticed Richard Crandon with Director Lui immediately, and nodded to them. “Director, Mission Leader… Are we ready for the launch this morning?”

Director Lui spoke. “Yes, Madam President. The tower control has the countdown at T-minus thirty-three minutes, so we’re still a bit early. The Saturn has just been fueled, and the astronauts are heading up the lift even now.”

“Good, we’ll go ahead and keep our connection open for now. I wanted to discuss a few things with your team before the launch, though I know they’re busy,” Powers said.

Rock smiled and then nodded. “Good morning, Madam President.”

“Good morning, Mr. Crandon,” she responded.

“We decided that due to the last failure, we would be securing our astronauts, Craig Alders and Julie Monroe, till the last minute just to be safe,” Rock said.

“That doesn’t exude confidence, Mr. Crandon. Are we worried about something?” she asked.

“We are always concerned, Madam President. This is just a safety precaution, nothing more, and no reason to read anything into it that’s not there.”

Fortunately the president couldn’t see Rock’s team, who had their mouths open, jaws dropped at the glib manner in which he had just addressed her.

“Mission Lead Crandon is basically indicating that we here at NASA are prepared for any eventuality, Madam President,” Director Lui said, more diplomatically than Rock had just done.

“I understand, Director Lui. Have you and your people seen the news?”

“We have. It was rather disturbing considering the ramifications.” He nodded.

“Well, we have reason to believe it may have been the Chinese. Even if it wasn’t, the Russians are mobilizing their entire Far East Military District even as we speak,” Powers said.

“News reports were that it was separatists from their southern regions near Turkey and Iran,” Lui said.

Powers nodded and then looked at one of her notes before responding. “Yes, Chechin- or Kurdish-supporting separatists are what we have in our National Security Report.” Rock could see the Director of National Security just to her side scowl at the revelation.

“Will this affect our mission?” Lui asked, the consummate professional, staying on topic.

“No, but you may want to take the latest current events into calculation when, and if, you do anything near the Chinese or Russians. Do you understand me?” Powers said, her tone serious.

“We will, and as usual, we’ll report anything noteworthy to Mr. Smith who can relay this up the chain of command. Will you be observing the launch today, Madam President?” Lui asked.

“I will.”

“I hope you know that Canaveral Tower has control until the Saturn clears the launch tower, then we’ll take over from there,” Lui said, his tone matter of fact, all business-like.

“Understood, Director. See to your team. Washington out.” The connection was severed and the screen went dark.

“Did she just say ‘over and out’?” Tom asked from his nearby console.

Rock ignored his impudent mechanical engineer and focused on the task at hand. “Let’s get ready, folks. World crisis or not, we’re finally going to the moon today.”

“You sure about that, boss?” Jack asked.

“As sure as I’m ever going to be. Now let’s roll.” The group broke up and returned to their consoles, awaiting the countdown.

Rock watched as Julie and Craig were strapped in again, the second time in three days, and he listened in as their chief physiologist talked to them in a therapeutic way. Rock could see their vital signs on one of his side screens as they monitored the health and welfare and even brainwave patterns of their astronauts.

“All systems check, integration complete,” he heard Lisa stating over their com system. Rock tugged at the wired headset and wondered when, if ever, they would get the latest in Wi-Fi technology. He still had to “plug in” if he wanted to hear what was going on. There had to be a better way.

During the wait, several Secret Service agents filed into the room and a canine unit swept the area as well. Rock just looked at Mr. Smith, who mouthed the words “vice prez” to explain the activity. At least the president would be watching remotely, and that brought a small level of comfort as the team seemed to be unusually sensitive when they were being observed by the most powerful person on the planet.

Rock knew that the connection with the White House was active from the monitor light displayed on his console, but the reverse feed continued to be shut down. The president would watch them, but they would not see her. Again, probably for the best.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the countdown timer rolled to zero, and Rock watched as the bright light of the rocket was automatically dimmed by the high def camera as the first of four million pounds of propellant began to burn. I’d hate to see that fuel bill, he thought to himself.

“Get ready, people,” Rock said. Director Lui had left the center, and Rock could see his boss sitting calmly in the observation room high above the control center. He wasn’t sure who everyone was in the room at this very moment, but it didn’t matter. It was his time to command.

“Houston, this is Canaveral. Apollo 21 has cleared the tower. You have the ball. Confirm,” came the announcement as the bottom of the rocket cleared the top of the launch tower.

Rock clicked his mike open, taking a deep breath. “Canaveral, this is Houston. Confirm, we have the ball. I repeat, Houston has the ball.”

Rock noticed a slight nod from his boss from the corner of his eye before he put it out of his mind. The rocket continued to accelerate as it burned fifteen tons of propellant per second and accelerated at a constant velocity as it slowly started to disappear from sight.

“Commence roll,” the guidance technician said from one of the twenty consoles in the control room.

Rock watched as the rocket started to roll slightly, its gyroscopes now allowing a command to adjust its angle ever so slightly so that it started to cross the Atlantic. The video feed of the interior of the capsule showed both astronauts strapped in, shaking mildly in their seats as over seven and a half million pounds of thrust propelled them skyward.

“Radar shows optimum track,” Lisa said as she monitored her console. Being the integration specialist, she was now supervising eight other system controllers from her desk, feeding relevant data to Marge and Rock’s consoles as well as comparing projected trajectory data versus actual.

“Jeff and his team did a fantastic job, didn’t they?” Marge said via the private channel, interrupting the slow but steady stream of T-plus information as they counted toward the first stage of separation.

Rock clicked his push-to-talk button. “Yes, they did. The rover compartment looks a bit wide on top, but the entire module is quite the feat of engineering, considering the weight.”

“I count almost three times the weight that the Apollo missions had when they took a rover with them,” Marge said.

Rock knew she was referring to the Apollo 15, 16, and 17 missions where the astronauts took the mini dune-buggy-looking rover with them. This time their rover had to be bigger, more heavily shielded, and capable of traveling a much farther distance and back than anything that had ever been conceived before. They were counting on technology to give them an edge compared to the old rovers of the late sixties and early seventies.

“Good thing the Saturn can handle the payload,” Rock said, watching the rocket wobble a bit onscreen as the camera had to zoom in on it to keep it visible.

“It’s mainly fuel. We’ve never attempted something like this before,” Marge said. Rock thought she felt nervous, probably because this entire mission profile was her idea.

“Don’t worry, Marge,” Rock said, his voice calm as he tried to display a bit of confidence in her plan as well. “We’ve calced the hell out of this. It will work.”

Marge nodded and cut her mike. After nearly three minutes, it was time for the first separation. Rock almost held his breath as the first stage broke away after burning its entire fuel load of over a half million gallons of kerosene fuel and liquid oxygen, its explosive bolts separating it from the rest of the rocket as it gently glided to the peak of its arch and then began its forty-two-mile trip back to the surface, eventually to land somewhere in the Atlantic.

The second stage took over, attempting to lift the craft into orbit, and Rock watched as the Saturn continued on its trajectory for twice as long as the first stage. After a total of just over nine minutes, Rock watched as the craft approached the African continent and the second stage detached, allowing the third and final stage to ignite and propel the craft to orbital velocity.

“Looking good,” Rock heard Jack say from his console, and it broadcasted on the public channel. One of Marge’s technicians continued to calmly call out data milestones as the craft passed various speeds and distances. He noticed that Marge let out a large breath of air when the second stage separated and the third successfully ignited.

Rock decided to add a human touch to the monotone monologue coming from the data technician. “How you doing up there, Craig?” Rock asked, flipping his push-to-talk on the public channel that the astronauts were using as well.

Craig gave a thumbs-up on the monitor as his bulky gloved hand temporarily released its hold on the chair armrest. “Good.”

“Julie, how are you feeling?” Rock asked.

“Feeling good, Houston. Quite a ride. Give our regards to your crew. This is a fine ship to pilot,” she said.

“We feel the same down here, Apollo. Your telemetry is five by five, and we’ll have you in orbit momentarily. Make us proud.” Rock clicked his mike off and smiled as he got a thumbs-up from Julie as well.

The monotone voice called for final engine shutdown, and the third stage would not be reignited until they had orbited the planet one and a half times. Rock watched as Lisa took the radar readings from Spain and then, thirty minutes later, from India. The craft reached an orbital height of over one hundred miles, and Marge and her crew were calculating the burn ratios from low earth orbit to the moon.

Australia picked up the Apollo 21 craft and then finally Hawaii. Houston would be able to track them across the Western Hemisphere. There was a series of discussions on equipment and vector alignment between Marge and the Apollo as they completed their first orbit of the planet in a single hour.

Rock’s mike clicked open as Jack queued him on the private frequency. “Wasn’t that long ago that most people thought the world was flat. Now we’re circling it in a mere hour.”

Rock smiled as he watched the radar track superimposed on a map of the world. “Right you are. Geologically speaking, it was a mere blink of an eye. Makes you wonder where we’ll be in a few more centuries.”

Tom had joined them in the intercom. “Nowhere at the rate Congress funds us. We’re lucky we’re even headed back to the moon now.”

“Don’t you have a system to monitor?” Jack chided Tom.

“I have less systems to monitor than you have frequencies,” Tom retorted. Neither of his technicians looked up from their consoles, and any casual observer would be at a loss if they were listening in.

Rock let it go as time passed and the last stage crossed over the Indian Ocean. Marge’s team had calculated the orbit at one-hundred-two-point-four miles overhead by the same margin. A perfect circular orbit, not that it surprised Rock since the Apollo 16 mission had achieved much the same decades earlier.

“Ignition in three, two, one, mark,” the data technician said through her microphone as the third stage rocket reignited and the thrust vectors sent the craft up and away from low earth orbit pointed at the moon.

Rock watched as the rest of the propellant was consumed and the radar track updated to show the Apollo spacecraft within a quarter of a degree of their plotted trajectory.

“Nicely done, everyone,” Rock said over the public frequency. There was a round of applause when the data technician cut in and declared the ship on target.

“Blackjack to Houston,” Rock heard the intercom crackle with Craig’s voice coming from the ship. “We are headed to the moon, Houston.”

Marge looked at Rock and gave the go ahead nod. “Houston to Blackjack, confirm transmission. Blackjack inbound to the moon. All systems go, over and out,” Marge said.

“Blackjack?” Rock asked, clicking on his team’s private channel.

“It was Tom’s idea, and Craig and Julie ran with it,” Marge said.

“Yeah, like in Apollo 21, Blackjack in Vegas,” Tom said.

This mission should have been Apollo 20, but since that mission was aborted, the superstitious but scientific NASA team always advanced the mission number in order not to jinx the operation. If Apollo 20 was a bust, then Apollo 21 would be their lucky number. It would be their Blackjack.

^{Chapter 22}

Gambit

People’s Republic Space Command

Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 46

It had taken the general less than ten minutes to discuss the veteran engineer’s recommendation and finally approve it. Hun had to explain it to Colonel Sing personally, and he was almost brought to tears at how the older man handled the news. It was, of course, offered as a voluntary course of action, but the colonel knew what it meant and, with great grace and honor, had accepted the new mission profile.

The general had taken a few moments to discuss the objectives with Colonel Hen Sing before returning control back to Hun. Engineer Wu had figured out the only solution short of simply returning empty-handed and never hesitated to offer it to Central Control.

“Bastard,” Hun heard Chon whisper into his ear.

“Not now, Chon,” Hun said, looking sideways at the hallway doors where the general had left not long ago. Hun was sure that General Wang would be watching from the upper control room overlooking the main consoles here in Beijing.

“He just ordered the man to his death,” Chon persisted.

Hun waved him away and sat down in his chair, relieved to see that Chon had returned to his desk.

“Report when you are secure in the main lander,” Hun heard Lin say over the main frequency.

“I’ll take it from here,” Hun ordered. Lin looked at her boss once and then clicked her mike off. Hun would take responsibility for the instructions that would seal the man’s fate.

The new mission profile called for Colonel Sing to separate the lander by manually overriding the emergency explosive bolts, which would detach the lander and the command module from the energy/fuel pod. This would allow him to land on the moon’s surface and return to orbit with the alien device.

He would not be able to re-dock with the first pod that contained the energy and fuel stores because the explosive bolts would destroy the docking collar. He would, however, be able to place the device in one of the smaller storage bins that he could access from the outside, and then the secondary module could be remotely piloted back to earth, leaving Sing and the control module orbiting the moon for eternity. Sing would live until his oxygen supply ran out four days later.

“Crimson Glory, this is Beijing Control, do you copy?” Hun said, his voice calm but determined.

“Beijing Control, the Crimson Glory copies. Do you have instructions for me?” Sing said.

“Affirmative. On my mark, you will engage the emergency protocol on the dual pod release mechanism. This has been wired now so that you can simply press the red ‘detach’ button on the right of your console. Are you ready?”

“Crimson Glory ready and able.” The old man’s voice crackled as it proceeded around the side of the moon.

Hun waited for the countdown timer. They had several minutes to spare, and the timing had to be perfect if the craft was to land successfully near the target. It had the bare minimum fuel requirement in order to even reach the moon, so most of the trip in would be coasting with some short, strong burns of the motors to arrest the ship’s velocity and keep it within maintainable maneuvering levels.

“Detach in ten seconds,” Hun said. “Three, two, one, detach now.”

The external cameras clearly caught the metallic fragments as twelve bolts exploded, separating the lander and command module from the energy pod. Hun had to hand it to the colonel, the man never hesitated.

Hun noticed Lin and Chon still working furiously at a plan to transfer fuel from the secondary module to the primary one. Hun knew it would be futile, but he couldn’t bring himself to blame his crew for trying. The main issue was that the heavier lander and control module carried only enough fuel to make it to the moon. The fuel reserves were on the secondary module which, after docking and mating with the command module, could not be pumped or otherwise transferred to Sing’s lander.

The lander doubled as not only the lunar transfer vehicle but also the earth to moon and return control module. It had to in order for the lighter lift Long Reach rocket to be able to reach the moon with that size payload. A separate command module and lunar lander was considered wasteful. There was no astronaut staying in lunar orbit; therefore, no command module was needed.

Both modules were still traveling together, but the lander was falling steadily behind as the inertia from the explosive bolts slowed its velocity by a half meter per second. The timing was designed for only a minute to pass before Hun ordered Sing to begin the retro-burn and slow the lander.

“Retro-burn initiated,” Sing said, his voice calm and professional. Not what Hun expected from a man who just had his death warrant signed and sealed.

“Decrease burn in three, two, one, mark,” Hun said. The control center room was completely silent except for the faint humming of cooling fans coming from the many electrical devices and computers hard at work.

“Burn decreased,” Sing said, his hand on the piloting stick ready to take over in case the computer didn’t make the necessary course corrections.

“Communications transfer in one minute,” Lin said.

Hun watched as the Chinese lunar lander continued its butt-first approach to the moon’s surface. The lander was about to be eclipsed by the moon itself, and they would only have another two minutes communications via the transceiver on the secondary module still orbiting the moon before it, too, went out of coms with Beijing control.

“Communications successfully transferred,” Lin said right after the video feed blacked out and then picked back up again.

“Trajectory is going long,” the voice of one of the center’s mission controllers came across the intercom.

Hun watched as the trajectory showed the lander extending higher above its intended track. If this kept up, it would overshoot its target.

“Crimson Glory, increase thrust by fifty percent,” Hun ordered into the mike. “Chon, what’s the computer doing?”

Chon looked confused for a second until he punched up some additional data. “The burn rate is set, but the fuel isn’t burning as efficiently as it should.”

“Communications black out in thirty seconds,” Lin said, panic creeping into her voice.

The video feed started to deteriorate as the seconds passed. “Glory, did you copy? Increase thrust by fifty percent,” Hun repeated. “Chon, will he have enough fuel to return?”

“Yes, as long as he commences the burn now.”

“Thrust increasing by fifteen percent,” Sing’s voice came across the channel, static starting to win the communications battle.

“Negative,” Hun said, his voice now booming but calm. He had to make sure the man heard him. “Fifty percent burn for twenty seconds. Follow the readout on your navigation screen. I repeat, fifty percent burn for twenty seconds. Do it now, Colonel Sing, commence burn now.”

“Communications blackout,” Lin said, defeat in her voice.

“Did we get trajectory data on his track?” Hun asked.

“Coming now, sir,” Chon said.

Hun watched as the data fed into his monitor with an overlay of his planned flight path. Sing did indeed increase thrust, but the vector still went long. Unless he heard the command, he would overshoot his landing site by a large margin. It would be a long wait till communications could be reestablished once the orbiter cleared the far side of the moon. Hun just hoped they wouldn’t find Colonel Sing dead from the impact.

* * * * *

Gordust Space Station

Near the moon

In the near future, Day 46

“Look at that signal strength,” Olga said, her eyes never leaving the monitor from where she was strapped in at her console seat.

Yuri glanced over at her main monitor as his screen displayed radar and navigation data from where he was piloting the flying brick. “It matches what our orbiter relayed, but yes, it is quite high considering we are just now approaching the moon.”

“How long do you think we’re going to deal with this lack of communication?” Olga asked.

“Hard to tell,” Yuri pondered, pulling up the short and cryptic text message they had received a few hours earlier. Maintain course and speed. Four words, and despite the clear orders, Gregori had been trying every few minutes to raise Moscow Control to no avail. It was as if they had turned a switch off.

“There it is. I have a track on the Chinese craft now. Our orbiter should be clearing the far side within the next fifteen minutes as well,” Olga said. “Do we self-insert?”

“What other options do we have? We’ll have to commence the orbital deceleration burn within the next hour.” Yuri changed his screen to pull up the display showing the tracks of several objects orbiting the moon. Flying off into deep space would not be advisable. Orbital insertion around the moon was their only option short of simply circling it and returning to the earth.

“I’ve got someone on channel three,” Gregori’s voice came across the intercom system.

“Tune them in, Olga,” Yuri said, continuing to monitor the moon’s artificial satellites.

Olga tuned to channel three and activated the interior speaker so they could both hear the communications in their command module.

“This is Vostochny Control. Confirm acknowledgement of orders,” an unfamiliar voice said.

“This is Ruski Gordust confirming,” Gregori replied. “Identify yourself.”

“Isn’t that what they just did?” Olga asked, her face conveying a look of confusion.

“He’s ex Spetsnaz. He wants to know exactly with whom he is speaking,” Yuri answered.

There was a pause, some static, and then a new voice, calm, authoritative, and assertive came across the frequency. “Ruski Gordust, this is Director Vladimir Berdenko of the Ruscosmos space base Vostochny. Moscow Central Control is no longer active. Vostochny Control is now primary. Confirmation code alpha two, delta three, one four seven echo. Confirm orders and communications.”

Another pause while Gregori presumably confirmed the authorization codes. The codes were only used when and if a secondary channel was used and any other entity other than Moscow Central Control was directing activities. Normally all communications were encrypted and sent on a central frequency that didn’t require verification, but this new procedure for communicating was different and involved a completely different set of radio protocols.

“Vostonchny Control confirmed. Good to hear from you. We are at minus forty-eight for lunar orbital insertion, and Moscow has been dark,” Gregori came back.

“Understood, Gordust. Proceed with primary mission protocols until orbital stabilization and then switch to protocol bravo three, acknowledge.”

“Bravo three, acknowledged,” Gregori said, clearing the channel.

Yuri wondered what bravo three entailed. All trans-space protocols were designated with the alpha prefix, while the lunar surface team protocols were bravo based. What exactly bravo three referred to was beyond him.

“Gregori, what is bravo three?” Yuri asked nonchalantly, wondering if the man would tell him. He hadn’t been cleared for it and didn’t understand why the secrecy, so he forced the gambit to see what he could glean from the lunar commander.

There was a long pause before the man spoke. “Yuri. The Chinese have made it to the surface before us. Alpha one approach stays the same, but we will be more… aggressive on the surface. Just get us into orbit. We detach after the first orbital confirmation.”

Olga gave Yuri an interesting look. Obviously she didn’t expect to hear that much information either. Yuri keyed his mike. “Copy and understood. Be advised that the readings we’re receiving from the surface are stronger than our reconnaissance satellite has relayed. Recommend we send one of our passive recon probes first to ascertain more data points.”

“Negative, Yuri,” Gregori replied somewhat informally. “Protocol calls for an immediate detachment and landing.”

Yuri didn’t like the new procedures, but if that was what the mission called for, he’d do his duty. “Confirmed. Ready your team, then, Commander Antov, and I’ll call mark at minus ten minutes.”

“Affirmative,” Gregori replied, seeming not to notice the formality from Yuri.

“What’s going on earth-side?” Olga asked after Yuri had cut the com link.

“I have no idea, Olga,” Yuri said, focusing now on their insertion in less than forty-five minutes. “Go to infrared and track all orbital bodies. See if you can get a reading from the surface when we come around, and make sure we can track Commander Antov in the Ruski Zvesda.

“Are you really going to allow them to detach before we confirm orbital trajectory?” she asked.

“You’ve seen the orders from over a month ago. Commander Antov is in charge of all lunar activity. We just fly this big pig,” Yuri said, looking sideways at his copilot and allowing a smile to cross his face.

The Gordust wasn’t even remotely aerodynamic looking, but it didn’t matter. Pig was as good as any description for the station, which had several modifications made to it. A hundred years earlier in the lexicon of U.S. Americana, it would have been called a jalopy. As long as it responded to his input commands, Yuri didn’t care.

“Yes, but you’re in charge until they do detach. Can’t you delay for even one orbit so we can get an accurate fix on our trajectory?”

“I’m afraid not, Olga. Kto ne riskuet, ne pyot champagnye. He who takes no risks, drinks no champagne.”

“I was afraid you’d say something like that,” Olga responded without looking at Yuri. It would be a very intense trip.

^{Chapter 23}

The Moon

People’s Republic Space Command

Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 46

“Coming around now, sir,” Lin said, tracking the orbiter as it started back around the dark side of the moon. “Cameras activated, coms ready.”

“Try to raise Colonel Sing,” Hun ordered.

“Beijing Control to Crimson Glory, do you copy?” Lin said, taking over the radio communications from the fairly inexperienced prior technician who stood next to Lin.

The reaction was immediate before they could even receive the video feed. “Glory, do you read me?”

“He must have been transmitting earlier,” Lin said, looking at her display.

Hun knew it would take two and a half seconds for their signal to reach the moon and get back to them, so Sing was already trying to raise them. “Get the visual onscreen as soon as you can,” Hun said.

The moon was full as seen from the earth, so the far side was facing away from both the earth and the sun. They would have their cameras searching for the device as well as Sing on the thermal band using infrared.

“We read you loud and clear,” Lin said, her eyes darting from console to screen and back. “Can you give us a report?”

Sing’s voice sounded calm, and for some reason, there seemed to be almost no static despite the constant barrage of radio waves coming from the alien device. “Crimson Glory went long. Location unknown. Equipment status unknown. Personal status inoperable. Broken legs, broken pelvis, and possibly broken spine, over.”

The room once again was hushed as Lin looked to Hun for guidance. Hun nodded at her to say something. Lin opened her mike. “Report received. Standby, Crimson Glory.”

“Get me his location.” Hun barked the order.

Chon and three other technicians were pouring over the video feed and widening the search when the first five kilometer block came up with no heat signatures. The actual alien device glimmered a pale orange as it put off heat, but not anything intense, and it was still currently localized to the one location.

After what seemed like minutes but was only seconds, a technician nearly shouted, “I have him. Grid twelve, longitude delta.”

“Delta twelve,” Chon said, pulling the picture up and streaming it to the main console on the wall.

Hun looked at the Crimson Glory in false infrared color. “My God,” he exclaimed, looking at the lander from what appeared to be a side shot even though the camera from the main orbiter was farther overhead. It looked like it was lying almost completely on its side. Two of its four support legs were broken and strewn across the landscape along with smaller pieces of the craft.

“Thirty seconds,” Lin said, referring to the amount of time they had to communicate with Sing. They were already bouncing the radio signal off of one of the older Indian communications satellites that they had contracted the use of after losing their primary one.

“Inform the colonel that we’re working on the problem and will get back to him on the orbiter’s far side,” Hun said, referring to the fact that coms would be reestablished once the secondary module cleared the far side of the moon and was once again within the visual arc of the earth. There were two short periods on either side when this occurred for only a few moments each hour and a half. They would have to work quickly to save their mission. Colonel Sing had his death warrant signed once he separated the lander and destroyed the docking collar. Now the question was would his death be in vain?

* * * * *

General Wang watched the events as they unfolded from his military command and control room outside of Beijing. The space technicians thought he was in their building, but that was only true half the time. He had a complete surveillance system installed in the space control center and monitored their progress remotely.

He picked up the phone and asked for the premier. After a heated discussion, he hung up and looked at his chief aide, Major Jiayang. “Initiate Operation Steel Fist. Load the nuclear warhead immediately.”

Major Jiayang began relaying orders via her command and control console to various military assets. If the Chinese couldn’t obtain the alien device, then no one would.

General Wang hoped this wouldn’t start a world war.

* * * * *

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 46

“Any luck so far?” Rock asked, poking his head in through the doorway where Marge and Jack worked together in a side room off of the main control room. The control room had less than half the normal contingent of operators for the mission as the main crew was off duty in preparation for the lunar arrival.

“Not yet,” Jack said, peering at a string of code displayed on their small laptop.

“You’d think they would give us a larger view screen,” Marge chimed in.

Rock nodded as he entered the room and pulled up a chair. “State security and all,” he said.

“Something like that,” Marge said without looking up again. “What’s so odd is that from the data stream, all the NSA analysts, as well as the super computers they have working the problem, seem to be focused on a mathematical solution.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Rock asked.

“Well, nothing really, Rock, but so far we’ve had access to the data stream for a few weeks now and not even one part of the information has been decoded, deciphered, or translated. It makes me wonder if we’re barking up the wrong tree, so to speak.”

“Didn’t your SETI principles state that the foundation for any communication with extraterrestrial life would most likely be based on mathematics as a form of universal communication?” Rock asked.

“They did, but I’ve gone over the data, and between the NSA, academia, and quantum super computers, they pretty much covered every mathematical formula of any import known to man.” Marge looked at Rock.

“So Marge had an idea,” Jack said, a grin across his face.

“Doesn’t she always?” Rock smiled back at Jack.

“Go ahead, Marge, tell the man,” Jack prompted her.

“Well, if it isn’t a mathematical equation, then I am led to believe we have to look at three other areas. The first would be chemical compositions,” Marge said, punching up a spreadsheet where she had started to track the variables relating to the data. “The next would be genetic information relative to all lifeforms, and the final one would be cosmic geography, so to speak.”

“What the hell do you mean by cosmic geography?” Rock asked.

“It would be like a road map where the ETs left a way to track their location to save their home planet,” Marge said.

“Aren’t we getting a bit ahead of ourselves?” Rock asked, scratching the back of his head and leaning against the table with his elbow. “I mean, ETs? More like an artifact of some sort of ancient civilization, wouldn’t it?”

“Who knows?” Jack said. “My money is on the roadmap, ET-phone-home kind of thinking.”

Marge nodded her head. “I’d agree with Jack or go with a chemical blueprint along the lines of the periodic element chart. You know, hydrogen, helium, and so on. The building blocks of all complex matter. This would be just as viable as a mathematical blueprint.”

“All three including the biological theory would be possible,” Jack said.

“So what’s the catch? I mean, what is the key to unlocking this code from the device?” Rock asked.

Marge and Jack looked at one another for a moment before Marge responded. “The primary issue would be how any information would be conveyed. The data itself could be clear and understandable to us, but not if the way it’s presented is confusing, and that is where we are at right now. No one understands how to interpret the data in order to fit it into a structure or language that would make sense to us.”

Rock leaned back, removing his elbow from the table and interlocking his fingers behind his head. “So would having a linguist on board be beneficial?”

“It could be,” Marge replied, “but it doesn’t mean there would be a break through if the language was, for example, mathematical instead of phonetic.”

“I can ask Mr. Smith for one of those linguistic experts from the academia crew if either of you two feel it’s worthwhile,” Rock said.

“They already have a large group working on that end of things, looking for a way to linguistically decode a mathematical code, not to mention all the processing power they have working the problem,” Jack replied.

“It seems our Mr. Smith has covered all their bases, then.” Rock nodded.

“All but these,” Jack said, nodding at Marge’s theories and spreadsheet on the data input. “I’m not so sure they know how to think out of the box.”

“Perhaps, but if anyone could apply logic to this, it would be you guys,” Rock said, smiling at his team members.

“Nice of you to say, Richard,” Marge responded formally. “I’d feel better if I knew which area to concentrate our efforts on. It’s hard enough working just one theory, much less three, and add to that the fact that we don’t know how the information is being conveyed, and we are as lost as the NSA.”

“For now,” Jack said, placing a hand on the laptop and tapping it lightly.

“I see your point,” Rock replied, looking up at the ceiling and letting out a long sigh. “Well, keep at it in your spare time. We’ll have another day and a half before we start getting busier, and I’ll need you both at the top of your game for the lunar mission.”

“If there will even be a mission,” Jack said.

“I doubt we’ll send them this far just to sit it out.” Rock nodded.

“Perhaps, but if the Chinese or Russians get ahold of the device first, there won’t be much to do on the surface except to inspect an empty box,” Marge said.

“I take it that was metaphorical?” Rock smiled at Marge.

Marge smiled back and started to work on the data from the laptop again. Jack looked at his boss for a moment before pulling out a notepad and jotting down a few ideas. Rock took this as a sign that their conversation was over, but he sat for a minute longer and watched his team at work. Marge looked up at him once and smiled. Rock returned the smile and then got up and returned to the control room. He’d leave in another hour or two, just in time to have a late dinner with Sally before catching a few hours of sleep and then getting up before dawn and returning to do the same routine all over again.

* * * * *

Crimson Glory Lander

Surface of the Moon

In the near future, Day 46

Hen Sing set his glove down beside him next to his helmet and took a deep breath. The entire area was now dark as he had powered down most of his equipment and turned off the exterior lights. It had taken a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the dark, but even on the far side of the moon, there was enough starlight shining on its surface for him to make out a few details.

He fingered the plastic cover for a moment and then flicked it open. The red button simply had the two Chinese characters on it for “interlock” and “override.” Sing closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. He had given his last reports on time despite the constant pain and waited for instructions.

He knew it was a one-way trip once he detached and landed. Well, one way in the sense that he had planned to return to the orbiter and place the alien device in one of its small equipment bays and then steer clear in his lander and watch the orbiter boost and return to earth without him. He figured he’d orbit the moon for decades before someone finally came to retrieve his body, and his coffin would lie in state, a hero to his country for his duty and sacrifice. What greater honor could he have hoped for?

Now he would die within kilometers of the prize, and it would all be in vain. Sing sighed again. Not just kilometers, but fifty-two of them, to be precise, now from the radar data fed to his console. He had really overshot his mark despite his best efforts.

He had recorded his final transmission to be sent to the orbiter once it passed overhead. He was finished, and a simple push of the interlocking override button would open the hatch on the lander, expelling his small atmosphere of nitrogen and oxygen onto the moon’s surface and exposing him to the vacuum of space. His death would be quick and the pain would be over. He didn’t want to focus on the humiliation of defeat and failure.

Just when he was about to press the button, he heard the faint call from mission control. It was Commander Hun Lee himself. “Do you copy, Colonel Sing?”

Sing moved his finger away from the override and keyed his mike. “Crimson Glory here. Repeat your message.”

“Can you monitor and report on the signal data from your lander? Is it functional?” Director Lee said, his voice full of static in the small cockpit of the lander.

“Affirmative, I can transmit the signal data to the orbiter for relay if you wish.” Sing thought for a moment. Could it be that his life may just have a few more days of usefulness to his beloved country? Could he redeem himself in some small way? What was the mission team thinking to keep him alive if not?

“Commence transmit and repeat data stream flow every ninety minutes. Confirm.”

“Confirming orders.” The military part of Sing’s mind took over. He pressed a series of buttons on his console to collect the data into several time packets, and then he pressed the transmit button on the communication’s console to encrypt and beam the information to the orbiter overhead.

Sing sighed and then made one final reach for the medical box mounted on the side of the wall. He could reach both sides from his seat, so he didn’t need to move. He could wiggle his toes, so he knew his spine was intact and perhaps hadn’t broken his back, but his legs were another matter. He could deal with broken legs with a little help.

In one motion, he brought out the vial of morphine and opened a new syringe. There were only three more left, so he’d have to reuse them, not that he worried about living long enough for infection to take over. He filled the syringe and then plunged it into his exposed wrist. The drug started to work instantly, giving his entire body a tingle at first and then slowly dulling out the pain that was throbbing from his legs.

Next time, he’d plunge the bloody needle into his neck if the pain continued to be this intense.

^{Chapter 24}

Russian Pride

Gordust Space Station

Low Moon Orbit

In the near future, Day 46

“Prepare for detaching,” Yuri commanded into the intercom radio system. “Detach now!” he said, a bit loudly considering the small confines of his command module.

Olga nodded at him and then checked the screen to obtain visual that the lander had separated from the rear of the space station. Well, space ship now, Yuri thought. The module viability display had gone from green to red, indicating the main station computer no longer was receiving data on the lander module.

“Detached, commencing systems check,” Gregori said, excitement in his voice, and why not? He and Ivan would be the first cosmonauts, if not humans, to land on the moon.

“Zvesda detached, delta v at minus one meter per minute,” Nikolai said, monitoring the lander from his own control console at the rear of the craft. Yuri and Olga would control the Gordust, Nikolai would be mission coordinator with support from Viktor, who had just returned from the refueling EVA and was changing his suit to the interior coveralls they usually wore. Ivan was piloting, and Gregori was in overall command of the lunar mission. Everything in order as planned, Yuri thought.

Olga looked at him sideways, and then Yuri nodded to the main communications radio. Olga flipped the frequency from intra-module to interstellar. “Vostonchy, this is Ruski Gordust. Lunar detachment complete, orbital insertion in ten minutes. Do you copy?”

The radio signal time delayed by a few seconds before a technician’s voice came over the speaker. “Copy, Gordust, proceed per schedule.”

The schedule packet had been uploaded thirty minutes earlier and was basically the same information Gregori had transmitted earth-side for approval. The lander would detach and land immediately without an orbital period to stabilize and plot a more accurate trajectory for the lander.

The landing was way riskier this way, but the lander had extra fuel onboard and could maneuver if necessary. In fact, Gregori was counting on this as part of their overall plan.

The radiation alarm activated with a loud whooping sound throughout the entire station, and several small red lights in various pods activated and started to blink.

“Turn that alarm off,” Yuri ordered, looking at Olga.

Olga reached over and deactivated the alarm. “Scared the hell out of me,” she said, giving Yuri a rare smile. Her hand shook ever so slightly after pressing the button to turn it off, and she clenched it into a fist and brought it down to her side.

“Check the readings to be sure they are still within nominal levels,” Yuri said, nodding and ignoring her display of anxiety.

“Gordust, this is Zvesda. What was that alarm?” Gregori asked.

Yuri flipped the mike. “Zvesda this is Gordust. The radiation alarm was triggered. Checking readings now.” He paused, his mike still open, and he looked to Olga, who was scanning the readout before she nodded. “Zvesda, all readings nominal, proceed.”

There was a very long pause before Commander Gregori responded. “Confirm the readings, Gordust.”

Yuri saw Olga give him one of those looks, the look that said: we screwed up. Yuri keyed the mike again. “Zvesda, this is Gordust, readings are nominal, I repeat, nominal. We failed to update the alarm trigger level after adding the additional shielding. Disregard and proceed with the landing.”

“Roger, Gordust, Zvesda proceeding.” Gregori sounded more content now that he knew the Gordust crew had simply failed to dial up the radiation threshold reading from the sensor. It had triggered the alarm at a low level that was normally used in cases of solar flares and usually intended to have the cosmonauts suit up to have a safer level of protection from cosmic radiation.

“Those readings are higher than we calculated, again by a factor of four,” Olga said, looking at her monitor.

“Well, we are arriving closer to the alien transmitter than our orbiter. We’d expect the signal to be stronger,” Yuri replied.

Olga nodded, her face, however, more serious. “Yes, but we are calculating a linear progression in signal strength, not an exponential one. Our readings should show the signal strength at twice the normal level, but it’s twice that again.”

Yuri thought for a moment and then he heard Nikolai’s voice come over the command frequency. “Zvesda, Commence braking.”

“Commencing braking now,” Gregori responded, only using the term Gordust when communicating with Yuri or Olga.

Yuri nodded to Olga, and she brought up the rear camera screen to show the video of the lander as it had dropped behind the Gordust by nearly three meters. The compressed oxygen on board was vented slightly from the lander toward the Gordust, slowing the lander’s relative velocity by a factor of ten.

“Initial braking complete,” Gregori said.

“Velocity now delta v at minus ten meters per minute, point-one-six meters per second.” Nikolai read out the rate of distance separation between the lander and the Gordust. This was very important as the two crafts needed a safe distance between them before the lander ignited its rocket motors to slow its decent and begin its landing on the moon. The slower speed would allow the force of the moon’s gravity to pull the craft toward itself as the inertia from the orbital velocity diminished.

Yuri thought about calling an abort so they could extrapolate the signal data and update their reading estimates of the planet’s surface, but he knew immediately that the lander commander wouldn’t agree. He had too much of that Spetsnaz in him to play it cautiously. No, he would land, and to hell with safety protocols or discreet caution. The mission was priority number one. Still, Yuri thought they should give them the option, so instead of calling for an abort, he keyed his mike to relay the data Olga had given him.

“Zvesda, this is Gordust,” Yuri said.

“Go ahead, Gordust.” Nikolai sounded annoyed.

“Be advised that the signal power readings here are two times our estimates, four times normal,” Yuri said into his mike.

Olga gave him another one of those looks, indicating that Yuri should be more forceful with his information, but Yuri had dealt with the Spetsnaz’s commando for several days and Gregori’s reply was not a surprise.

“Understood, Gordust,” Gregori said curtly. “Commencing with burn.”

“Burn in ten seconds,” Nikolai said, his monotone voice, devoid of emotions, sounding like a computer or disembodied soul.

Olga nodded at Yuri, indicating agreement. The Gordust had tried. Time to get to work. “Yuri, we’ll be entering orbit in five minutes. Any altitude adjustments?”

“Considering the signal strength, keep us on the higher side. I’d feel better having more distance between us and the device,” Yuri responded.

Olga nodded. “At least we have an entire row of extra shielding.”

Yuri looked out the side viewport at the stanchions holding the shielding panels out toward the moon. Each one looked like a solar panel, but they were made from lead and compressed carbon panels designed to prevent electromagnetic and atomic radiation from penetrating into the station’s interior. They were mounted on the left side only, thus the reason for the Gordust using a retrograde orbit of the moon. They needed to keep the panels between the ship and the surface.

The station also had shielding added to each pod, but weight was a consideration, so the engineers in Moscow came up with this hybrid idea. It made the Gordust look even uglier, and definitely not like a spaceship, but it was extremely effective. The Gordust would use its banked array set on top of the ship and mounted five meters overhead to visually and electronically monitor the progress of their lander.

“Commence burn,” Nikolai said.

The lander’s quad rocket motors, one at each corner of the craft, burned in unison, going through its localized supply of propellant. The effect was dramatic as the lander’s relative velocity was suddenly arrested and the craft began to fall toward the moon’s surface as its rate of speed decreased.

Gregori was reckless enough to even have Ivan calculate a surface-oriented burn to increase the rate of closure from the craft to the moon. Normally, any sane space program would never have a procedure to vector a burn toward a planetary body—gravity would fulfill that purpose—but the lander and Gordust had extra fuel, and Gregori was using every advantage to get to the surface as quickly as possible.

“Crossing the terminator,” Olga indicated as the Gordust started to turn its trajectory into an orbital one and cross from the open sunlit area into the shadow and dark side of the moon.

“Vostochny Control, this is Gordust, over,” Yuri said.

“Gordust, this is Vostochny Control, go ahead.”

“We are commencing blackout operations. The lander has initiated braking burn maneuver and is on schedule for lunar contact,” Yuri said, directing his communications into the long-range radio array.

“Copy, Gordust, convey luck and success to Zvesda. See you on the other side,” the technician’s voice sounded confident enough.

“Ready port lateral burn in ten seconds,” Olga said, referring to a small thruster burn toward the moon to keep the orbit at a higher inclination than what it was currently entering.

“Ready,” Yuri responded, bringing up his own screen’s video display of the Zvesda, now a brightly glowing ball of flames as the rocket motors lit up his view screen.

Yuri heard Nikolai’s voice again, calm and monotonous. “V level passing ninety-five kilometers.”

Olga looked at Yuri. “He’s really going in hot.”

Yuri reviewed the flight radar data as it was overlaid onto the video feed of the lander. “It’s well within his flight’s planned profile, aggressive though it was.”

Something that looked like a falling star streaked by to his right, passing the Gordust so fast that Yuri wondered if he really saw what he thought he saw. “Did you see that, Olga?”

“Da, Yuri, that was the Glaza passing us,” she said, referring to the reconnaissance orbiter passing their station in the opposite direction but twenty kilometers higher in altitude.

Yuri felt he should have remembered their orbiter, but so focused was he on the lander’s progress as well as their own orbital insertion procedure that he had blocked that out from his mind. The craft became dark as the moon eclipsed the sun, and the glow of the instrument panel lit the interior of the cockpit brightly.

The moon began its pull on the ship, curving its flight path around itself, and the gentle push of the lateral rocket motors assisted the Gordust in keeping it at a higher orbit. Radar data began to come back as they tracked the lander and looked for the Chinese ship as well.

“I’ve got the data packet from the Glaza. Downloading it to your screen now,” Olga said, punching in the commands to place the info on Yuri’s desktop.

Yuri opened the file and found the mapping program. “Where is it?” he said.

“What are you looking for?” Olga asked, bringing up the same file on her screen.

“The Chinese lander, is it on the surface or did we beat them to the target?”

“There is no heat signature near the alien device other than the device itself,” Olga said. “I think the intel we received was faulty. It doesn’t look like the Chinese landed.”

“Zvesda, this is Gordust, over,” Yuri said into his mike.

“Gordust, this is Zvesda, go ahead,” came Gregori’s voice

“Zvesda, be advised there is no sign of activity at the target. Repeat no sign of activity at the target. You are in the clear.”

“Copy, Gordust, Zvesda is in the clear, ETA to target sixteen minutes.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Olga said. “The recon orbiter reported the Chinese lander had detached.”

Yuri widened the map field and started to look around the area. First in the ten square kilometers field and then further until he saw a small red dot far to the west of the device as seen from their overhead viewpoint. “There he is. He is well off target, at least fifty kilometers or so. What do you think they are up to?”

“I have no idea, Yuri,” Olga responded. “Maybe he has a rover or something to approach the target from a safe distance?”

“Perhaps. Did Moscow, er, I mean, Vostochny receive this data packet?”

As soon as they did, or maybe a few seconds later, Olga winked at Yuri, and Yuri thought the gesture was so foreign to her that he just stared for a moment. “You all right, Yuri?”

“Fine, I’m just not making sense of their actions. It doesn’t matter. If they haven’t approached the target, then we get there first and that is all that matters,” Yuri said.

They traveled on in silence, watching the minutes go by as they quickly led the Zvesda ship since their speed never decreased. They passed the longitude divide and began their journey back around the far side of the moon.

“Gordust, this is Zvesda, we have landed,” Gregori’s voice came through the system.

“Yuri, they are within five hundred meters of the target,” Nikolai said from his rear command seat.

“Copy, Nikolai. Gordust to Zvesda, confirmation received. You have landed near target. Will relay data to Central Control. Job well done,” Yuri said.

“Oh my God, look at the internal temperature reading of the Zvesda,” Olga said, pointing to the main screen that they shared between them.

Yuri tapped the screen twice. “Thirty-four degrees Celsius and rising. That can’t be correct. They are in the shade. The temperature should be falling, not rising.”

“Zvesda, shut down your heating element,” Nikolai’s voice came across the channel, no longer sounding calm.

The reply was filled with static and hard to hear, but Yuri could make out Gregori’s voice, triumphant over the interference. “Zvesda copy. Heating element shut down. Running a systems diagnostic now.”

Yuri watched in fascination as the internal bio data from the lander displayed its readouts across their screens. The temperature stabilized for several minutes and then began to climb again, albeit at a slower rate than before.

Gregori’s voice broke the silence. “All systems check. We are preparing to go EV.”

“Negative, Zvesda,” Yuri said into his mike, anxiety and dread in his voice. “Stay in the lander and prepare to lift off on my command.”

There was a long period of silence before Gregori’s response. “Nyet, Yuri, we are going to the device now.”

“Damn the man, isn’t he reading their temperature readout?” Yuri asked rhetorically, clicking on the internal channel. “Nikolai, can Gregori and Ivan see their bio readouts?”

“Affirmative, speculate it’s the radiative heating from Zvesda’s landing rockets,” Nikolai responded.

“Negative, Nikolai, this is not possible in the shade of the moon. The ship should be getting cooler, not hotter. There is a problem with their internal heater. We need to get them out of there.”

There was no time to respond. The Gordust suddenly crossed the terminator and into the bright glow of the sun again after a mere forty minutes of crossing the dark side of the moon. They were quickly losing radio and telemetry data on the lander and their target.

“We’ll have to wait till we come around again,” Olga said, leaning over to switch the screen mode to lock so that their last reading would be saved and compared to the new one when they reacquired contact again in fifty minutes.

“Contact Vostochny,” Yuri commanded Olga. “Inform them we have landed on target.”

^{Chapter 25}

Nuclear

Bridge, USS Berkshire

Fifteen miles off the coast of China

In the near future, Day 46

Captain Hansen watched as the Chinese rocket disappeared from sight, flying over them in a southerly direction.

“Not exactly discreet, that launch, was it, sir?” his second in command, Lt. Commander Jensen, said, lowering his binoculars.

“No, it wasn’t,” Hansen said, also letting his binoculars rest on his chest and looking north at the spy trawler they were shadowing. “The Orca didn’t need to be this close to observe that launch.”

“Why do you think they just launched one of their rockets right over our fleet?” Jensen asked.

“I don’t know, but I got a bad feeling we’re about to find out. Get the admiral on the phone; he’ll need to know about this.”

“What about Washington?”

“The Orca is probably transmitting everything even now. They already know,” Hansen said, looking north at the small ship as it bobbed up and down in the rough seas, still flanked by a pair of Chinese naval frigates.

“God help us,” was all his second said, walking back to the bridge to relay the orders.

“Indeed,” Hansen muttered under his breath.

* * * * *

White House

Washington D.C.

In the near future, Day 46

“Do you want the bad news or the really bad news?” Director Rose said, closing a folder in front of him and looking at the president from across the conference table.

“You’re kidding?” President Powers said, leaning her head against her hand and gently rubbing the scar on the side of her forehead.

“I’m afraid not, Gloria. This is why we convened the emergency meeting,” Director Rose said.

“I know, I’m just not sure we’re going to get out of this unscathed by the time the dust settles. Go ahead, let me have it in order, then.”

The rest of the executive staff leaned forward to listen intently to the Director of National Security as he put his glasses on and straightened the single page of paper on his desk. “As of 0400 hours this morning, we have tentative confirmation from our HUMINT asset in Russia that their cosmonaut team has successfully landed on target and not only on time, but earlier than anticipated.”

Several sighs and even a groan from one of the Joint Chiefs of Staff were heard as everyone waited for the president to respond. “I take it this is the bad news?” Powers said, her tone even.

“Yes, it would appear that we are going to be a day late and a quarter of a million miles short. Sorry to break it to you, but we knew this was most likely going to happen considering our past failure,” Rose said.

Powers finished rubbing her head and looked around the table before her eyes settled on Rose. “I’m dreading to find out what could be worse than this.”

Her National Security Director took his glasses off and looked the president straight in the eye. “Around the same time, we have confirmation that the Chinese launched a nuclear warhead from their Wancheng space base using a southern polar orbit toward the moon. It will arrive in just over thirty-six hours.”

The noise of various staff members felt overwhelming to her, and the president lifted her hand, waving it for silence. The room quickly came to a low hush as the initial shock of the news permeated throughout the executive staff.

“David,” the president addressed her National Security Chief, “is the destination of the Chinese warhead the alien device?”

“We have no way to know as we have no HUMINT on the matter, but our SIGINT and ELINT indicate that this is a high probability.” The man nodded, pulled out a handkerchief, and started to clean his glasses.

“How is this possible, only thirty-six hours?” the president’s Chief of Staff asked.

“We don’t know for sure. Has your team analyzed the track and trajectory of their latest launch?” Rose asked the lead science advisor sitting at the far end of the large table.

“Yes, the delta v,” he started and then stopped, looking into several confused faces. “The speed of the rocket is much higher than any normal acceleration. This would indicate that there are no pilots on the payload, and they were able to sustain a much higher G-force escape velocity, thereby cutting the trip time to the moon by nearly half.”

“But why a southern polar orbit?” the president’s chief personal advisor asked.

“To keep the rocket as far from U.S. territory as possible, either to avoid detection or to ensure that it couldn’t be shot down, or worse, mistaken for a nuclear missile launch against us.” Rose nodded.

“Well, it wasn’t to avoid detection. They flew the bird right over our Seventh Fleet in plain sight,” the naval chief of staff said.

President Powers sighed and looked from her science advisor to the Joint Chiefs of Staff and then back to Rose. “Just give me the impact statement. What are we looking at?”

Director Rose put his glasses back on and looked down at his paper. “Temporal separation is just over fourteen hours.”

“In layman’s terms,” one of the personal advisors asked from near his seat by the president.

“It means the warhead will arrive on target about fourteen hours after our astronauts arrive. May as well just bring them home.”

“So the landing would be aborted?” the Chief of Staff asked.

“Yes,” Rose said, looking at his president.

There was a long pause while Powers thought for a moment. “Notify NASA, keep the mission viable. Have them report once we reach the moon, and someone get Vice President Lee on the phone.”

The room became a beehive of activity as everyone stood and left, leaving Rose and Powers alone, aside from the two Secret Service agents near the door.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Gloria?” Rose asked.

“I don’t know, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let the Chinese run us off with an atomic bomb.”

“Hydrogen, actually, or so our experts indicate in the report,” Rose said.

Powers looked at him cross-eyed. “Bomb or no bomb, we’re going. Just make sure NASA is informed and they know how much time they have when they arrive. Any luck getting through to Moscow?”

“No, we keep getting the usual response. The Russian president is dealing with their internal crisis and can’t accept a call right now. I think they’re using it as cover to buy themselves time while they retrieve the alien device.”

“Perhaps,” Powers said, letting out a long breath of air. “Call them again and let whoever answers know about the Chinese nuke.”

“Are you sure we want to share that information?”

“Absolutely sure. If nothing else, it’ll get their attention.”

“I’m damn sure it will,” Rose said, standing to leave. “It may do a few other things that may not be so pleasant for all of us.”

“Just do it and see to it that NASA is notified.”

“Yes, Madam President,” Rose said as he was about to leave the room.

“One more thing while we’re at it,” Power said.

“Yes?”

“Order us to DEFCON One.”

“Yes, Madam President, DEFCON One.”

“God help us,” muttered President Powers under her breath.

* * * * *

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 46

“A goddamn what?” Tom said, half standing from his chair in the conference room just off the main control center floor.

“An atomic bomb,” Rock said.

“Hydrogen, actually,” Mr. Smith corrected.

“Whatever,” Tom said, clearly flustered.

“Well, how will this affect Craig and Julie?” Lisa asked, picking her pen back up and looking directly at Rock.

“We’ll have to get them to the surface and back in less than twelve hours from what I’m reading,” Rock said, referring to his notes from his private meeting with Mr. Smith and the vice president not more than thirty minutes prior.

“Can you still perform the complex landing?” Mr. Smith asked from where he stood near the door next to Mrs. Brown, not wanting to interfere with their discussion but definitely wishing to monitor it.

“Marge?” Rock asked.

“It’s going to be awfully close, Rock. You sure you want to risk their lives on this?”

“Not my call, Marge. The president ordered the mission to continue, right?” He nodded to Mr. Smith, who returned the nod.

“Surely they would call it off if it risked their lives, wouldn’t they?” Lisa asked. Jack nodded in agreement as well.

Rock looked at Mr. Smith, who just shrugged. “I don’t know what the president is willing to risk, but I think Craig and Julie need to know what they’re up against. We need to inform them.”

“What’s the difference if the Ruskis already landed?” Tom asked.

“Well, we’ll have to make a determination on that once we circle the moon. First let’s get into orbit and then make the call,” Rock said.

“Richard, the orbital inclination won’t take Blackjack over the device. We’ll be blind, literally, until and unless we land,” Marge stated.

“Is it too late to change the orbit to a normal one?” Mr. Smith asked uncharacteristically.

Everyone looked at the man before Rock answered. “Yes, it’s too late. We’ve already burned most of our maneuvering fuel to reach the lunar orbit once they reach the moon, but that’s not the only issue. Tell him, Marge.”

Marge looked back to Rock for a second before returning her gaze to their oversight leader. “If our calculations are correct, then any prolonged exposure to the emissions emanating from the device will have catastrophic if not fatal consequences to both crew and equipment. The reading levels are not linear and instead rise at a stepped exponential ratio, becoming strongest at the point of broadcast.”

This was a bit much for Mrs. Brown, who lowered her tablet and returned the intense look they were receiving from the NASA team. “What do you mean and how does this affect the mission?” she said.

Jack leaned forward, returning the glare. “What Marge is saying is that anyone or anything that stays in close proximity to that thing up there is going to get fried. Do you understand that?”

“Yeah, do you?” Tom added.

“Calm down, you two.” Rock motioned with his hands to get his team’s attention.

This did not deter the NSA woman. “Then what was the purpose of the shielding? Why won’t that protect the ship and crew?”

Rock looked to Marge, indicating she should continue. “The shielding does work and is essential, but it’s not the entire story. The gamut of signals coming from the device include all spectrums, from the longest wavelengths to the shortest, and they include microwaves.”

“As in microwave ovens?” Mrs. Brown asked.

“Yes,” Jack jumped in, “but we call them microwaves only because they are considerably smaller compared to radio waves, but technically they are much larger than the smallest waves, light waves, x-rays, and gamma rays, for example.”

“So? What does this have to do with frying things and people?” Mrs. Brown retorted, her voice sounding flustered as it was obvious she wasn’t accustomed to not knowing things and this took her out of her comfort level.

“Well, we have a theory on all of these waves,” Rock said, motioning and looking at Marge.

Jack leaned back, allowing Marge to continue. “We first discovered these signals’ source when the neutrino detector lit up like a Christmas tree. If you don’t know, physics describe neutrinos as literally having no mass and therefore capable of passing right through solid bodies, including entire planets.”

“And?” Mr. Smith said, allowing for his companion to catch her breath.

“Our theory works when we take the entire spectrum of emission waves and piggyback them on a master neutrino wave. They are intermittently introduced into normal space as the neutrino wave propagates outward from the device,” Marge said.

Smith looked at Brown. “Are you getting this?”

Brown looked down at her tablet and started typing away, answering without looking at Smith. “Don’t wait for me, go on.”

Smith looked back to Marge. “So why the shielding again?”

“The shielding,” Marge began, “works to prevent the spectrum of waves from directly entering the protected or shielded space. Normal physics still work fine, as does the preventative properties of the shielding. However, once the waves are released from the propagated neutrino wave, they begin their journey from that specific point, even if it’s inside a space ship.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, “once they begin inside a special compartment, they bounce around, and the shielding on the craft actually keeps them inside the ship, preventing them from escaping. Preventing all waves from escaping dependent on the shielding type and efficiency.”

Smith looked back to Brown to make sure she was getting all this before addressing Rock’s group. “Why didn’t you notify me earlier?”

“We just came up with this theory late last night and wanted to test it first,” Rock said.

“You should have told us earlier,” Smith pressed his point.

“Well, we’re telling you now, Mr. Spook,” Tom said, his tone one full of disdain.

Smith ignored the man. “What will it do to our ship?”

“In a polar orbit where our orbiter won’t fly over the device directly, it will minimize the impact, but the lander, as it gets closer, will feel the effects of the piggyback propagation,” Rock said.

“I thought the moon itself was supposed to block these dangerous waves,” Brown said without looking up from her tablet.

“Well, the moon will block the direct propagation of the waves, but not the ones that are piggybacked,” Marge said. “In fact, the larger the interior space, the worse the effects of any piggybacked waves after they drop into our dimensional space.”

“So why didn’t the Russians detect this with their orbiter? Do you think they were able to withhold this data from us?” Smith asked, his face conveying a scowl now matching Tom’s at the mere mention of the Russians.

“No, they probably didn’t know because their orbiter has no internal space or compartments that are worthy of note,” Marge continued. “It’s just equipment packed together, and at most, the internal computers and other electronic equipment may have run hotter than normal, but not enough to inform them of this theory. They would most likely interpret the data as a lack of efficiency in their electronic coolers and heat sinks.”

Mr. Smith looked at Brown for a moment and then back to Rock’s group before speaking his next words very carefully. “What does this mean for the Russians?”

Marge looked to Rock and gave a slight nod for him to continue. Rock took a deep breath and looked at Smith in the eye before answering. “It means the Russians are in serious danger if our theory is correct.”

“And what do you think your chances are of being correct?” Smith asked.

Rock looked at Marge and nodded. “With Marge and Jack proffering the theory, I’d bet money that they are right.”

Smith rubbed his chin and made one last response. “Then the Russians are in trouble.”

“Big trouble,” Rock said.

“About damn time,” Tom finished.

^{Chapter 26}

Microwaves

Gordust Space Station

Low Moon Orbit

In the near future, Day 47

“We’re in trouble down there,” Nikolai said via the intercom system as the Gordust made its seventh orbit of the moon.

“Pulling up the infrared again,” Olga said, flipping a switch and activating the FLIR, Forward Looking Infrared, camera mounted on a mast high above the ship.

Yuri looked and didn’t need to ask for the last reading to be brought up and overlaid on their shared screen to know that his two comrades hadn’t moved the last two orbits. “Olga, make sure this visual data is sent along with the radar signal and other data on our next communications window.”

It was a meaningless order. Olga would do this the same as she had the last six orbits, but it made Yuri feel better to vocalize something after seeing their comrades unmoving on the surface. Gregori lay near the alien device, his infrared readings now cooling as he lost what remained of his body heat. Ivan had managed to get back to the lander and strap himself in, but hadn’t moved since then.

“Thermal readouts are cooling for both cosmonauts,” Nikolai said, his voice barely audible.

“Understood. Let’s keep collecting data for Vostochny,” Yuri commented, trying to get the man’s attention and focus back onto something productive.

With the mike closed, Olga leaned over and whispered to Yuri, “What happened down there?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, though I’d say the thermal readings are playing a major role in all this. What are we at now?” Yuri asked, looking at their screen again.

Olga swiped away the infrared and brought up a schematic of the Gordust, color-coded for heat readings. “We’re up by over four degrees Celsius so far, from twenty-two to twenty-six.”

Yuri nodded and reflectively grabbed his small towel and wiped his brow for the umpteenth time that day. “Are the radiation levels increasing?”

“Nyet,” Olga said, looking at a separate readout on her personal console monitor. “Those have stabilized at elevated levels but within normal operating parameters.”

“Viktor wants to EVA again and do a visual on the lower heat sinks and lateral radiative fins,” Nikolai said over the system, breaking the command’s crew private conversation.

“Negative, we know our cooling system is working properly. This has a different root cause. Run another scan of the receivers. Let’s see if we’re missing something,” Yuri said.

The first few orbits had been promising despite their issues. Gregori and Ivan had prepped to make a moon walk, and indeed, the video showed them stepping down onto the moon’s surface, the first Russians to perform that feat in history. They managed to send the video feed and pictures to Vostochny for confirmation, and things looked promising. Then came the failures.

The first system to go was the communications module on board the lander. The monitoring system showed the internal temperature of the lander increasing dramatically, and the cooling fans for the electrical equipment couldn’t keep up. The microprocessors overheated and started to fail.

Nikolai was brilliant as he improvised and used a powerful lighting mechanism to pulse and send an equivalent of a Russian Morse code to the surface when communications were gone. Ivan had read the code and responded by pulsating the overhead navigation beacon in reply. The Morse message from the surface was that Gregori was attempting to use the cutting blade on their circular portable saw to cut the prongs holding the white stone in place atop the black obelisk-sized mount that it was sitting on. Yuri was amazed at the man’s determination to secure the object and return to the lander for lift off.

Then the lighting on board Zvesda failed and all communications were lost. The Gordust could only orbit and watch on infrared as the men worked below them. Yuri had requested that they abort more than once, but each time Gregori had overruled him. As mission commander on the surface, he had that right. Yuri disagreed, knowing that they had a spare fuel pod at the rear of the Gordust and could refuel the lander and return to the surface when they had a better handle on what was happening with their thermal readings, but paranoia ruled the surface mission leader and he was fixated on accomplishing the mission before the Chinese could get there.

That was two orbits ago. Since that time, there had been no movement, and this pass it was obvious that their bodies were cooling; however, Ivan’s was doing so at a slower rate because he was in the closed lander which had now reached sixty degrees Celsius, at the low end of a baking oven. At that temperature, Yuri understood that no electronic equipment would operate without immense cooling systems in place, and the lander just didn’t have that capability.

“How long are we going to stay here?” Olga asked without looking up, continuing to pull data from various collection systems and compile them into a single compressed file for transmission to earth once they cleared the dark side of the moon.

“Probably until Vostochny orders us to burn back,” Yuri said. “I’d prefer to stay as long as possible until we can ascertain what is happening to our craft. Is the recon orbiter still nominal?”

“If you’re referring to the temperature readouts, then yes, it has barely registered the elevated readings that we have,” Olga said, reviewing the latest data from their reconnaissance satellite.

“Any sign of movement from our Chinese counterpart?”

Olga punched up the rear camera and brought the image up on their screen. “Nothing different. The man seems to be on vacation down there. Hasn’t left his lander from what we can tell. No heat traces anywhere near their craft. They are having him sit tight for now.”

“I wonder if they know something we don’t,” Yuri said.

“Like what?” Olga asked.

“Maybe they registered something that we missed when they attempted to land and they aborted, having their lander touchdown farther downrange.”

“All right, but then what? Sit and do nothing?”

“Well, it looked like the craft suffered some type of structural failure. He may be stranded down there, unable to take off again,” Yuri said.

“That would explain a lot. The FLIR did seem to show the craft on its side, or at least tilting heavily. It would appear that we aren’t the only ones having problems here.”

“Agreed. Get the latest data packet ready and let’s see what they want us to do up here.”

“Affirmative,” Olga replied, readying their communications packet.

* * * * *

Vostochny Cosmodrome

Siberia, Russia

In the near future, Day 47

“Understood. Yes, fine. Have him call me in the morning, then, when he awakens. Yes, we’ll be sure to do that. Thank you. Goodbye.” Vlad hung up the phone and looked up at his team in their ad hoc control center room at the Vostochny space base.

“Well?” Alex asked from his seat near the window, taking a sip of coffee from his cup nearby.

“Minister Osnokov will be fine. He’s still heavily sedated, but they will bring him in the morning so he can join us on our next command meeting,” Vlad said, getting up and walking over to the large windows overlooking the base’s main complex, the launch towers visible in the far distance.

Several large tanks were moving past the building, taking up positions at the edge of the base’s perimeter. “I see that our military at least is still functioning,” Alex said, watching as well from his perch near the glass windows.

“How long will they be here?” Irina asked, also looking out the windows at the large military presence that started a couple of days earlier.

“As long as it takes,” Vlad answered, pulling himself away from the window and taking a seat facing their main display panel, pushing his own coffee cup away. “The Gordust wants confirmation of their orders now that we’ve had no movement on the surface for over three hours. Moscow has set up a new command and control center at the Kremlin, and we’ll be working with them for the foreseeable future. What I want to know right now is if there is any reason why we can’t have the Gordust continue to orbit?”

“I’ve said this before,” Yosef said, looking around the table, “the cooling systems can handle the current load as long as it doesn’t exceed fifty degrees inside.” He twirled his cup around, moving it from side to side almost absentmindedly.

“What happens after that?” Irina asked, taking a bit of unusual interest in their operations, and Vlad gave her a sidelong glance.

“Well,” Yosef continued, “the same thing that probably happened to Zvesda. Systems will start to fail based on how fragile or robust their individual components are and how effective their individual cooling systems function.”

“We need to find a cause,” Vlad said, also looking around the table at his team. “I can’t speak for what Moscow had in mind with our cosmonauts on the surface, but it appears their mission resulted in catastrophic failure. If we’re to avoid the same fate a second time, we need to know what we’re dealing with.”

“Will we have a second chance?” Alex asked. “From our latest report, the Chinese are already on the surface and the Americans are almost to the moon. We have no lander ready.”

Vlad looked across the landscape at the launch tower where a newly erected Energia rocket stood ready for fueling. It only lacked a specific payload, and they had none. It wasn’t like a fully functioning lunar lander could be built from scratch in only a few days, much less weeks. They had not planned on having their one and only lander stranded on the surface of the moon. “I don’t know, Aleksey. Perhaps Moscow has a plan, but for now we celebrate our current successes,” Vlad said.

The landings on the moon were broadcast nationwide, indeed worldwide, and the video was repeated over and over on state channels as experts chimed in its historical significance. Only recently did the announcers explain that the lander was experiencing communication difficulties even though the entire mission command teams in both Moscow and Vostochny now knew the fate of their cosmonauts.

Yosef took a sip of his coffee and frowned. “Cold coffee doesn’t sit well with me.”

“I’ll heat it up for you,” Irina said, taking his cup and walking to the break room just off the main observation room where Vlad had dined with Dmitry weeks earlier.

“Should we run another scan of the cooling systems?” Alex asked.

“No, I told you, they are not the problem, and the Gordust has also checked them twice. It isn’t a lack of cooling, but rather something actively heating our craft,” Yosef said.

Vlad got up and walked to the window, looking out again. After a few seconds, he sat down at the table, putting his chin in his hands after setting his elbows on the table. The men sat in silence for a moment, lost in contemplation of their current dilemma.

The silence was broken by a lone tone of an electronic bell indicating that Irina had finished heating Yosef’s coffee. Her clacking of high heels could be heard as she approached and became visible as she entered the room, approaching Yosef from behind and gently placing the cup of reheated coffee in front of the man.

The cup steamed, and Vlad sat upright, looking at Yosef and then Alex in turn as both the other men stared at the cup of coffee.

It was Alex who broke the silence. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, eyes finally looking away from the coffee and directly at Vlad.

“You don’t think it could be that simple, do you?” Vlad voiced his thought as he stood completely upright.

“Bozhe moi. God help us,” Yosef said, taking his cup and feeling the heat.

Vlad looked at Irina. “Get our coms back up with the Gordust and get the Kremlin on the line immediately.”

“What? Why? Did something happen?” she asked, her face a look of confusion.

“We know what’s causing the heating of the Gordust and most likely the failure of the lander on the surface. We need to warn them immediately,” Vlad said.

Yosef pushed his steaming coffee away from him in disgust, and no one drank more that day.

^{Chapter 27}

America Returns

Apollo 21

On approach to the Moon

In the near future, Day 47

“Roger, Houston, over and out,” Julie Monroe said, switching off the communications channel and looking at Craig as the moon loomed in front of them, nearly fully lit and breathtakingly awesome to behold.

“Well, that’s just freaking great,” Craig complained, looking forward at his Heads-Up-Display, or HUD. “I guess it’ll prevent me from having to get that surgery.”

“What are you talking about?” Julie asked, continuing to look at her companion.

“Well, I’ll just fry my nuts out here and become sterile, no need to get a vasectomy. It’s not like we wanted more kids, but I’d prefer to have kept the family jewels intact a bit longer.”

Julie chuckled, realizing that there wasn’t anything mission related to worry about, though Craig’s face refused to convey a smile or any other indication that he was joking or speaking lightheartedly about the subject. “That’s just one issue, Craig. We still need to work out the ballistic trajectory once we loop across the South Pole. Besides, at least they had the courtesy to ask us if we wanted to continue with the mission profile or abort.”

“Hardly a legitimate question, Julie,” Craig shot back, finally looking at her and taking his eyes from the HUD where their navigation data was being projected. “What else were we supposed to say? No, sorry, we’ll just loop around the moon and tuck our tails and run home? Just let the entire nation down?”

“They would have understood if we made that decision,” Julie said, her voice calmer and softer. “I mean, it’s not like every day that you find yourself being chased by a nuclear warhead.”

“Oh yeah, and that’s another thing. What good is this blasted piece of alien technology if it starts a bloody, global, thermonuclear war?” Craig asked.

Julie looked back at her radar scope and then up at her own HUD before responding. “That’s above our paygrade. Let’s just focus on the mission. Can you fly this thing to the surface or not?”

“I’ll take us there just fine,” Craig said. “You just make sure to get us in and out before that warhead arrives.”

Julie clicked on the systems status screen and checked yet again the power levels for their lunar rover. “I hope this thing operates at its maximum speed.”

“I’m not worried about our rover,” Craig said, disdain never leaving his voice. “I’m worried that the warhead will be accelerating and our mission window will shrink with us learning about this too late.”

“Yes, that would definitely rain on our parade,” Julie said, satisfied that the rover would be operational when they landed. “Have you compensated for the adjusted flight profile?”

Craig looked his readings out and nodded. “Yeah, we can burn enough to land closer and lengthen our temporal window, though the radiation levels will be higher than I’d like. Probably roast my balls but good before we land.

Julie knew that Craig was referring to the exposed piloting position on the lander once they approached the site. The lander wasn’t designed to have extensive shielding since it wasn’t supposed to approach the alien device this closely. They saved the weight of the shielding and used it for more fuel and a more robust rover package. Now they were being asked to land much closer and risk a much higher rate of radiation until they could land and be somewhat shielded by the lip of the crater near the device.

“Well, it’s not like I’m wanting this kind of exposure either, Craig,” Julie commented. “It will, however, shorten our mission time and allow us to land and return with something of a safety margin.”

“If you can ever have a safety margin when an impending atomic blast is imminent. Get the mini-sats ready for launch,” Craig said.

“They’re ready and on auto release once we reach the insertion point,” Julie said.

“Good, I’m glad our engineers rigged something up to keep us in communications while on the far side,” Craig said.

“Agreed. Are we ready for orbital insertion burn?” Julie asked, all back to business-like.

“We’re ready. Run the systems check and inform Houston. Let’s get this over with,” Craig responded.

* * * * *

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 47

“We’ve received acknowledgement that all systems are a go for lunar orbital insertion,” Lisa said from her console back in NASA’s control center. “Also, the mini communications satellites have detached and commenced their insertion burns as well.”

Rock nodded and watched the timer countdown from its display on the main screen. They would only have one shot at the proper insertion and then separation of the lander as they looped around the South Pole. Being off by even a fraction of a degree could translate to over a hundred miles off target once they came back around.

The news that both small communication satellites had also detached and successfully started their own orbital insertion burns was comforting for Rock. He had both Tom and Jeff working overtime to get the mini-birds ready as part of his mission support so that they could stay in touch with the landing team even while on the dark side of the moon.

Tom winked at Rock when he looked his way. Rock knew Tom was also pleased at the result.

Rock keyed his mike. “Are the insertion tracks on target, Tom?”

“Oh yeah, boss. We’re five by five on my little birds. They’ll be exactly where we promised them, don’t you fret none,” Tom said, a smile across his face.

Rock nodded yet again and switched over to the main communications channel with a slight glance to the observatory room perched behind him and one floor up. He couldn’t see there well, but was sure that the vice president was watching them live even now. “Houston to Blackjack, you are a go for deceleration burn in t-minus twenty seconds.”

“Roger, Houston, Blackjack is ready for burn, countdown in t-minus fifteen seconds.” Rock recognized Craig’s voice.

“Normal two-point-five second lag, Richard,” Lisa said, coming across their semi-private communications channel.

“Copy that, Lisa, just keep the radar active and up to date. I want to know the minute anything looks funky,” Rock said.

The team watched, and heard, as Craig counted down, finally hitting the ignition commands on their console and firing their braking motors to insert the Apollo 21 craft into a lunar orbit.

The radar track showed them looping and disappearing from sight as they crossed the North Pole and downward behind the moon.

“Acquiring audio signal now,” Jack came across the main channel.

“Houston, this is Blackjack, communications check, over,” Julie’s voice asked as it was bounced from their ship to earth via the portside communications satellite that was on the far west side of the moon. Just before it went behind the moon in a highly elliptic orbit, the other mini satellite would pop out from its orbit and be within the line of sight of earth and the far side of the moon at the same time. The orbital dance of the two satellites would play out like this for the next twelve hours before the gap in their orbital speeds became noticeable, and they would experience increasing periods of communication’s blackouts.

“Read you loud and clear,” Jack said. “Data feed also arriving intact.” This last reference was to the digital feed of data from the Apollo 21 ship, which included radar determination of their altitude, speed, and other various onboard system statuses.

After twenty minutes the craft began to pass the equator and fly over the southern hemisphere of the moon. “Crossing equatorial plane now,” Julie’s voice said.

“Roger, Blackjack, flight data is nominal, trajectory optimal, all systems go.” Jack continued his readout every two minutes.

“This is where we see if our calculations are correct.” Marge’s voice came across Rock’s headset on the private channel.

“I’m sure we’ll do fine. How’s the track on the Chinese missile?” Rock asked.

Marge looked at her console and then back to Rock’s. “It’s on target, and most importantly, the ETA has remained the same, t-minus ten hours, fifty-two minutes. I think we can dial that one in now.”

“Roger that, keep an eye on it, though. You never know if it has a booster pack ready to give it a bit of a push as it gets closer,” Rock said.

“Will do,” Marge replied.

Nearly fifteen more minutes had passed and the Apollo crew had gone through their checklist with Houston. Jack was the lead communications technician for the mission, but they had verified it through Lisa.

“Houston, this is Blackjack, we are ready for detachment and zero v burn. Confirm the mark.”

Rock nodded at Jack, taking the lead now for the most critical part of the mission. “Roger, Blackjack, you are ready for detaching in t-minus one minute. Standby for landing burn.”

The latest time went down to zero, and the landing craft detached. Jack jumped in to update the communication’s status. “We have direct coms and video feed on you now, Blackjack.”

“Roger, Houston, we have successfully detached. Commencing burn in three, two, one, burn.” Craig’s voice counted down.

The picture on the monitor showed the lander burn, its outward thruster first to lower it below the flight path of the orbiter so that when the powerful rocket motors initiated their burn and slowed the lander, the orbiter didn’t plow into it. Instead the feed showed the orbiter suddenly seem to accelerate and fly right over the lander and quickly out of sight.

“We are on track. Radar confirms altitude at plus seventy-eight miles and dropping,” Craig said.

“Keep them on radar,” Rock said, flipping his coms channel to the mission team. Everyone had heard his orders, and Jack and Marge nodded.

The sidebar on the main screen showed the lander falling until it reached an altitude of forty-seven miles and the relative velocity had literally come to zero on the lateral scale, but the ship was falling quickly.

“Gyro burn now, Houston,” Craig called out, indicating that their many positioning thrusters had turned the ship from a rear-first approach and tilted the bottom of the craft to a forty-five-degree angle facing to the west as the craft would use the very slight rotation of the moon to approach the alien device from the retrograde side, much the same as the Russian space ship station.

“Here’s where you earn your pay, Tom,” Rock said, flipping the team channel again. “Time to see if those vectored thrust motors work as you intended them.”

Rock noticed that Lisa actually looked back over her shoulder at Tom’s console, and he even caught Marge sneaking a glance out of the corner of her eye.

Rock saw Tom calmly hit his push-to-talk button. “No worries, Rock. We got twelve degrees of arc on the vertical thrust and just over six on the lateral ones. That old lady is right in the middle of her flight path; we won’t hardly have to use the vectored thrust.”

“We’ll see. Keep their path on radar and monitor for any changes. We only get one shot at this,” Rock said.

“Houston, this is Blackjack. That was one hell of a move—felt the G-forces but good up here. We are now on target for lateral approach. How do we look on your radar?” Craig asked, his voice sounding more than relieved.

The craft was now flying above the equator, and as it looped around the far right side, or east side, of the moon, the earth-based radar would receive a near perfect shot at the ship above the moon’s surface and relay that data to the crew to compare with their own reading.

“Data inbound now, Blackjack. We show your altitude at twenty-five miles, minus two point seven,” Jack said.

“Tom?” Rock asked across the main channel, forgetting to flip to the team one.

“I’m on it, Rock,” Tom said, hitting a few buttons and punching on his keyboard like it was a square Lego stuck in a round hole. “Houston to Blackjack, you should have vertical lift at plus twenty-eight percent.”

“Yeah, we definitely feel that, Houston,” Craig said. “Glide slope looking close to nominal, fuel burn within specified parameters.”

Rock knew that the extra burn, even vectored, would burn up more fuel than what they had originally calculated, but NASA never went without intense safety margins and there was an extra thirty percent fuel load on board, even accounting for a maximum burn profile. They needed to land with enough fuel to liftoff again, so they monitored it closely.

“Take a deep breath, boss,” Marge’s voice whispered in his ear.

Rock noticed he had almost forgot to breathe as the radar track showed the Apollo ship over two miles below their intended flight path. Tom had sent the computer signals to the Apollo computer to make sure it would vector its thrust appropriately even though it had radar guidance computers performing the same task. Again, NASA didn’t take chances.

“Gotcha, Marge, just worried they’ll come in too hot, and well… Tom is old school, hardly broke a sweat.”

Marge smiled and looked back to her console. “We’re almost there, boss.”

“Houston to Blackjack, we’ve lost direct coms, switching to alternates,” Jack said.

The video feed was lost as the small communication satellites were so small, they simply handled audio and small data feeds only. Video could be streamed and even truncated to lower the bandwidth requirements, but Jeff and Tom didn’t like the idea of clogging the server with that much data and potentially losing contact between the two. Rock had agreed, and they compromised on a data stream as well as audio. There was no telling what that device could do to their signals once they got close to it.

“Houston, this is Blackjack, commencing landing burn. We are on target, all systems check,” Craig said.

“Roger, Blackjack, you are a go for landing,” Jack said.

Craig’s voice came across the channel, and it was difficult to only listen and not be able to see the lander. “Plus eighty feet, plus sixty feet… plus forty feet, plus twenty feet.” The sound of the rocket’s increasing thrust was clearly heard now in the background as they increased their burn. “Plus fifteen feet, plus ten feet, eight, six, five, three, one, touchdown. I repeat, Houston, this is Blackjack, successful touchdown on target.”

Rock listened to the room as cheers erupted, and he half fancied he heard some noise from behind the supposedly soundproof observation glass above his head. America had returned to the moon.

^{Chapter 28}

Lunar Surface

Crimson Glory

Lunar Surface, Marianas Plain

In the near future, Day 48

“Did you copy?” Hen Sing asked for the third time as he repeated his transmission.

There was a pause again before the static reply came back. “Affirmative, Crimson Glory, copy unknown object overhead, landing at one hundred one degrees of your location.”

Sing had watched something burning overhead and slightly to his south. He had landed somewhat farther north of the moon’s equator, having overshot his landing zone by a fair margin. At first he thought it was a meteor until it started to slow and actually had a controlled descent, disappearing somewhere over the horizon.

“Crimson Glory confirmed, over and out,” Sing said, no longer wanting to be pandered to. He knew his time was up, and only his sense of duty kept him from just ending it there and now.

He glanced over at his oxygen readout where it was starting to approach the red line yet again. He had gone through three of his five oxygen containers and was about to be forced to open the fourth if he wanted to live for more than an hour or so.

Sing closed his eyes and focused on lowering his pulse and his breathing rate. He had never thought that his meditation skills could mean the difference in living or dying a few hours earlier or later. If that was all that fate would give to him, then he would take it.

* * * * *

People’s Republic Space Command

Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 47

“Better to just tell the man,” Hun argued with the general over the phone. “What’s left now then if we’re going to abort the entire mission?”

“Calm down, Director Lee.” General Wang’s voice came across calmly despite the current situation. “My experts inform me that the Crimson Glory can still record data and upload it manually to the orbiter even after the detonation of the warhead. We need that data, coupled with the orbiter’s, in order to be sure our mission is successful. Now it would be less than optimal if Colonel Sing did something to hamper the equipment on board the Glory. Make sure you download the auto commands on the orbiter’s next pass so that they will record and upload the data even after his passing.”

Hun wrapped his hand around the mouthpiece. “Son of a…” He looked at his team and then uncovered it again. “Fine, we’ll have the commands uploaded and set on automatic. Do you want to tell Colonel Sing, or shall I?”

“I already ordered you to withhold this information until the detonation of the missile. Then you can inform him once we have confirmation of the alien device’s destruction.”

“Fine, anything else, sir?” Hun said a bit more impertinent than was wise when dealing with an autocratic government figure, especially one as powerful as General Wang.

“No. Now do your duty, Director,” Wang said, hanging up the phone.

“Well?” Lin asked as Hun set the phone in its cradle.

“Proceed with the auto commands. Don’t tell Sing; I’ll do it in about ten hours,” Hun said.

“So they are just going to let him die up there?” Chon said, his voice bitter.

“We knew that when he blew the explosive bolts and landed. What’s done is done, now get to work.” Hun was uncharacteristically blunt, but he didn’t want anyone in his team to bring the general’s wrath down on themselves.

His team went back to their consoles, and Hun looked around at the armed soldiers. He suddenly felt sick just letting Sing die without telling the man what was coming, unless… Could it be possible? He could try, though it would cost him his life if he was caught.

Hun thought about his family, his wife, his grown children. No, it wouldn’t be worth it. Not for such a long shot. Then he sat as his desk and pulled up the state website link where they had announced Colonel Sing’s heroic appointment. There standing next to him was his wife. They must have been in their late fifties. Who was that in the background? Clearly several children who at first Hun thought were simply bystanders admiring their hero, but no, those were his grandchildren and his daughters and sons. This was taken at his family estate.

Looking one last time at the picture, Hun closed the web link and stood up. Sing’s family demanded a full accounting of their actions, and didn’t the general just tell Hun to do his duty? Hun walked out of the control center, nodding at Chon to take over without saying a word. He would do his duty, even at the risk of his life.

* * * * *

Gordust Space Station

Low Moon Orbit

In the near future, Day 48

“Microwaves?” Yuri said, shaking his head in confusion. “That’s impossible. We’re shielded against them as well as gamma and x-rays. What Vostochny is saying isn’t possible.”

“I’m just relaying the message,” Olga said. “Do you want to talk to them?”

“No, I go away for a code ten, and when I get back, everyone is turning the law of physics upside down,” Yuri said, tightening the straps on his seat. A code ten was the polite term they used when they took a bathroom break.

Nikolai’s voice came through the intercom, and Yuri made a note that next time, he’d pay the man a visit instead of hearing his constant droning over the com channel. “Clearing LOS in thirty seconds.”

“Already?” Yuri asked, looking at Olga.

“You took a long time in there,” Olga said. “We’re about to lose line of sight again. They are only ninety-minute orbits.”

“Blyad, woman, I know our orbital rotation. I’m just vexed at Nikolai’s constant stream of data. He sounds like a computer.”

“The man just lost two of his closest comrades. This probably helps keep him focused,” Olga said.

“Gordust now dark, reacquisition in forty-eight minutes,” Nikolai said in his monotone voice.

“Code ten, Olga?” Yuri asked.

Olga just shot him a glance and went back to aiming their radar and infrared back to their forward angles. “What’s that?” Olga said, motioning to the main screen between them.

Yuri looked up and saw a heat signature about twenty-five kilometers from the alien device and Zvesda. “Is the Chinese lander still in the same position? It didn’t take a bounce, did it?”

Olga switched the monitor to show the Chinese landing site on a grid about thirty kilometers farther west relative to the new contact. “Yes, it’s still at its original site. This is a new lander and new signature. It’s much stronger than the Chinese one.”

Yuri looked and saw stronger reds and oranges coming from the new signal and instantly knew it to be American. “I think those Yankees have landed.”

“Da, it seems that Vostochny was correct about their arrival time but not about their LZ,” Olga said. The crew had monitored reports that the Apollo 21’s arrival was imminent, but Vostochny knew ahead of time their flight path and approximate landing zone or LZ. The former was correct while the latter wasn’t. The news reports seemed to be accurate, though delayed just a bit as events unfolded.

“They landed a healthy distance from the target,” Yuri said, continuing to look at their shared monitor. “They must have a rover for them to EVA in, otherwise that would be an impossible walk.”

Olga nodded her head. “They may be stranded as well if their rover breaks down on them, and that’s a high likelihood given the new signal data from Zvesda.”

“Speaking of which, we need to vent the excess heat and figure out a way to mitigate the microwaves if the analysis from mission control is correct,” Yuri said.

“Way ahead of you on that one,” Olga said, keying her internal mike. “Nikolai, are you and Viktor ready for decompression?”

“Affirmative,” Nikolai’s voice responded. “We are fully suited, and all equipment and gear is secured back here. We really going to do this?”

“Da,” Olga responded. “Prepare for emergency venting in two minutes.”

“We’re ready. All systems go for emergency venting,” Nikolai said.

Olga looked at Yuri and nodded. “We’ll see if opening the two main space locks will allow the station to cool off. I’m more worried about equipment failure from exposure to the vacuum of space at this point.”

“Agreed, Olga, but the equipment was designed for emergency exposure just in case of a hull breach or leak of some kind,” Yuri said, adjusting his helmet and using his own mike since they couldn’t talk face to face inside the command pod.

“We’re almost done with the station compression,” Olga said, referring to the fact that their atmospheric pumps were working hard to compress the current atmosphere of nitrogen and oxygen from the station into several storage tanks so that the exposure to the vacuum of space would not violently destroy any part of the station. “I’d have preferred not to test those safety specifications.”

“Agreed again, Olga,” Yuri said. “I hope this works, otherwise we’re going to have to abandon our mission and return to earth before the next orbital rotation. We can’t risk losing any of our computer systems.”

The two sat in silence until their own internal timer hit zero, and Olga punched the space interlocking bay door overrides. In silence, on their internal monitors, they watched as the doors to space opened while the internal locking doors remained opened, exposing the entire internal cabin of the Gordust to the vacuum of space.

“Mission crew, five by five,” Nikolai said over the intercom system.

“Copy, Nikolai, we show all systems still go, temperature at thirty-nine degrees and holding,” Olga said, watching the digital readout now taking the place of the lunar surface on their shared screen.

“Come on, baby, drop…” Yuri said, absentmindedly opening his mike.

It seemed like an eternity before the temperature started to drop, first by tenths of a degree and then finally by full integers.

“It’s working,” Nikolai’s voice said, a touch of static still present.

“Da, this is fortunate,” Olga said, her voice expressing obvious relief. “How long do we need to maintain vacuum, Yuri?”

“Let’s get it below thirty degrees, and then we reseal and check for atmospheric pressure,” Yuri said. “It may take a while as the heat is radiated away. It’s not like there’s an atmosphere to dispel it.”

“I guess we stay a bit longer, eh?” Olga asked, a slight upturn to her lips visible through her helmeted faceplate.

“I think so, Olga,” Yuri said. “Perhaps long enough to see what happens down there. Perhaps.”

* * * * *

Apollo 21

Lunar Surface, Marianas Plain

In the near future, Day 48

“Houston, this is Blackjack. Rover successfully deployed. Request authorization to commence lunar operations,” Julie said, using her internal mike system as she stood outside the lander and took in the vast display of grey dust, illuminated by the intense overhead lights of the lander.

“Blackjack, this is Houston. We copy rover readiness, and authorization to commence lunar operations approved,” Jack’s voice came across the main channel.

“Roger that, Houston, commencing first stage to target. Will update at waypoint one.” Julie clicked her mike.

There was a pause before Richard Crandon’s voice came across, less formally than usual. “Blackjack, this is Houston. Congrats on being the first woman to walk on the moon, Julie. We’re celebrating down here. Make us proud.”

Julie smiled as she keyed her mike. “Roger that, Houston, will do. Give my regards to your team. Excellent job. The lander flew like a charm.”

There was no reply as Julie stepped up and into the rover, seating herself and closing the access door. “You ready back there?” she said.

“Let’s get this over with before our Chinese friend arrives,” Craig said using their short range FM radio channel. Craig sat facing the rear in a seat directly behind the lone operator seat. The plan was for Julie to back him up to the device and he would use the robotic arms to manipulate the diamond tip of the alien device, taking it and storing it in a cargo compartment at his feet. The rover was heavily shielded in order to perform its mission so close to the device and the alien signal generator.

“Just hang on,” Julie said, punching the master control lever forward and engaging the electric motors, which started to whine at the sudden demand. She then flipped two overhead switches, and a row of intense halogen lights lit up, illuminating the terrain ahead of her for well over a hundred yards. Headlights also came on as well as a rear light, so Craig could see out the back.

“Keep us on the ground,” Craig said, referring to the moon’s low gravity, only a sixth that of the earth’s.

“I didn’t backseat fly, so you don’t backseat drive,” Julie said, her tone serious but a huge smile coming across her face.

“Right,” Craig said, his voice trailing off to silence as he also flipped a switch, killing most of the lights on the lander, and the rear of the rover was plunged into a deeper darkness.

* * * * *

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 48

“Do we tell them, Gloria?” Vice President Lee asked via his secured radio phone from the Houston control center observation room perched a floor up with glass windows overlooking the mission center’s main floor.

“Not yet,” President Powers said. “We have a situation developing right now, and I don’t want to complicate things further.”

“They already know about the Chinese nuke. What’s the issue in telling them about the dead Russians?” Lee said.

“The nuke was to light a fire under their asses and get them moving. Telling them what they may find there could only hinder them at this point. We’ll have NASA inform them when they’re ready for their final approach.”

“Do we also update them on the nuke?”

“I don’t know yet. It may be better if they think they have more time,” Powers said, her voice somber. “I’m sure their team leader would call abort if they knew.”

“So what? You give the order and override?” Lee said, his voice sounding incredulous.

“That’s not how a democracy operates, John. We need to respect the process.”

“And withholding this information respects the democratic process exactly how?” Lee asked.

“National security matter, John, and you know it. We’ll let them know as soon as we can. In the meantime, we’ve had something come up.”

“Please tell me it’s something good, Gloria.”

“We’ll see, John. Just keep our crew up there on schedule. I’d like to see them return.”

“I would like that as well,” Vice President Lee finished, hanging up the phone.

^{Chapter 29}

Anticipation

People’s Republic Space Command

Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 48

Hun’s hand had almost trembled as he handed the lunar map to his uncle and watched him leave the complex. That was hours ago, and Hun had returned to the control center to monitor the progress of their sole astronaut. He kept checking his pager, and Lin looked at him suspiciously as he paced back and forth yet again near his console.

“You really need to be less obvious,” Lin said, practically whispering to her boss as she walked over and stood near his console, papers in her hands.

“Obvious? What do you mean?” Hun asked, his voice sounding stressed as he stopped his pacing and stood facing his junior technician, the control room somewhat dim, primarily illuminated by console workstation lights, main screen monitors, and computer display equipment.

Lin leaned in even closer. “I have no idea what you did or are doing, but it’s obvious you’re up to something.”

Hun took a deep breath and walked over to his chair to sit. Perhaps sitting would be less obvious? he thought to himself. He took another breath and then looked at Lin, noticing that Chon was watching them closely from his nearby console. “I’m fine now, Lin. Just nervous about Colonel Sing is all.”

Lin nodded and then looked at Hun’s waist. The old fashioned pager started to vibrate, its small screen glowing an eerie green color. “You still use one of those?” Lin asked, her eyebrows arching.

Hun shrugged and pulled the old pager from where it was clipped to his belt. It was his uncle saying he had his lunch ready. The older man had worked in the space program for decades and had retired a long time ago but still had his access card to the common areas on the grounds of their facility. Hun looked at Lin, putting the pager back. “I’ll be right back.”

Hun left, walking past the guards and down the hallway till he came to the main lobby after opening a set of double doors and passing yet another security checkpoint. He greeted his uncle and motioned to one of the chairs by the window, and the two men seated themselves.

“Thank you, Uncle, I appreciate the thoughtfulness,” Hun said, looking around the room and setting the lunch bag on the small table located between the two men.

His uncle nodded, his demeanor calm. “I took care of the errand you requested. I can’t predict the outcome, but the task is done.”

Hun looked around again and then leaned forward. “There were no complications?”

His uncle smiled, continuing to sit back in his chair, his posture relaxed. “You need to calm yourself, Hun. Take a deep breath and relax.” Hun hesitated for a moment before leaning back as well, not exactly content to discuss this matter where they had to speak in a normal tone of voice to be heard. Hun took a deep breath. “Good,” his uncle said. “I think there was a healthy dose of skepticism, but the message was conveyed and received. All is well now.”

Hun took a moment to concentrate on his breathing, taking deeper, slower breaths as he had learned a long time ago in his meditation classes. “Thank you, Uncle, again. Should I know anything else?” Hun started to think that his uncle was right. If their conversation was being monitored, then whispering would only make it more suspect. Hun marveled at the older man’s control and calm in the face of what they had just conspired to do and, indeed, actually did.

“Be sure to eat the soup before it becomes cold,” his uncle said.

Hun smiled and placed his hand on the bag, feeling its warmth. His aunt knew how to cook, and he was at least going to enjoy his lunch today. “I will, Uncle, and thank you.”

* * * * *

Blackjack Rover

Lunar Surface, Marianas Plain

In the near future, Day 48

“Houston, this is Blackjack, over.” Julie keyed her mike as she crested the rim of the crater and looked down into the Mons Crater, thinking she could just see a faint metallic gleam in the distance. The darkness was intense, and she had turned her lights off momentarily so she could regain her visual acuity and see into the darkness.

“Blackjack, this is Houston, go ahead.”

“Blackjack has reached waypoint one, ready to proceed,” she said, flipping her FLIR device on and swinging the joystick around to pan the picture on her display.

“Signal strength shows elevated levels, but within operating parameters for your rover. Advise you do not EVA, repeat do not EVA from this point forward. Do you copy, Blackjack?”

“Blackjack copies. Will stay on board the rover,” Julie said.

“Blackjack, this is Houston, authorization to proceed granted. Be advised there may be company on the ground. Status unknown. You have two hours. Good luck,” the simple reply came back.

“There, you just went past it,” Craig said from his rear-facing seat as he monitored the FLIR on his own screen.

“Yeah, I see it now,” Julie said, panning a bit more and zooming in on the faint false colors of the display. They glowed a pale blue and green, nothing hot enough to show oranges or reds. “It looks quiet down there. What do you think they mean by status unknown? Do you think they mean what I’m thinking?”

“That’s their polite way of saying the Russians more than likely bit the big one down there. You good to go with that, Jules?”

Julie flipped her lights back on and watched as the FLIR colors faded. “Yeah, let’s do this.” She punched the accelerator lever forward, and the rover lurched forward, heading toward the alien device. There was no way to miss it. The signals were so clear and strong that DF or direction finding on it was child’s play. It was transmitting like a beacon in the dark, and the Apollo crew was riding the wave to its source.

* * * * *

Gordust Space Station

Low Moon Orbit

In the near future, Day 48

“There, I found them,” Nikolai said over the intercom system. “Grid 9B.”

Olga moved their own infrared camera to the west and zoomed out to make sure it would cover the entire surface area of grid 9B as Nikolai indicated. “Got it, target acquired.”

“Is that the Americans?” Yuri asked, monitoring their progress across the dark side of the moon.

“I’m pretty sure it is,” Olga said, watching intently. “They seem to really be moving. Thirty, forty kilometers an hour.”

“That’s typical for them. They like their vehicles fast,” Yuri said.

“And their women faster,” Nikolai added, laughing for the first time in over a day.

“You two are so predictable,” Olga said, a frown on her face, easily visible now that they had resealed the ship and took their helmets and gloves off. “They’ll be there within the hour. Do we contact them?”

“We’ve had no orders either way from Moscow, well, Vostochny. I doubt they’d approve, but we need to know. We’ll lose contact in ten more minutes and won’t reacquire till after they arrive, so it’s now or never.”

“Do it,” Olga said.

Yuri keyed his mike. “Nikolai, Viktor, are you both on board?”

“Da, Yuri,” Nikolai said. “Those are our comrades down there. Make it happen.”

“Viktor?” Yuri asked.

“I’m with Nikolai on this,” the man said. “See what you can do.”

Yuri looked at Olga, who nodded and then flipped several switches working the radio frequency scanner. It took nearly ten seconds to bring up the correct frequency. “They’re transmitting in the clear?”

Olga nodded. “Yes, they are on this channel.”

Yuri sighed and looked at the communications console to his left. He hoped he was doing the right thing. “Russian ship Gordust to American lunar crew, do you copy?”

There was a pause for several seconds till Yuri repeated the call. “Gordust to American lunar crew, do you copy?”

“Apollo 21 is a copy for Gordust. This is Commander Julie Monroe. Go with your message.”

The tone of the American concerned Yuri, but what was he to expect? “This is Station Commander Yuri Temshenko, officially requesting aid for our surface crew, over.”

“What kind of aid, Commander Temshenko? We have limited resources down here.”

“Understood, Apollo. Any confirmation of our comrade’s status would be helpful. We have been out of contact for nearly a day. Can you assist?”

“Roger, Gordust, we’ll use this frequency for communications. What’s our window?”

“We have seven more minutes, and then we’ll be in range forty-eight minutes after that.”

“Roger, we are thirty minutes ETA to your crew, so we’ll catch you on the flip side.”

Flip side? Yuri mouthed the words to Olga who just shrugged. “Ah, roger, Apollo, thank you for the assistance. Gordust out.”

“I don’t think she forgave us for kicking her off our station,” Olga said.

“Well, whether she forgave or not, she sure as hell didn’t forget. Let’s hope she’s more forgiving when she reaches our comrades,” Yuri said.

“I hope so,” Olga replied.

Yuri looked at Olga. “I’ll guess we’ll know for sure in about an hour.” Olga nodded and watched as the American rover tore across the lunar landscape, closing in on target, on the device and more importantly, on their crewmembers.

* * * * *

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 48

Rock leaned back, looking at Marge closely. “You’re sure about this?”

“Well, not sure, but when we discovered the repetition of the four signal codes, it came across to me that no astro-map would be so limited in its scope, so it had to be something else.”

“Why not a mathematical formula?” Rock asked.

“We ran the alien code string by every formula we could find as well as partial ones, and nothing came up. That’s exactly what the NSA had been doing for weeks,” Marge said.

“So you plugged in the genetic code and it matched?” Rock asked.

“Not exactly,” Marge began. “The entire code was not a match, however, half the human DNA string does fit the signal at nearly ninety-nine percent. I think they’re trying to communicate with us biologically if not mathematically.”

“So then why kill us? I mean, it looks pretty much like their signals were fatal to the Russian crew. Why kill those with whom you’re trying to communicate with?”

Marge shrugged and leaned back in her chair. “Maybe they want something different from us than our attempts to retrieve their diamond-looking transmitter.”

Rock rubbed his chin and then his eyes; he had slept little the last twenty-four hours and would most likely repeat this for the next twenty-four. “I’ll run this by Mr. Smith and see what he and his team thinks. Do you have anything else?”

“Well, for now, no, but I’ll be working on it at my console. Just keep an eye on their systems, especially the computers. If anything fails, it will be those first, and that would pretty much doom them when that missile arrives.”

“Yeah, I’ll have to have a serious discussion with Mr. Smith about this one. They shouldn’t be in this type of situation—”

Rock was interrupted by Jack, who stuck his head in the door. “They’re almost to target.”

“On our way,” Rock said, gathering up his binder and giving Marge one last look. “See what you can do, Marge. We literally have only one hour.”

^{Chapter 30}

Contact

Chinese Nuclear Missile GX101A

Approaching the Moon

In the near future, Day 48

The Chinese missile received its input command, and for the second time in as many hours, its rocket motor ignited and boosted its velocity relative to the system’s planet and sole moon by twelve percent before shutting off and lighting up its radar system located in the nose cone. It acquired the alien signal and used it to home in on as a beacon sweeping with its radar, which was being used only to obtain a fix on the missile’s current location relative to the moon.

In two hours, it would impact the moon’s surface at or near the alien device, releasing over a hundred megatons equivalent of TNT and obliterating the alien device once and for all. Anything within a twenty-five mile blast radius would either be destroyed or suffer catastrophic failure.

* * * * *

Alien Device

Surface of the Moon, Mons Crater

In the near future, Day 48

“Houston, this is Blackjack. Approaching target site now. Alien device and Russian lander visible, do you copy?” Julie said, pulling back on the accelerator and decreasing their velocity considerably.

“Blackjack, this is Houston. Copy your transmission. You are a go for retrieval.”

“Do you see these readings, Jules?” Craig said via their intercom channel.

“Yeah, they are very close to red lining. No wonder the Russians had problems down here. My God, there’s one of them now,” Julie said as she slowly pulled the rover near the alien device.

The prone figure of a heavily suited astronaut lying face down a mere meter or so from the black obelisk seemed surreal to Julie. The area was dark except for the light glow of the diamond-looking tip on the device and the powerful overhead lights of the rover. She could see what looked like a large electrical saw on the ground near the prone Russian. It was modified to be heavily shielded and looked bulky as well.

“I’m going to pull around now, Craig. Are you ready?”

“Go ahead, Jules, I’m ready,” Craig responded.

Julie pushed the lever forward and then tilted the small T-bar to the right, turning the front wheels and executing a ninety-degree turn in front of the obelisk. She then jammed the lever to the rear and looked at her low tech mirrors as Craig started to release the robotic arms, one of which had a saw attachment mounted to it.

“Easy, Jules, ten more meters,” Craig said, guiding the rover back toward the obelisk so he could work.

“Just tell me I’m not going to run over the Russian,” Jules said, her voice serious.

“You’re fine. He’s a half meter to your left, my right. Just keep it coming, four more meters,” Craig continued. “Two meters, one meter, that’s good.”

Craig swung the robotic arms and extended them to the side. They were less than two meters away, and the arms had a three and a half meter reach, plenty of room for him to work. “Inform Houston I’m beginning the procedure.”

“Roger that, Craig,” Julie said, keying her mike. “Blackjack to Houston, we are commencing retrieval procedure now, over.”

The procedure, planned in detail before they took off, required them to back the cutting saw mounted on the robotic arms so that they could cut off one of what looked like three prongs holding the large white diamond mounted device so they could return it to earth. The rover had a compartment designed to hold it.

“This looks like it will be a tight fit, if I get it loose,” Craig said as Houston started to respond.

“Blackjack, this is Houston. Be advised that your TOS will be twenty-two minutes, over.”

“What the hell, I haven’t even begun yet,” Craig complained, hearing the announcement.

“I don’t know,” Julie began, “why they would limit our Time on Site? I’ll ask and you start working now.”

“Roger, initiating cutting now,” Craig said.

Julie heard the electric motor for the saw wind up, though there was no sound coming from outside—the vacuum of space prevented that—but the intense sparks that were flying were clearly visible as she keyed her mike. “Houston, this is Blackjack. Explanation for limited TOS, over?”

There was a long pause before the response. “Blackjack, this is Houston. ETA on inbound missile is now seventy-eight minutes. Do you copy?”

The sparks continued to fly, but Julie heard Craig’s response on the main channel. “That’s just fucking great.”

“Ah, Blackjack, be advised you’re still on open coms channel,” came the reply.

“Roger that, Houston, will advise on progress. Keep us updated. Over and out,” Julie responded, switching the mike off and activating her internal com. “Well, that went over well at mission control.”

“Sorry, Jules, I forgot the main channel remained open during hands-free operations. I needed to keep the thought to myself.”

“No need to apologize. You simply voiced what I was thinking as well. How we coming along with the procedure?”

The sparks stopped, and Jules watched in the mirror as Craig adjusted his spotlight remotely. “Damn it, not a scratch. I can’t see where we even impacted the prong.”

“Are you sure? I saw an awful lot of sparks flying. Something had to be giving,” Julie said.

“I’m positive. Hang on a sec,” Craig said. “Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.”

“What now?” Julie asked.

“The saw blade is all but useless. It’s chipped and warped, all in less than two minutes of cutting. This damn thing isn’t going anywhere.”

“I’ll let Houston know right away. Looks like this entire trip might be for naught,” Julie said, reaching to key the main channel mike, but the receiver cackled first.

“Blackjack, this is Houston. We don’t think you’ll be able to separate the transmitter from its mount, over.”

There was a pause before Craig’s voice came across the internal channel, somewhat muted. “No shit, Sherlock. Now they tell us?”

“Roger, Houston, be advised our retrieval procedure failed. This confirms your report, over,” Julie said, muting their intra-coms channel and making sure only her voice went out over the main frequency.

“Blackjack, this is Houston. We have an idea. Prepare to retransmit a digital signal inbound to you in thirty seconds, confirm.”

“Confirm, Houston, we’ll retransmit the inbound digi-sig upon arrival. What frequency do you want it on?” Julie asked.

“Set it to ninety-eight point three, the same as the device’s midrange signal that they’re using to transmit on.”

“Craig, set up the transceiver to rebroadcast from the main digital channel to ninety-eight point three.”

“I’m dialing it in now. What are they up to?”

“No idea, but we’re going to find out.”

The seconds ticked by slowly, and Julie tuned to the same frequency and listened in. It sounded like the same pulsating static, but she recognized the end pattern and realized that NASA was timing their retransmission to coincide between one of the endless loops of the alien signal.

“Retransmitting now,” Craig said, and Julie heard their own pulsating signal as it blipped like a machine gun on automatic. The result was immediate.

“It stopped,” Craig said over the intercom system.

Julie looked at the suite of detection devices and suddenly noticed the many detectors had dropped from near red-line levels to all green and all zero. There were no further alien signals being transmitted, including the harmful ones. “Did we break it?” she asked to no one in particular.

It took two and a half seconds for this to register and to have a response from Houston. “Blackjack, this is Houston. We have signal interrupt. Please confirm, over.”

Julie keyed her mike. “Houston, we have nothing down here. The alien signal just stopped, do you copy?”

“No wait,” Craig said over the main channel. “I got a new illumination on the obelisk. I repeat, there is a circular illumination at the midpoint of the black obelisk. Are you guys copying me?”

“Blackjack, this is Houston. We copy. Can you describe?”

“I got an idea,” Craig said, moving one of the robotic arms toward the lit circle.

“I don’t know about this, Craig. Maybe we should wait—”

Julie never finished her sentence. The ground behind the rover erupted in a cloud of dust as the lunar soil was violently ejected outward and momentarily obscured the rover’s lights, dimming the entire area and temporarily blinding them from seeing anything.

“Jesus,” Craig said, his voice alarmed.

“What the hell just happened?” Julie asked, now thinking that their seating arrangement was no longer ideal as she was facing away from the action, unable to see what was happening just behind their rover.

“I think I just rang their doorbell,” Craig came back.

“Well, next time give me more warning. I nearly pissed my suit up here,” Julie said, her voice conveying her annoyance.

The dust settled, and Julie couldn’t see what was happening till Craig spoke. “Ah, Jules, you may want to notify Houston about this.”

Julie could only see a dark area at the base of the obelisk through her limited view via her side mirror. She really could have used a rear camera. Why didn’t they have one that would feed live and not just take pictures? “What is it?”

“Like I said,” Craig’s voice said, “I think I rang the doorbell. There is a stairwell back here. What do you want to do?”

Julie paused for a moment before keying her mike. “Houston, this is Blackjack. Be advised that there is a portal to the base of the obelisk. We are going EVA to investigate.”

“Roger, Blackjack, authorization for EVA granted. Be advised you have sixteen minutes TOS. Be safe. Houston out.”

“Ah, what did you mean by we?” Craig asked.

“Let’s see what’s inside. Are you suited up?” Julie asked.

“Same as you, got everything except my gloves and helmet on,” Craig said.

Julie knew it was easier to operate the rover and for Craig the robotic arms without gloves on, and of course, no one wanted to wear a helmet unless absolutely necessary. The rover was double compartmented so that either of them could exit the rover without exposing the other cabin to the vacuum of space. This is why they had to use the intercom system when communicating one with another.

“All right, I’ll go first. You keep an eye on the opening and let me know if you see anything,” Julie said, pulling her helmet on over her wireless headset and securing it and then reaching for her gloves.

Once suited, she hit the pressurization button, forcing her cabin to evacuate the mini atmosphere that she was breathing into a small storage tank. Once her internal cabin pressure dropped to zero, equaling the outside lack of pressure, she opened her side door and stepped out onto the lunar surface.

The rover was now coated in the grey lunar dust as it was still settling, and Julie walked to the rear, seeing Craig for the first time in a couple hours as he gave her a thumbs-up sign with his left arm, and using his right, he raised the robotic arm so she could walk underneath it. She saw what looked like a dark ramp that protruded a half foot above the lunar surface. The ramp-way was pitch black, much like the obelisk, and she couldn’t see how far down it went.

“You actually going inside?” Craig asked, his voice now sounding perfectly clear as there was a lack of interference with their signal.

Julie looked up from the ramp to the large diamond shape that no longer glowed nor pulsated. It seemed inert now. She turned to look at Craig, who was finishing latching his gloves to his suit, his helmet already on. She stepped onto the ramp-way, not waiting for Craig to exit the rover. The ramp-way suddenly became illuminated from small white glowing orbs set just above it at ankle-level height. “Now that’s just spooky.”

There was a pause before Craig spoke, touching her on the shoulder. “Did you do that?”

“Jesus, Craig,” she said, turning to look at him. With the vacuum of space, there was no sound transmitted as he exited the rover and approached her, startling her with his touch. “The lights came on when I stepped on the ramp.”

“Sorry, Jules, I was watching my own step getting out and didn’t see them go on. What now?”

Julie looked at her chronometer on the outside of her wrist showing it approaching the fourteen-minute mark. “I’m going in. We have little time. Are you coming with me or staying here?”

Craig stepped to her side to peer down the ramp-way and then looked around the area. “We should both go, but I can’t bring myself to leave them like this.” He appeared to nod ever so imperceptibly at the prone, unmoving figure of one of the Russian cosmonauts.

Julie tried to nod back, the bulkier helmet and suit not conveying body motion very well. “All right, you do what you must up here. If you don’t hear from me in five, come get me.”

“Right. Just stay in contact while you’re down there,” Craig said, walking and half hopping in the much lighter gravity over to the prone figure.

Julie turned back and took a deep breath, stepping completely onto the ramp-way. It felt more than solid enough. In fact, it felt as if it had one of those no-slip safety floors that she had seen around the NASA pool training area. She walked slowly at first, feeling the light effect of the reduced gravity and not wanting to propel her helmeted head into the ramp-way’s ceiling.

“I’m reaching what looks like a door—” she began, and then gasped again, startled as the mass of black separated and revealed what looked to be a large chamber with a center console and illuminated depressions and icons all around the outer edge. “Definitely spooky now. A door just opened and I’m going in.”

“Roger that, Jules, be careful,” Craig said over the radio.

Julie Monroe stepped into the chamber, wondering if she would be stuck there, and turned to look at the doorframe to see if there were any symbols or icons she could recognize. She practically held her breath waiting to see if the doors would close. They didn’t.

She turned back and scanned the room and then stepped toward the center console. She reached it in five steps and looked at the flat console top and the strange markings glowing on a panel facing her, a small, flat, clear glass slide sticking out above what looked to be a glowing green icon. She decided she would press the small glowing green depression and reached for it and then realized that just because it was green didn’t mean it was safe. In fact, it could mean the opposite.

Her hand froze above it, her gloved, rubber-tipped finger hovering near it when suddenly the console lit up and the most detailed, most beautiful hologram she had ever seen was displayed above the flat console top. There, in exquisite detail, was the unmistakable shape of a double-sided helix twirling slowly in a circle pattern, the universal symbol for life itself, DNA.

“My God,” Julie said.

^{Chapter 31}

Atomic Arrival

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 48

“What did you send them?” Vice President Lee asked from the floor of Houston’s control center.

Rock nodded and Marge spoke. “The alien signal now appears to be half the genetic code for Homo sapiens. We simply took the other strand, coded it to match their pulse rate and frequency, and shot it back at them.”

An aide tried to give the vice president his secure radio phone, but the man waved it away. “That’s it? All this time it was a biological message?”

Marge looked to Rock, and he knew he’d have to run interference since he authorized the return signal in the first place. “Not a message, Mr. Vice President, instead it was more of a query, a way to ascertain if we were of the same genetic coding or not.” Seeing the confusion on the man’s face, Rock explained, “It was more like a password on a computer system than anything else.”

Lee looked at Rock and then reached for the phone. “Sorry, Gloria, just getting some details on what transpired down here. It seems our NASA team sent a radio reply back to the device.”

There was a pause, a nod, and then, “Are you sure? NORAD has updated the track? All right, I’ll inform them immediately and then we can debrief. All right, goodbye.” Lee handed the receiver back to his aide. “Mr. Crandon, it appears that the Chinese rocket has accelerated. Impact will be fifteen minutes earlier than our previous estimate. Get your team out of there now.”

“Jesus,” Tom said from the other side of Rock’s console.

“Jack,” Rock said, practically screaming over the top of the murmurs from the NASA technicians and the vice president’s aides. “Call abort immediately. Have Craig and Julie evac the area now.”

Jack didn’t hesitate as he called to their astronauts over a quarter million miles away.

“Will they have enough time, Marge?” Rock asked, following her to her console a few steps away as Marge sat and started to pound on her keyboard, entering new data and details into her Gant charted spreadsheet.

“Taking off fifteen minutes exactly?” Marge asked, looking at the vice president, who nodded. Marge made a last couple of clicks and then looked at Rock and shook her head.

“I repeat, immediate evac NOW!” Jack did scream, though it wouldn’t help as the electronic signal was digitized and put back together at the correct decibel level, though perhaps the tone of his voice would convey the urgency of his message.

“How bad, Marge?” Rock asked.

“They’re already a minute overdue, add reaction time, and they’ll be at least two to four minutes down depending on how quickly they leave the area. Any chance that the yield on the nuke will be less than we factored for?” Again, a look to the vice president.

“Most likely we were being conservative in the first place,” Lee said, his voice now getting harder to hear.

Everyone turned to Jack, who looked up from his console and took his headset off. “They’ve been notified and are evacuating the area now.”

Silence engulfed the normally noisy control center.

* * * * *

Alien Device

Surface of the Moon, Mons Crater

In the near future, Day 48

“What the hell do you mean we have to go now?” Julie asked, somewhat annoyed at Craig’s relay of the NASA message.

“The nuke is going to show up early. We have been ordered to evac now. Come on, Jules, we have to get out of here.”

Julie Monroe stood looking at the intricate dance the DNA strand made as it glowed and slowly twirled in the air, seemingly to float right in front of her, and felt a strange sadness at having only now discovered the alien technology, though there was no sign of alien life. She took only a split second to make her decision, but it felt like an eternity. Julie grabbed the flat, clear slide that was protruding from the center of the console and tugged on it, expecting resistance. It came out easily, and the holograph disappeared. She placed the clear slide into her Velcro-lined outer pocket and pressed to seal it securely.

She heard the faint static pulsing of the alien signal again as it reactivated. Julie turned and ran toward the doorway, bumping her head off the ceiling of the chamber as she forgot about the effect of lesser gravity.

Without much grace, she tumbled, bumped, and ricocheted off the walls of the ramp-way, exiting onto the dark lunar surface illuminated by the rover’s powerful overhead lighting array and a bright pulsating light coming from the diamond-tipped obelisk, which was now active again.

“Get in, quick,” Craig’s voice came over the radio channel.

Julie squinted only slightly as the lights from the rover were much brighter than the chamber’s illumination, and she noticed the robotic arms seemingly curled up in a prayer-like position over the suited forms of two humans lying in the large caged storage bin at the rear of the rover.

Reaching for the door, she opened it, stepping onto the lone step, and pulled herself inside. Before she could shut the door, the rover lurched once and then suddenly took off, crashing her suited form into the robotic arm console and nearly cracking her faceplate. The outer door swung violently from its hinge, and Julie struggled to right herself.

“Slow down, Craig, you nearly cracked my skull,” Julie said over her voice-activated mike.

“No time, Jules, we may be too late as it is,” Craig said, the rover suddenly veering to the west, barely missing the Russian lander.

“You’re heading too far south; must go west,” Julie said, trying to get back to the rear seat and failing miserably in the process.

“Must go southwest, Jules. I’m heading for the higher and closer lip of the Mons Crater. We need to get out of the area’s LOS,” Craig shot back, his voice back to the usual static that she remembered as the pulsating alien signal continued.

Julie noticed in the fading light that there were drag marks and footprints from the Russian lander back toward the alien device. Looking through the rear window viewport, she saw the figures of both cosmonauts. Had Craig really retrieved the other one from the lander?

The rover hit an outcropping, and Julie was hurled into the top of the rover. She heard a cracking sound, which could only mean it was her helmet. The rear compartment was still not pressurized and sound would not carry if it was the rover that had cracked.

Landing on her stomach and across the chair, she lifted herself with great effort and sat in the same spot Craig had used on their trip to the device. Quickly strapping the safety harness across her torso, she inserted the safety clips into their reinforced holders and felt the harness restrain her as the rover hit another outcropping. Julie unconsciously pressed her gloved hand across her breast pocket and felt the reassuring presence of the alien slide.

Reaching for the door just to her right, she pulled it shut, feeling the door secure as the sidebars locked it into place and the rubber seals compressed, hydraulically securing her rear compartment. She punched the white pressurization button and felt the air tanks releasing their nitrogen and oxygen.

“What did they tell you?” Julie asked, a sigh escaping from her as she watched the interior cabin status display go from red to green.

“What they always do. We are t-plus two minutes, thirty-five seconds from our new timetable courtesy of the Chinese.”,

Julie flipped the com link in the console, activating the relay into her suit which had deactivated during the rush to evac the area, and she heard the update from Houston in midsentence.

“—nutes, advise you expedite. Concur with the course modification.”

“Roger, Houston, this is Blackjack. Proceeding at maximum speed for Mons grid three one bravo. ETA update on the new visitor?”

“Negative, Blackjack, ETA remains the same. Recommend higher rate of departure than what we are seeing on the telemetry feed.”

Julie heard a click as Craig shut off the main channel for a second. “No shit, are they kidding me?”

Grasping the seriousness of the situation, Julie also muted the main channel and spoke, using her intra-com voice activation. “Craig, turn the control lever as far as it will go to the right and then push up at the same time,” she said.

“What?” Craig asked, confusion evident in his voice.

“Just do it,” Julie said, “far right and push up hard.”

There was a pause, and then Julie felt the rover lurch forward as the sudden inertia tried to throw her from her seat and back into the console. Her safety harness kept her in place.

“Where did you learn that?” Craig asked, his voice sounding gleeful.

“You can thank Tom McClain for that one,” Julie said, watching as the lunar soil was hurled into space behind the rover’s large all-terrain wheels.

“You can’t be serious. How would the old man know?”

“Well, he didn’t know about this, but he pulled me aside and told me he rigged it for extra juice just in case we had to beat the Ruskis.”

“Now that sounds like the man,” Craig said. “Hold on, bump coming up.”

Julie felt the straps again hold her from colliding with the roof as the rover actually became airborne. Well, space-borne would be a more accurate description, she thought to herself, hearing the call from Houston again.

“Do you copy, Blackjack? Find cover now.”

“What are they… ?” Julie let her voice trail off as she noticed what looked like a small falling meteor approaching the area from the far side of the crater.

* * * * *

The Chinese missile had all but spent its primary fuel stores as well as its small inert compressed gas of nitrogen that had given the rocket small course corrections as it approached the moon at a steeper than optimal angle for orbital insertion.

The missile didn’t intend to orbit, and much like a billiards player who lined up a triple banked shot on a pool table, as soon as the ball was set in motion, it was like money in the bank. The moon’s gravity pulled on the rocket, changing its trajectory and pulling it closer to the moon’s surface as it approached from the equator, having had its latitude calculated hours earlier.

There would be no aerial fins to give it course corrections at the last minute. No, this missile was completely ballistic and its path predetermined a day earlier. The law of physics applied gravity to the mass and speed of the nuclear-tipped rocket, bending its trajectory until it approached the site from the eastern horizon. Nosecone radar took over, sending queries to the moon’s surface and receiving thousands of updates every second.

Finally a simple program in the computer’s arming logic received the data it was looking for, a simple “greater than, less than” algorithm that indicated that the rocket was now less than one hundred meters above the surface of the moon. The near constant signal that the computer had been sending to the arming device now changed from negative to positive. The arming module accepted the command and activated the nuclear weapon ninety-nine-point-nine-eight meters above the surface.

Armageddon had arrived for the alien device.

* * * * *

Julie watched as a sudden ball of intense white lit up the area where they had just been not long before. The ball did not mushroom as one would expect, but instead, in the vacuum of space, ballooned out in a near perfect circular pattern until the wave hit the surface. One hundred tons of lunar soil, rocks, and material were suddenly and violently ejected from the impact site and hurled miles overhead in fierce, glowing streaks of light across the dark side of the moon.

Julie gasped. “Oh my God.”

“I see it,” Craig’s voice came across her headset, and she half fancied he was willing the rover to go faster. “Almost there,” he said, his voice now sounding more hopeful than confident.

“Too late,” Julie said, watching the wall of intense light approaching them at an unbelievable rate of closure. She closed her eyes as the wall of light reached them, and prepared to die.

* * * * *

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 48

“Try again,” Rock ordered, looking directly at Jack.

“Blackjack, this is Houston, over, do you copy?” Jack said.

There was no response, and the neutrino display, once a very secondary feature, was now on the top of the four sidebar displays, dancing away to the tune of the alien signal, though obviously a different one now.

“Ah, Richard, you may want to see this,” Lisa said, looking at him from her console.

“What is it?” Rock asked.

“Video feed from the Russians,” Lisa shot back.

“Put it on the main screen,” Rock said, sitting down again in his chair.

The video feed came up on the main screen, dark and hard to see at first, but then clearing up, and the surface of the moon was apparent. A bright, white ball of light was clearly visible in the center, expanding.

“How are you intercepting this?” Mr. Smith asked from behind Rock’s console.

Lisa turned from the screen to look at the man. “They’re broadcasting this in the open. It’s a PAL system, the kind the Europeans use for their television system, so we have to run it through a decoder and NTSC converter to get it to play on our monitors, but it’s in the open.”

“Where is the Russian ship now?” Vice President Lee asked, returning to the control room from the hallway where he was presumably discussing current events with the president.

“Coming across the terminator,” Lisa said.

Rock saw the confusion on Lee’s face. “She means it’s just crossing now from the day side to the night side. We’ll lose this feed soon as well, and it’s taken at an angle of about sixty degrees.”

The vice president nodded and looked back at the picture of the ball of light as it started to darken as it grew outward.

“One hell of a way to end a mission, eh, Rock?” Tom asked, shaking his head.

“Yeah, Tom, one hell of a way…” Rock’s voice trailed off.

* * * * *

“Blyad, they actually did it,” Yuri said, watching the nuclear explosion with interest as they started yet another orbit around the moon.

“A bit early, too, Yuri,” Olga said, also watching the feed. “I’m afraid that now we’ll never know.”

Yuri looked at his copilot. “About our crew or the Americans?”

“Both, Yuri. I doubt they had time to clear that blast radius. What were their superiors thinking, anyway?”

“Probably the same thing as ours, mission priority, crew expendable.”

^{Chapter 32}

Russian Assist

Apollo 21 Rover

Surface of the Moon, Mons Crater

In the near future, Day 48

The blast arrived at the same time that the rover met the lip of the crater. Craig never bothered to slow down. He could see the blast wave approaching through the side mirrors that were only there to allow Julie to back the rover up. Now they served a different function. The rover sailed over the edge of the crater lip, seeming to glide in the lower gravity, but then it was violently flung into the ground as the explosive force of the nuclear blast reached them.

The rover hit hard on its nose, digging into the lunar surface and bouncing wildly before coming to an abrupt halt as it hit a rock outcropping. The rear-facing lights were blown out, and the rear of the rover was plunged into darkness. Only the top lights facing forward were still working.

Julie came to, looking up and seeing streaks of molten rock spewing across the night sky. Their rover was being pelted from above by small pebble-sized rocks that made the interior vibrate. The lights from the front of the rover cut through the haze, dust, and lunar soil.

“You all right back there, Jules?” Craig said, pushing the lever forward and causing the entire rover to vibrate, though it did not budge.

Julie lifted the shielding on her visor so she could see again and touched the top of the helmet, feeling for any major cracks. She’d have to de-glove to perform a more detailed check if she wanted to test her suit’s ability to maintain pressure. “Yeah, I think we’re alive.”

“Well, those engineers sure as hell know how to build a rover. The shielding held and none of our electronics were blown by the EMP blast. We are, however, stuck. I can’t move it.”

“The shielding doesn’t surprise me, though we were way too close to that blast for my comfort level,” Julie said, looking at the rear dash and checking the systems display there. “Did you notice the alien signal has stopped? Our coms are all clear.”

“I see that,” Craig said.

“Try pulling the lever back into reverse. I can’t see much back here, but it may help, and can we get Houston on the line?”

“Hang on a sec,” Craig said, and the rover stopped vibrating, and then very slowly Julie felt it moving backward. “It’s working, though I can’t see a damn thing behind us. I’m just glad it stayed upright.”

“Yeah, another engineering marvel. They kept the center of balance low in case we hit a bump, and the rover took off in this low gravity,” Julie said, taking off her gloves and lifting off her helmet to inspect it, hearing the gentle sound of small moon rocks as they bounced off the top of the rover. The sound reminded her instantly of a soft rain.

Craig stopped the rover and then pulled out and around the outcropping gingerly and then veered hard right till the crater’s edge was visible as a silhouette against the starry night sky. “My God, did we actually jump that, and what the hell is hitting us?”

Julie sat her helmet down and looked at the rim in awe. “That’s got to be a good thirty feet high, though the slope isn’t at a bad angle. I think the blast ejected a lot of lunar material and it’s coming down now.”

“Yeah, but still, that was one hell of a drop,” Craig said.

“Well, that drop may have saved us. Let me see if I can get Houston on the line,” Julie said.

“I doubt it. Check the high gain antenna mast. It’s on the ground to your three o’clock,” Craig offered.

Julie looked to her right and could just barely make out the four foot mast that had once sat on the top side of the rover. “Well, damn, can we use the LF transmitter?”

“We can, but I’m not sure it’ll reach the minis,” Craig said, referring to the dual small communication satellites that relayed incoming messages.

“All right, I’m on it. You get us back to the lander—we can use the transceiver there—but in the meantime, I’ll try to get Houston on the low band,” Julie said.

Craig started to drive the rover west with a slight northern bias, but at a much slower speed than their mad dash to safety just minutes earlier. The darkness of the rear was disconcerting to Julie as she tried to put it out of her mind.

Finally after several minutes, she heard the call from Houston. “Blackjack, this is Houston. Do you copy?”

“Blackjack here, Houston. We copy. How do you read us?” Julie responded.

After an uncomfortable pause, Houston repeated, “Blackjack, this is Houston. Do you read us, over?”

“We’re here, Houston. Radio check, over?” Julie said.

A pause, and then, “Blackjack, this is Houston. Over.”

“Damn, they aren’t receiving us,” Julie said.

“I see that. Let me pick up some speed now that nothing seems to be broken—” Craig was cut off as he veered the rover hard right to avoid a basketball-sized rock that landed barely ten feet in front of the rover, impacting hard and sending a considerable amount of lunar soil into space.

“What happened?” Julie asked, unable to see forward.

“Damn rock almost hit us,” Craig answered.

“Get back to the crater’s edge,” Julie commanded. “That may be the only thing saving us from the debris.”

Craig veered right again, almost heading due east until they came up to the edge of the wall, and he pulled the rover north to sit parallel to its edge. The pelting was less but constant, and they could see streaks far to the west, indeed in all directions, glowing as they returned to the lunar surface.

“I sure as hell hope the lander is all right,” Craig voiced his concern.

“Me, too,” Julie said, looking out the glass side to the west and wondering if she should put her helmet and gloves back on. One faint streak, however, seemed to be traveling in the opposite direction. The lighting seemed more artificial, as if it was reflecting something instead of emanating. “Do you see that just above the horizon?”

“Yeah, I was just looking at it. What do you think?”

“Either an orbiter or…” Julie paused for a moment. “Isn’t the Gordust the only sat in retrograde orbit?”

“It is. Do you think that’s it?” Craig asked.

“We’re going to find out,” Julie said, changing the frequency of her radio and enabling the low gain transmitter. “Apollo to Gordust, this is Commander Julie Monroe. Do you copy?” Julie let a full ten seconds go by before she repeated the greeting.

“Apollo, this is Russian Gordust, Yuri Temshenko commanding. Julie, is that you?”

Julie let all formalities drop when she heard Yuri’s voice. “Yes, Yuri, this is Julie on the surface. How do you read us?”

“Loud and clear. Are you all right?” Yuri asked.

“Yes, Yuri, but our high gain antenna array is out of service. Can you relay a message for us?”

“I think so. Do you have a frequency?”

“Yes, Yuri, use ninety-nine point seven and see if you can raise Houston for us,” Julie said.

“Switching now. Were you able to confirm the status of our crewmembers?” Yuri asked, concern in his voice.

Julie felt a pang of guilt at not mentioning or even thinking of their concerns, so focused was she on reestablishing communications with Houston. “I’m sorry, Yuri, be advised that your crewmembers are both deceased. We have, however, retrieved them, and they are with us.”

The pause was obvious as Yuri chose his words carefully. “Roger, Apollo, received and understood. Thanks for the assist. Be advised, however, that we just crossed the terminator and won’t be in communication’s range for another forty-two minutes.”

“Yuri,” Julie said, “use the broad range broadcast. We have communication satellites in orbit. They’ll relay the signal as long as you use the frequency I gave you and transmit in the clear.”

“Standby,” Yuri said. After a full minute, his voice resumed over the mike. “Russian Gordust to American Houston, do you read us?”

Julie almost shouted for joy at what she heard next. “Gordust, this is Houston, we read you loud and clear. State the nature of your transmission.” The voice was obviously Jack’s, and he was calm, neutral, and professional.

“Houston, this is Gordust. We have someone that wants to talk to you. Go ahead, Apollo.”

Julie keyed her mike, overriding the voice activation to make sure she transmitted. “Houston, this is Blackjack. Do you copy?”

The three second relay time, even at the speed of light, was obvious, but the reply wasn’t. “Blackjack, this is Houston. We read you loud and clear, and boy, are we glad to hear from you.” Jack delayed in releasing his mike, and Julie smiled as shouts of joy, applause, and glee were easily conveyed through the radio.

* * * * *

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 48

“Praise the maker,” Tom said, leaning back as the room calmed down. “How in the hell did they survive that?”

“Who cares?” Lisa said, smiling and clapping. “They’re alive!”

Rock breathed a long sigh and looked at the vice president, who just nodded, took his phone, and departed the room. “Let’s get a sit-rep from them now,” Rock ordered, and the room started to bustle with activity as systems data was received from the Gordust, piggybacking on the same frequency, although at a much lower streaming feed.

Julie explained their situation and informed them of the status of the Russian cosmonauts, painfully aware that the crew of the Gordust was listening to them. “Recommendations?” she asked.

Rock picked up his PTT mike and nodded to Jack, keying it at the same time. “Roger, Julie, copy your situation. Advise you return ASAP to the lander and prep for departure. We’re showing the alien signal down right now, but radiation levels are up. Best if we commence with the last phase of our mission.”

Julie understood the ramifications and had held back any information on the alien glass slide she had taken. She felt it again, and not for the last time, still in her suit’s pocket. “Roger, Houston, we will return now. The ejecta from the blast seems to have ceased.”

“Roger, Blackjack, contact us from the lander. Houston to Gordust, can we keep this channel open, and thanks for your assistance,” Rock finished.

“Houston, this is Gordust. We will keep the channel active, just push to talk as long as we’re in range.”

“Roger, Houston out.”

There was a sense of hope in the control center as Rock looked at Mr. Smith. “When can we tell her?”

Mr. Smith looked up from the tablet that Mrs. Brown had been using to take notes on the sudden and unexpected restoration of communications with their crew. “You can inform her about the Chinese astronaut when they reach the lander.”

“Do you intend for us to rescue him?” Rock asked.

“Yes, he has a certain value for intelligence purposes,” Mr. Smith said.

“Well, for once we’re in agreement, just not for the right reasons,” Rock said.

^{Chapter 33}

Rescue

Apollo Lander

Surface of the Moon, Marianas Plain

In the near future, Day 48

“For the love of God, can’t we get a break?” Craig asked rhetorically as the rover pulled up to the lander.

Julie couldn’t see up front, but she heard Craig clearly. “What now?”

Craig flipped a switch to activate the lights on the lander, illuminating the entire area in a three-hundred-sixty-degree circle. “Looks bad. Let’s check it out.”

Julie started to put her helmet and gloves on. The front compartment of the rover was cracked, and Craig didn’t bother risking a blowout by pressurizing it, so he already had his suit on and simply stepped out.

“I’m right behind you,” Julie said, getting a comforting latching sound on her helmet and then twisting both glove locks on and securing her suit, which pressurized immediately. She opened the door after depressurizing her rear cabin and followed Craig.

The scene was depressing. Several basketball-sized rocks had landed in the area, strewn out across the visible distance, and an unlikely strike had one of the rocks either hitting or ricocheting off the side of the lander, breaching one of the two main propellant tanks on the starboard side of the craft. What looked like water ice was all over the surface around the ruptured tank. Julie knew it was propellant.

“That’s just great. Game over, man,” Craig despaired, walking around the ruptured tank and looking at the lander, scratched in many places along its side.

“Is the interior breached?” Julie asked.

“I don’t know. I’ll need to get inside and pressurize it to see. I just don’t see how we can perform a two stage burn to get back to our orbiter.”

“Get inside, perform a systems check, and let me know. I’ll raise Houston on the main freq. We good with that?” Julie asked.

“Yeah, we are now patched into the transceiver onboard Blackjack. You can transmit when ready,” Craig said, moving toward the airlock underneath of the lander by the aluminum ladder.

“Apollo to Gordust, over,” Julie said.

“Go ahead Apollo,” Yuri’s voice replied.

“We have reached our lander and will be using our own radio now. Thanks for the assist.”

“Roger, Apollo, we are about to hit the dayside terminator and swing around. We’ll be out for an hour or so. Luck and speed.”

“Copy,” Julie replied, switching her wristband channel indicator to use the lander’s system via an intercom system. “Houston, this is Blackjack, over.”

“Go ahead, Blackjack. This is Houston reading you on primary one, over.”

“Houston, be advised that we have a catastrophic failure of fuel tank two due to ejecta damage, minimal damage to struts three and four, as well as a slight fracture of the outer hull on the starboard side. We are running a diagnostic now. Will report, over.”

“Roger, Blackjack, major failure on fuel tank two, minimal to struts three and four, minor fracture on outer shell, starboard side.”

“That’s affirmative, Houston.”

“We have information for you as well, Blackjack. Be advised that seventeen miles due west we’ve located a signal from the Chinese lander, one astronaut sending out a Mayday. Can you assist?”

Julie heard the call, but it took her a minute to process the news. “Affirm, Houston, do you have coordinates on him?”

“Being sent to your display now on the data feed.”

“Roger, wait one, Houston,” Julie said, clicking her wrist pad from main to local. “Craig, did you monitor that last?”

“Yeah, I got it. He’s probably dead as well. Been there for several days if our reporting was correct. You can’t be serious about going, though, can you?”

“Well, you took the time to retrieve the Russians. Why not do the same for the Chinese? I know I’d want my body returned if at all possible.”

“It’s your call, Jules,” Craig said.

“What’s our status?”

“Bad, Jules. We have only fifty percent of total propellant load in tank one, and we’ll need ninety percent to reach our orbiter. With the two-stage move, the calcs were cutting it too close, and this just screwed our pooch, but good. We aren’t going anywhere.”

“Better let Houston know,” she said, keying the mike manually after switching on the main channel. “Houston, be advised we are at fifty percent fuel load at this time. All other systems are a go.”

“Roger, Blackjack, we’re working it. Confirm receipt of coordinates.”

“Coordinates received, Blackjack, mobile en route. Will advise upon arrival, over and out.”

“All right, Jules, I’m showing the bottom transfer pump intact and will try to transfer any propellant not frozen from the bottom of tank two over to tank one,” Craig said.

“Sounds good. I’ll advise when I arrive. Can you help me with the Russians first, though?”

“Sure, on my way,” Craig said, appearing at the door to the lander and coming down to help Julie remove the Russian bodies. Julie got inside the rear compartment and removed the lock on the robotic arms and moved them up and out of the way. In quick order, they had both bodies moved to the base of the lander. “I’ll take care of them. Go see to our Chinese astronaut and get back here as soon as you can.”

“Keep the main channel open,” Julie said, retrieving a spare ion battery module from one of the outer storage compartments on the lander and placing it in the same basket where the Russians had been. “A little insurance, just in case.”

“Yeah, the power levels on the rover were showing close to fifty percent. You should have more than enough to go there and return,” Craig said.

Julie walked to the front and got in the operating compartment, turning to make sure the two spare oxygen tanks were still there from their wild ride. “I’m just playing it safe. I’d hate to get out there and find that we had a short in the wiring or a gauge problem with the power levels.”

“Agreed,” Craig said. “Good luck.”

Julie secured the door and checked the pressure. She decided not to risk the chance of the cracked glass breaking, reinforced though it was, and left her suit on. Strapping in, she moved the lever forward and turned the rover due west towards a dark peak line in the distance silhouetted and blocking out the stars. If the coordinates were correct the Chinese lander would be just on the other side of that ridge line.

The trip was uneventful and Julie only had to back the rover up once to go around a draw in the ridge line that threatened to tip it over. After cresting the ridge she could visually make out a faint pinprick of light far out onto one of the many flat and barren lunar plains that composed the majority of the moon’s surface. It was farther than she thought and she was glad she had grabbed a spare battery module. With determination she pushed the vehicle lever forward and started towards the light.

* * * * *

Crimson Glory

Lunar Surface, Marianas Plain

In the near future, Day 48

The alarm chime had rang for the last time as Hen Sing had muted the audible signal warning him of low oxygen levels, and he had used his last dose of morphine an hour earlier. He practically slept waiting for the return of the Chinese orbiter and the call from Beijing.

For some reason, he had turned off most of the unnecessary electrical equipment to conserve energy, but he had left the overhead visual locater beacon on. It served almost no purpose other than a visual identifier, and out here, there was almost nothing except the camera on the orbiter to identify his lander. The oversight saved his life.

His first indication that something was amiss was when the area outside his viewpoint slowly illuminated. Sing could not move to look out, and the angle at which he was looking afforded a view of only stars until a helmeted head appeared in the viewport, looking in with small portable lights on either side to the top shining in on him. The lights made Sing wince, and he squinted, hoping his eyes would adjust as he held an arm up against them.

The outside figure turned its head, and then the lights went out and the figure motioned to the door handle. Sing wasn’t sure what the sudden appearance of the suited figure meant, but it was obvious it wanted inside. Sing checked his coms and called over the main communications channel, but there was no answer. The figure stood silently, framed in the viewport, waiting patiently.

Sing reached for his helmet, putting it on and latching the neck collar, and then grabbed for his gloves, putting each on in turn. Then the cramped quarters also saved his life as he reached for the depressurization switch that would make the inside of his lander equal to the pressure outside on the moon, zero. Had he been forced to reach or move more than an arm’s length, he could not have activated it.

When the indicator showed clear reaching equilibrium with the vacuum of space, he gave the universal thumbs-up symbol to the suited figure and looked at the door handle. Slowly it moved, shimmying at first and then coming all the way up once the figure understood which way to move it to open the door. The door opened completely and, half illuminated from bright lights to its right, Sing could see the patch of the United States of America. The Americans had arrived.

* * * * *

“Craig, am I still patched in to Apollo’s transceiver?”

“Yes, Jules, same as when you left. You are linked it; just push to talk,” Craig said.

“Blackjack mobile to Houston, do you copy?” Julie said, excitement in her voice.

“Blackjack mobile, this is Houston. Go ahead, over.”

“Houston, be advised that I’ve retrieved a Chinese astronaut from the targeted coordinates and am inbound to Apollo. Chinese astronaut is alive. Do you copy, Houston? He is alive.”

There was a long pause as the information not only relayed for nearly three seconds with the speed of light delay but as Houston processed the information. Julie was sure they weren’t expecting him to be alive and neither was she, but there he was. She had dragged him to the rear of the rover and put him inside the compartment, strapping him in and pointing to the button to pressurize it. She feared at first that he wouldn’t understand, and his grimace of pain was more than enough information to demonstrate that not only his legs were broken but something else as well. She had waited long enough to see that he indeed did activate the pressurization, and she didn’t wait to see if he would de-suit or not. She got in and started driving back, using the low gain antenna to contact Apollo and relay her signal.

“Roger, Julie.” Rock’s voice came back steady. “Message understood and authorization to continue the extraction procedure is still authorized. Continue on mission.”

Julie hit a bump and slowed down a bit as she imagined the pain that may have caused her passenger. “Houston, do you have solution on the fuel shortage?”

The question was a hard one to ask, and her actions were most likely all for naught. Save the Chinese astronaut so he could die with them? Wouldn’t that be better than dying alone? She speculated, trying to rationalize her seemingly futile actions.

“Based on the data from Apollo, you are at fifty-six percent fuel capacity. Ninety percent is necessary for return to Apollo orbit and… sixty-five percent necessary to intercept Russian craft in retro orbit. Do you copy?”

Julie gasped. She had thought of the Gordust as a last resort, but now the fuel figures showed that they would not be able to reach its orbit. They were stranded. “Copy, Houston, keep us posted. Over and out.”

Julie clicked off the mike, not wanting to let the emotions in her voice be conveyed nor to make the mission team feel any worse on the ground. The work of retrieving the Chinese body, now alive, though it was thought that he would be dead by now, was busybody work to buy Houston time to run the figures and work out a solution.

She heard Craig call her on their low gain system so it would be a private chat. “You copy that, Jules?”

“Yeah, Craig, we’re SOL, and time’s running out.”

“Is that guy really alive?”

“Oh yeah, he wasn’t moving much till I dragged him out of his lander, but the pain definitely got his attention. He’s got both legs broken, and maybe more. I’m surprised he had enough oxygen for this long, not to mention living with injuries.” Talking about the poor condition of her passenger seemed to take her mind off of her own plight.

“So what’s the plan, Jules?”

“I’ll get back, and then we load our guest in the lander and wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For what we always wait for. For Houston to pull a rabbit out of its hat.”

“Well, that better be one big fucking rabbit,” Craig said, not hearing Julie’s hysterical laughter.

^{Chapter 34}

The Rabbit

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 48

“What are you talking about, Marge?” Rock asked, looking at his second in command with his eyes arched and his hands on his hips.

The entire mission team had all but huddled around Rock’s main command module, crowding the space entirely and making Mr. Smith and Mrs. Brown look more than a little uncomfortable.

“Our handlers there need to get the Russian president on the line and make this happen.” Marge shot them a look and put her own hands on her own hips, a stance displaying more than a bit of defiance.

“I’m not so sure we can do that,” Mr. Smith said, returning the look. “They are still recovering from the bombing of their space command center.”

“And you’re asking them to abort their own mission,” Mrs. Brown added.

“We are not going to leave our crew up there to die,” Marge practically shouted, frustration in her voice. “You two need to make this happen.”

Rock took a long look at the observation room high above them and could only make out a mass of dark shapes, Secret Service most likely. They needed a push now. Rock grabbed one of his technical manuals lying on his desk and hurled it at the observation window.

“What the hell are you doing?” Mr. Smith asked, stepping back and into Tom.

The response was immediate as figures moved, and four agents closed in on Rock’s console.

“We’re elevating the matter,” Rock said looking at Mr. Smith and sighing when he finally saw the vice president enter the room.

* * * * *

Gordust Space Station

Low Moon Orbit

In the near future, Day 48

“Ah, copy, Vostonchny, please confirm the mission parameters one more time,” Yuri said, rolling his recorders again. If they were going to order him to do this, then he damn well wanted it recorded, just in case.

Vostonchny completed its repetition and then signed out.

“What the hell was that about?” Olga asked.

“It seems we are now a search and rescue mission,” Yuri said, keying the internal mike on.

“Search for what? We know where the Americans are,” she said.

“All right, Olya, just rescue, then,” Yuri cleared his throat. “Nikolai, prepare for orbital insertion burn in five minutes.”

“Insertion?” Nikolai asked, obvious confusion in his voice.

“Yes, Olya, insertion. We are going to orbit closer.”

“Bozhe moi,” Olga said, her face surprised.

“My feelings exactly,” Yuri said, clicking on the diagnostic system check and strapping his seat belt tighter.

* * * * *

Apollo Lander

Lunar Surface, Marianas Plain

In the near future, Day 48

Julie had returned without incident to see that there was no sign of the Russian bodies. She got out after swapping one of the mini oxygen bottles attached to her waist from the rover and moved to the rear. She had purposely drove a few feet past the lander so that its intense overhead lighting array would illuminate the rear of the rover.

She saw the Chinese astronaut sitting, breathing heavily. His helmet and one glove was off. Craig came down the stairs of the lander and stood next to her.

“He’s really alive. Such a shame, too.”

Julie turned to see him better, but his face was in shadow and the visor didn’t help. “You think I should have just left him?”

“No.” His voice sounded artificial as it was bounced over the rover and back on the mini low gain array. “I think you should have never went there in the first place. Ah, what does it matter?”

Julie ignored the pessimism. “I see that you either managed to get an extra six percent transferred over or you understated our fuel load.”

“I transferred what was still liquid at the bottom in the secondary reserve tank. It appears they keep another hull over the reserve just in case, so that wasn’t frozen or ejected when the top of the tank was breached, not that six percent will make a difference.”

“But you transferred it, anyway.” Julie made a statement and not a question.

“I guess it’s just the training they instill in you,” Craig answered back. “What are we going to do with our friend there? Have you talked to him yet?”

“Of course not. I don’t speak Chinese, and I have no idea what com frequency he’s using.”

“Let’s get him inside the lander and see if we can talk to him, then,” Craig said, motioning to the man inside the rover and then his own helmet. The man nodded and started to suit up again. “Best to tell the man to his face that he’s still going to die.”

“Blackjack, this is Houston. Do you copy, over?”

“Houston, this is Blackjack. We are transferring our guest to the Apollo lander, over,” Julie said, switching her com mike control to voice activation so she would be hands-free to help Craig with the Chinese astronaut.

“Roger, Blackjack, acknowledge your return with one Chinese foreign national. Standby, over.”

“Standing by,” Julie said, moving to the rover where Craig had opened the door after the man inside had depressurized his compartment. Seems he was coherent enough to understand the correct button to push.

The two of them grabbed the man by an arm, each lopping the large suited limbs over their own shoulders. Julie was still amazed at how light the man was. One sixth earth’s gravity made for an easy move of the man over to the stairs of the lander where Craig went up first and then grabbed the man’s outstretched hands, arms completely overhead, and Julie pushed on the man’s butt, avoiding his legs, and in one fell swing, he was pulled inside the lander.

Julie started up the stairs when the call came in. “Julie, this is Richard Crandon, do you copy?”

“Roger, Rock, what brings you to the mike?” Julie asked.

“Julie, are Craig’s ears on?”

“Rock, Craig here. I’m listening, go ahead.”

“I’ve got Marjorie Jones here. She’s going to explain a little idea we’ve worked out for you.”

Julie just cleared the lip of the door and saw the Chinese man still suited on his back, his legs sprawled in unnatural angles, and Craig’s face, now clearly visible in the enhanced lighting of the lander, had a look of utter shock on it.

“Let us have it, Houston,” Julie said, pulling herself inside and securing the door.

* * * * *

Gordust Space Station

Low Moon Orbit

In the near future, Day 48

“Burn successful, orbital adjustment to perigee in three minutes,” Nikolai said, his voice tense.

“Keep an eye out on visual for the Apollo. It should be in front of us and down about twenty degrees,” Yuri said, scanning his own FLIR and seeing nothing.

After what seemed like several minutes, Olga’s voice excitedly shouted, “I’ve got them, forward and thirteen degrees and climbing.”

“Da, I see them now, though they’re not climbing, we’re still descending. Nikolai, ready the braking burn when we’re less than five hundred meters.”

“I’m ready, Commander, burn on your orders,” Nikolai’s voice came back.

“Ivan, we only have one shot at this or we auger into the surface. Are you at the air lock?” Yuri asked.

“Yes, Commander,” Ivan’s voice came back. “I’m fully prepped for EVA on your orders. I’ll get them if you can get me within ten meters.”

“I’ll get you close enough to kiss them, just keep an eye on your timer. You’ll have just under three minutes,” Yuri said.

“Roger, Yuri, I’ll be ready,” Ivan said.

The Apollo had long ago stopped its burn as it had taken off and shot into an orbit that was nearly half the orbit of the Gordust. The craft didn’t have the fuel to go any higher, and the orbital delta speed was not enough to maintain the orbit. As soon as it looped to its zenith, the moon’s gravity would reach up and grab the craft, bringing it down again until it impacted on the moon’s other side.

“We’re coming in too hot, Yuri. Start breaking at seven hundred meters,” Olga said, monitoring the radar and showing the closing speed to be far outside the norm.

Yuri looked at her quickly and then back to the FLIR. “We’ve only got one shot at this Olga, maintain course and speed.”

“You’ve said that already. I get it, but we’re not going to do anyone any good if we all impact on the moon together or splat one another in orbit,” Olga said, panic starting to creep into her voice.

“Commander, we are coming in fast. Your orders?” Nikolai said.

“Stay on target, just a little bit further…” Yuri’s voice sounded distant.

Olga braced herself.

* * * * *

“Jesus H. Christ,” Craig said, looking at his radar screen and the figures scrolling across the bottom. “He’s going to hit us!”

Julie looked out the side window port at the quickly growing faint light that was approaching them from the rear. The Apollo lander was tilted sideways still from its orbital burn, allowing her the viewing angle. “I hope he knows what he’s doing.”

“He’s going to hit us is what he’s doing,” Craig said again.

“No way, space is vast. If anything, he’ll be a hundred meters away and we’ll have a hard time evacing and reaching the Gordust,” Julie said, hopefulness sounding in her voice, or was that wishful thinking?

“Not according to my radar reading. He’s right on target, and we’re the target. Brace for impact,” Craig said.

Impact would most likely mean death, so Julie ignored the command and watched as the Gordust approached. This would be close. “Almost there.”

“Passing zenith, starting our descent now,” Craig said, vocalizing his readings from his dual radar displays. One on the Gordust, the other pointed to the surface.

Julie continued to look out the viewport and then said, “I think you’re right, Craig.”

“What?”

“Brace for impact.”

* * * * *

“Fire now!” Yuri shouted, again, not necessary over the intercom system, but human nature was, after all, human nature.

The ship shuddered as all four rockets fired on maximum. The burn was timed to be for exactly seventeen seconds, but they could be off a tad and Yuri had let the timer go all the way to the zero point before giving the command. Normally the rockets would be on automatic burn, but the calculations were only as good as the data inputted and Yuri sensed that the Apollo had arrived a tad earlier than calculated, and Yuri had been correct.

The Apollo had passed its high point, or zenith, and now started to descend ever so slowly at first, but gaining momentum with every passing second. The navigation computer onboard the Gordust would not care and would simply initiate the burn as ordered. The radar data was no good either since the Gordust could not “fix” the Apollo’s height, and the rate of burn was an estimate when it took off. A close estimate, but an estimate nevertheless.

Olga cringed as the Apollo suddenly loomed in their sight. Yuri hit the starboard thruster, which released six side vents of gas, pushing the Gordust farther down as it approached and slowed. The last minute adjustment, minute that it was, saved all their lives. The Gordust’s massive four motors finally cut out, and the ship stopped relative to the Apollo with one of the Apollo’s landing struts a mere two meters away from striking the window of their command pod on Olga’s side.

“Ivan, go, go, go,” Yuri said into his mike, taking a deep breath and looking to Olga.

Her face was pale as she returned the look. “That was too close, Yuri.”

“I know,” he answered.

There was a moment of silence before Ivan spoke. “Kiss them, my ass! You just about fucked them in the—” Yuri hit mute on the receiver for a second, not hearing the last of Ivan’s transmission.

Ivan became visible, tether and all, as his EVA suit propelled him in front of the Gordust and up to the Apollo. He hit the side easily and used a second tether to click the attached clamp onto one of the support rings that had been used to hoist it on top of the Saturn a week ago.

Olga flipped the mute switch back on. “Ivan, see if their hatch is on the other side.”

“I see them. They’re coming,” Ivan came back, pulling himself over and allowing the astronauts to use the line to cross over to the Gordust. One figure, bigger than the other two, moved to the bottom of the Apollo and released a compartment, pulling on something. Two suited bodies with the badges of the Russian Republic floated out, both attached by a safety line to their utility belts. The larger American-badged figure gave the line to Ivan and then pulled himself across the void and out of sight behind Yuri and Olga’s view.

“Let’s bring our comrades home,” Yuri said.

“Affirmative, Commander,” Ivan said, starting back once the others had cleared.

“Prepare for new arrivals,” Olga spoke.

“Airlock re-pressurizing now. Three new cosmonauts onboard,” Nikolai said. “I’ve activated the equipment pod and Ivan is securing our comrades. ETA sixty seconds.”

“Get him back on board and secure for burn. Let’s go home,” Yuri said.

^Epilogue

Debrief

White House

Washington D.C.

In the near future, Day 54

“So how’s Colonel Sing, is it?” Rock asked from his seat in the presidential briefing room at the White House.

“We had him for an extra forty-eight hours due to… shall we say, health reasons,” Mr. Smith said from across the table.

“And the Russians?” Marge asked. “How did you get them to agree with helping us?”

“I’ll take this one,” President Powers said, leaning forward. “They have their own intelligence-gathering apparatus and apparently a pretty good HUMINT section as well. They learned of Commander Monroe’s securing of the alien data card and agreed to help us if we shared the data from it.”

“But if the Russian’s know, surely then the Chinese…” Mr. Smith left the rest of his sentence unspoken.

“Well, we turned Colonel Sing over to the Chinese Ambassador yesterday, and he should be on a flight to Beijing as we speak. What’s important is that by bringing him back, we may have very well prevented World War Three,” President Powers said.

“How’s that?” Mr. Smith asked.

“Yeah,” Tom spoke up and Rock cringed. “If the Ruskies know, then those commies probably know, or at least suspect as well.”

“Calm down, both of you,” Powers said, as if speaking to two unruly teenage sons. “The data on the card is literally a copy of the last signal that we picked up from the device before the Chinese destroyed it, so it’s available to everyone. They just need time to decode it, and the card makes that easier for us.”

“What’s on the card?” Lisa asked.

Powers nodded to her Chief Medical Advisor. “The card has a blueprint of what looks to be an optimal genetic coding for Homo sapiens.”

“Can we get that in English, sir?” Tom asked.

President Powers interrupted. “It means that perhaps within a year we’ll be able to nearly perfect our genetic codes to banish illness, cure diseases, and do away with most of the things that plague mankind. We can thank Doctor Jones for that.”

What President Powers didn’t explain was that the initial assessment of the genetic coding contained two abnormalities as they related to the human genome; obesity and actinic keratosis, otherwise known as scaly skin. Two factors that were more than worrisome for the medical advisors on the president’s staff.

Marge blushed and looked down at her notes, and Rock smiled at her before he spoke. “So how long are you going to quarantine Julie and Craig?”

President Powers held up her hand again, commanding silence. “Commander Monroe and Captain Alders will only be another day or so before we release them to their families for a well-deserved rest. Our medical professionals felt it prudent to keep them in the hospital for observation after the close brush with the nuclear radiation of the event and the close proximity of being near the transmitter of that alien device. They are doing well, and we anticipate they’ll be home with their families very soon.”

“And the reports of the alien signals? The ones we confirmed in Houston,” Jack said.

“Your team was correct. Alien signals were detected from three locations. Mars, somewhere on or near Jupiter, and we are guessing Pluto, though it could be any one of a million objects in the Kuiper belt near the planet—”

“Planetoid, or TNO, Trans Neptunian Object,” Tom corrected her.

The silence wasn’t very long. “All right, Mr. McClain, the planetoid or TNO, then, we should have a fix on it soon enough,” Powers said.

“So what does this mean for us?” Director Lui asked from his seat next to Rock.

“It means, Director Lui, that NASA’s work is just beginning,” President Powers said. “The space race has just begun.”

* * * * *

Halley’s Comet

Sol Solar System

In the near future…

The large comet had an interesting device attached to the head of the cone. The comet was a nondescript normal comet that circled the class G star with eight planets, several planetoids, and millions of asteroids, other comets, and floating rocks and debris, the third planet being a ball of green and blue, covered by over seven billion intelligent humanoid lifeforms.

The comet orbited this particular sun every seventy-six years, and found itself far from the system’s sun not long after its aphelion, when the device attached to it detected the signal from the moon of the system’s third planet. The device processed the signal and then opened a large double-sided door where a triangle-shaped, diamond-looking arrowhead object appeared the size of a small building. The arrowhead object started to glow, and then its tip pointed toward the center of the galaxy in which it was located, pointing at a binary star system tens of thousands of light years distant.

Once aligned, the object’s white arrowhead body started to pulsate as the FTL, or faster than light, signal it emitted began its journey to its maker’s home star system.

Humans had rang the doorbell.

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About the Author

Salvador Mercer loves a good book. Having read the many works, and enjoyed the many wonderful stories and tales, by many other countless authors, he hopes to share the same delightful experience with those who also enjoy reading a good tale.

Inspired since his childhood by the lunar landings in the late sixties and early seventies, Mercer loved the idea of mankind’s exploration into the cosmos. Alas, our moon landings were never followed up by more progressive manned missions and the idea came to find a way to make our return to the cosmos a necessity and not a luxury. Thus Lunar Discovery was born.

The recent Mars Curiosity mission, as well as Pluto’s Horizon mission, gives a new look into what the future could hold for space exploration, if only we will be so bold.

Mercer is fluent in English, Russian, and Spanish, and loves languages, history, reading, and science. He lives with his three boys, a baby (elf), toddler (hobbit), teenager (orc), and his wife, Masha in Ohio.

Copyright

Lunar Discovery Copyright © 2015 by Salvador Mercer.

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

For information contact: Salvador@salvadormercer.com

www.salvadormercer.com

Edited by: Courtney Umphress

http://courtneyumphress.com/

Book and Cover design by Christine Savoie aka ‘Cagnes’ c2015

ASIN: B014IEFS8M

First Edition: September 2015

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