“Thanks… I think.”
Faulkland unbuckled his harness and pushed off into the middle of the bridge, his eyes fastened on the strange object. “I know I should be furious right now, but man alive, this is really something. Something wonderful.”
Marcus drifted over to meet him, and then turned and pointed out at Zebra-One. His pose mimicked every painting of an explorer discovering a lost city. “A promise just waiting to be fulfilled. Besides, where would you prefer to find your name in the history books, Commander? By a manned mission to Jupiter, or first contact with extra-terrestrial life?”
“Yeah,” was all Faulkland said. Then he woke from his stupor. “Shen, prepare a status update for Bangalore. Tell them that we’ve arrived at Zebra-One and will begin initial survey within the hour.” He gave Marcus a knowing nod.
“That might be a problem, sir,” Mason Shen said in consternation. He was working furiously at his station. “I’ve lost contact with Earth, sir.”
“Solar flare?” Faulkland asked.
“No, sir. The forecast is spotless, and radiation is within tolerance. Signal just went dead about five minutes ago, and I haven’t picked up a thing since. I’m still receiving a carrier signal from Mars, though.”
“Strange. Probably nothing. Relay through Mars until we can re-establish contact.”
“Aye aye.”
Faulkland turned back to Marcus. “What now, Doctor?”
Marcus had years worth of plans ready to unfold. “This is our first glance up her skirt, and I’d like to make a few passes along the length of her. Get the lay of the land. With any luck, we might get some insight into how her camouflage works. After that, we go out to meet her in person. Rao’s team identified a number of structures we call irises, which they suspect are air-locks, or else some kind of unknown organ. Either way, our investigations should start there. Iris Charlie on the starboard side of the main hull appears to be the most accessible.”
“How many times have you rehearsed that speech?”
“Thousands,” Marcus replied. Then he noticed something about Faulkland’s demeanor that he couldn’t immediately put into words. “You’re coming along,” he said incredulously.
Faulkland had a smile as wide as the stars. “Wild horses couldn’t stop me.”
“Isn’t that kind of reckless?”
“If we weren’t a little reckless, Marcus, we wouldn’t be space cowboys.”
Marcus Donovan reflected on that and decided that truer words had never been spoken.
Copernicus Observatory was dark. Its generator was off-line for routine maintenance, and during this part of the station’s orbit, the sun was completely hidden behind the Earth, leaving the distant stars the only remaining source of light.
Nils Jansen was floating around near the main power console, idly looking over a wiring diagram with a flashlight. He was wearing most of a skin-tight pressure suit, all except for the helmet which was still dangling from his hip. The station was reasonably comfortable, and he could hardly stand to wear the stuffy thing. It made him feel claustrophobic, and he likely wouldn’t put it on until air inside the station began to taste foul.
Other than Jansen, the spherical control center was completely deserted. He was part of a three-man skeleton crew who kept things in order while Bangalore controlled the scanning array from the ground. Research teams occasionally came through on short tours, but in the mean time, Jansen and the other two technicians kept the seats warm, made sure the place didn’t fall apart, and tried not to kill one another.
It wasn’t Jansen’s dream job, but the salary was alright, it was easy work, and he accrued enough leave to visit his family every few months.
It could be worse, he assured himself. He could be hurtling through space on some fool alien hunt.
He flicked his headset on. “Marco?”
There was another moment of silence, then his earpiece crackled to life. “Polo.”
Jansen groaned. “When are you gonna give up that lame, tired ass joke?”
“About ten seconds after you start addressing me properly.”
“Fine,” he said. “Technician Jansen to Technician Esquivel: Are you done yet? I wanna turn the power back on. Over.”
“Nope. Two blown fuses at Junction D7. I just sent Hopkins off to get replacements.”
Jansen looked down at the crinkly wiring diagram and found Junction D7, then started looking for the nearest storage locker. He found it a hundred meters away. “You sent Hop? He’ll take a week.”
“He’s getting faster,” Marco said hopefully.
Jansen shook his head. “No, he’s not.”
“Just let me pretend.”
“You guys realize I can hear you, right?” Hopkins asked.
Jansen folded his wiring diagram back up and tucked it into a pouch. “Do me a favor and hurry up, would ya? I’m missing a Jefferson’s marathon.”
“And the whole world wept,” Marco said caustically. “Over and out.”
Jansen covered his microphone. “Dolt wouldn’t know quality TV if it bit him on the ass.” A moment later, he began to twiddle his thumbs, hoping that the pressure suit’s thick gloves might make the task more challenging. He was sorely disappointed.
Then Nils Jansen heard a noise like none he’d ever heard before. It was so strange that he couldn’t even begin to describe it. So strange that he began to wonder if it was a noise at all, or if he was suffering some kind of hallucination. He was pretty sure “space madness” was only an urban legend, but he sometimes had his doubts. This was one of those times.
“Guys, there’s something weird going on out here,” Hopkins’ ever-pitiful voice squeaked, huffing and puffing between words.
Not a hallucination, Jansen decided. “What is it?”
The response came back fast. “I don’t friggin know, Nils. If I knew, don’t you think I would’ve said something more descriptive than something weird? Jesus.”
“Jansen, I’m in an access tube right now. Can you see what he’s blubbering about?”
Jansen was already moving around to a better vantage point. “Which direction, Hop?”
“Heading… I dunno. Just look towards the moon.”
He wheeled around and there it was, whatever it was. There was a slight shimmering in empty space, like photos he’d seen of the aurora, but the pattern was all wrong. It reminded him of the house he grew up in, when the late summer sun would reflect off the pool, leaving undulating patterns on the screen door and the ceiling.
“Do you see it, Jansen?”
He was dumbfounded.
“Jansen?”
He snapped back to attention. “Yeah, I see it. I don’t know what the hell it is, either.”
He stared at the undulating field of light, slack-jawed, while colors played across it in every shade of the rainbow. In another moment, he was sure that it wasn’t just one field of light, but seven spaced out evenly.
Then solid shapes began to emerge from within. The lights stretched around them, clinging like latex, until they were whole and complete. The light shimmered and faded away, revealing seven jagged discs like nothing Jansen had ever seen before. There was a lot of that going around.
“You see ‘em, Hop?” He asked.
“Sure do. They look like… like bone or something.”
“See what?” Marco demanded.
Jansen ignored him. “Oyster shell.”
“No, more like coral,” Hopkins said.
Hopkins was right. The texture of the discs was remarkably like coral in a fantastic shade of royal blue. Jansen had no idea what that meant, or if it meant anything at all. As he floated there against the window with his mouth gaping open, he tried to find some frame of reference to gauge how big the discs were, but to no avail. He suddenly wished he’d paid more attention in his astronomy courses. Like Hopkins had. “What do you think? Five kilometers across?”
