The Fall

by J. L. Wood

  “Right,” she responded, holding out her coffee mug for Justin to refill. “And in four days, they will be trackable from Earth.”

  “Then you expect the frequency to continue well past our planet? And you have some reason to believe this is a communication rather than a natural occurring phenomenon… Why?”

  Jessica blew into her cup of fresh coffee and took a sip. “There’s a pattern, and it goes by threes. Every three, then six, then nine, up to twenty-one minutes, there is a millisecond FRB followed by a long silence of forty-two minutes. It is on constant repeat—you can time your watch to it. Some sort of signal is coming from that galaxy. Not to mention the fact that it is getting stronger. Something is trying to tell us something. I know it.

  “Don, I’ve been in this business for over ten years, and I know a false signal when I hear it. I believe in this one. Now, in four days, the signal is going to be so strong that we will be able to track it here. Right on Earth. We need to get out there and see the source of this signal. But I feel, wholeheartedly, that this is an attempt at communication. Now, if we send the Pitch out there and start broadcasting back, what could that mean if the signal changes? It means that in our lifetime, we would have finally come into contact with someone or something else.”

  Don hesitated. “Or it could not respond back at all, and this would all just be a naturally occurring phenomenon light-years away.”

  “That too,” Jessica admitted. “But that still is something that is important to research. It’s unique.”

  Justin held his mug with a frown. “Don, we’re wasting a lot of time here going back and forth. We need you. There is something out there, and it could be giving us a very friendly hello. Why don’t you be the man to take the Pitch out and communicate back?”

  “Maybe the NASA Collaboration already knows what’s there,” Don whispered. “Perhaps you should contact them.”

  Justin sighed. “You know better than anyone how the Collaboration works. Of course I can’t contact anyone. I don’t know anyone, and if I remember… Yeah, you don’t know anyone either, so why even bring it up? Jess asked David, but his fat ass made it perfectly clear not to bother them. You know how he works. Something is there. Let’s find it. And to put this more bluntly, if those radio waves hit our satellites, what could that mean for us? Come on, man, you know and I know that this is pretty fucking bizarre.”

  Don tightened his arms across his chest. “Why not wait for it to get here? You said it’s coming. If we wait four more days max, we can try to interpret the signal. Then we’re all in the clear if it is a fluke.”

  “But why wait until it’s here?” Jessica asked. “Who knows what the purpose is? We need to see the source of the matter now, not when it gets here. Think offensive, not defensive.”

  Shame tightened its grasp around Don’s neck. “So what?” he asked, his voice rising. “I still don’t understand why you’re here this early, and why we couldn’t handle this any later. And don’t you think NASA would be monitoring that? This is probably not our battle—especially for five a.m.!”

  “Whoa, buddy,” Justin whispered. “I thought there was a woman sleeping.”

  Jessica pulled the binder back and stuffed it into her bag. “We have already explained everything. The problem is that as these FRBs intensify, they could cause communications disruptions within our satellites, and when they reach us, it would be too late to start brainstorming on how to disrupt them back. There. You wanted a problem? Now you have it.

  “Now, we are here to investigate the FRBs because it’s what I was hired to do by Kenny, and it is what I am still doing. There is a very high chance that there is something out there, and we are going to find it, with or without your help. There doesn’t need to be a tragedy in the making for us to want to do something. There only needs to be a reason, and if you don’t think that this miraculous discovery, this pattern, this possible reach for communication, is not important on its own without a tragedy, then Justin was right, you are washed up. You’re done.”

  “Brutal,” Justin muttered under his breath.

  Those words stung Don, and with all his strength, he pulled free from Shame, the grip around his neck loosening as he watched it recoil, slowly seeping back into the Earth, deep down, to the core. He was free for now. “Even if I wanted to help, I can’t. I have a really important engagement with my girlfriend today.”

  “Unacceptable,” Jessica replied. “Nothing is more important than this right now.”

  “How far is Messier 83?” Missy asked as she walked into the dining room, her bare feet hardly making a sound against the hardwood floor. “Time-wise. I don’t know much about space travel.”

  Justin frowned. “So we did end up waking her,” he whispered.

  Missy raised her brow and looked to Don.

  “Jessica, Justin, this is my girlfriend, Missy,” he said while motioning for her to join them at the table.

  Missy took a seat and smiled at Don’s acquaintances. “So, how far is it? I’ve never even heard of the Pitch. Don is always so secretive.”

  “Well, that’s because…” Jessica started. She glanced at Don for approval, and when he nodded, she continued. “There’re two levels of space travel—public and private. Public space tech and travel is what you know. We can send passenger ships as far as Mars and Venus. We can send unmanned exploratory ships even farther than that, to other galaxies. But the reality is that we can do so much more. The Pitch can take humans to other galaxies. It can travel faster than light for a prolonged period of time. Not to mention the use of man-made portals that shorten the distance of travel.”

  Missy’s eyes widened. “What the hell? Why isn’t that public knowledge? Do you mean that ex-NASA guy…Rudy something, the one who came out and said that better tech existed? He was right? The president said he wished that were true…that it wasn’t possible.”

  “They discredit those who leak info,” Jessica continued. “It’s a matter of national security. Not to overload you with information, but we can’t let anyone outside of a group called the NASA Collaboration know. It’s a group of countries that all signed peace agreements to aid in space exploration. Our technology can be dangerous if it falls into the wrong hands.”

  Missy stared at Jessica in disbelief. “But that guy…he killed himself! And he was telling the truth? He was made out to be a crazy person.”

  Justin leaned back in his chair and interlocked his fingers behind his head. “No, he got suicided.”

  Don grabbed Missy’s hand. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. Knowing is dangerous in itself. But you’ve already heard a lot, so you might as well know the rest.”

  “So you are all part of the NASA Collaboration?” Missy asked.

  Justin nodded then shook his head. “Kinda. I mean, Cadence Science is part of the Collaboration. There’re several layers of clearance. Jessica and I are level three. Don is, or was, a two. And there’re several companies like ours that report to the Collaboration. Around forty, I think. NASA’s really tight-lipped.”

  “What a mess,” Missy said, biting her nails. “People like me get to live outside this world of secrecy.”

  Don gripped Missy’s hand again. “No, people like you get to live in a world of possibility. As long as the Collaboration holds the power, we control space.”

  Missy sighed. “I get it. I won’t say a word to anyone, but tell me this: How long has this been going on?”

  “I’m unsure of the actual start of the Collaboration, but Cadence joined in 2023,” Don replied. “We were given the Pitch in 2025.”

  Missy thought for a moment. “So for ten years you’ve had this tech? Crazy.”

  Jessica looked at her watch. “Back to your original question, a round trip to Messier 83 will be three days max. Don would need to travel to a transport portal, which would take him to Messier 83. Once in the galaxy, he would need to travel to Lerner. It’s a little over thirty million light-years of total travel. But since Don isn’t on board,
Justin and I really should be going now.”

  “Don, you should go,” Missy blurted out. “They need you.”

  “No—” Don started to say.

  “I’ll stay home today,” Missy said. “I promise. The school can carry on without me.” She hugged Don and then gently laid her hand on his shoulder as she got up to leave. “And I want to hear more about all of this when you get back.”

  Don watched Missy leave, relieved that she would not go to the school. It was a win-win situation for everyone. He nodded at Justin and smiled.

  He was going to fly the Pitch today.

  – 5 –

  Greenwood

  The sound of licking woke her up. Skiddy was constantly licking himself or his paws, but today he was sporadically licking Missy’s pillow. As Missy rolled over to stop her tiny companion, her cheek touched a wet spot on the pillow, and she recoiled. She wondered how much dog slobber had saturated the pillowcase and gotten down into the feathers.

  This is a thought for later, she told herself as she flipped her pillow over to the dry, safe side. Pulling the sheets over her head, she herded Skiddy underneath with her free hand and pulled him close to her, the warmth from his body comforting.

  She wasn’t sure of the time, but she could feel the daylight seeping through the sheets. With Skiddy now snuggled in her arms like a small teddy bear, Missy stretched her legs under the sheet to Don’s side of the bed, the coolness of the sheets a soothing wave of calm against her bare legs. She wanted to cherish this moment for as long as she could—the bed all to herself, silence all around, just her and Skiddy.

  As she closed her eyes to try and fall back to sleep, Missy thought of what Don would be doing so far away. She imagined him in a shiny ship taking off into space, his crew, Justin and the dark-haired woman whose name slipped her mind, with him pushing buttons while he called out strategic commands.

  “Twenty degrees to the right,” Don would yell, and his crewmates would reply, “Yes, Captain!” in unison. The Earth became a small ball, barely visible from the side window of the ship, as the captain steered the ship in the direction of a blinking light on the radar. “We’re almost there,” Justin shouted while pointing out the window. “No! Turn around!” the woman yelled. “It’s coming for us!” As Don walked toward the window to get a better view, a large rocket collided into the ship, causing it to explode upon impact.

  Missy opened her eyes, her heart racing from the dream. She felt empty, useless. Don was off somewhere, possibly making history in Messier 83, and she was trapped in the house like a timid mouse. She wished she hadn’t told Don that she was staying home; she really did want to help out at the school. Her mind flooded with regret for staying home when she could have been put to good use.

  Don will be gone for days. He won’t know if I left, she reasoned. After scratching Skiddy’s chest, she kissed him on the top of his head. “This will be our little secret,” she whispered as she grabbed her phone off the nightstand. “I’ll be back soon.”

  *

  Missy could see a lot of commotion at the school even before she turned onto Bering Drive. At the corner of Bering and Rosdell sat the playground area for the school’s students, empty and deserted, not a sight she was used to seeing. As she sat at the stop sign in her old Chevy sedan, still on Rosdell, she considered driving past the school and then back home. Maybe Don was right after all, that the safest place to be was at home. She was great at making up excuses, and she could figure out a reason for not making it to the school today if she did decide to take that route.

  Missy raised her right hand to shield her eyes from the sun, trying to get a better look at the crowd in front of the school. Although the playground equipment blocked most of her view, she was able to make out several police cars that lined the school’s circle drive, their emergency lights flashing, all parked tightly around the curve. Before the entrance sat a police car, parked horizontally across the street, blocking anyone from getting near the front of the school, with a second car farther down past the school parking lot.

  Missy continued to stare at the blockade, unable to tell if this was proactive or reactive. Letting her curiosity get the best of her, she turned onto Bering Drive, and as she slowly approached the first blockade, she was able to see several short orange barricades lining the left side of the road near the shallow drainage ditch. Several other orange barricades had been strategically placed around the front of the school, some taller than others, creating a large semicircle around the school’s entrance.

  In the ditch, beyond the flat portion of the barricade, stood nearly a hundred people, a mix of men, women, and children, many yelling obscenities at the officers who paced back and forth along the barricade, tapping their batons on the palm of their hands, calling for calm, ready to instill order if need be. As Missy scanned the crowd, looking for familiar faces, she noticed a good portion of the crowd was praying, while many others were crying. Some tested the patience of the officers by placing their hands on the barricade, which was quickly met with a snap of a baton, followed by a cry for help from the crowd.

  Missy gasped and placed her hand on the gear shift. She pushed in the brake to shift the car into reverse and then stopped. “It’s about the kids,” she whispered. “Don’t be an idiot.”

  She put the car in park and looked back toward the entrance of the school. More police officers were scattered about the front of the school, many with rifles, which made her heart skip a beat. Two were at the front door, and one slowly approached her, gun drawn. Missy placed her hands on the steering wheel as the officer instructed, her short nails digging into the fuzzy pink wheel cover.

  “This road is closed. You need to turn around,” the officer said through the thin glass of her car door. In her rearview mirror, she could see another officer cautiously approaching her car from behind. Missy tensed, and her ears rang, drowning out the sounds of the world. She was in a situation she had seen so many times on television and was unsure of how to act. Why were the officers treating her like a criminal? She reached for the window lever, and the officer yelled, “Hands back on the wheel!”

  Missy quickly obliged.

  With her hands still tightly on the wheel, she turned to face the officer. “I…I work here. I’m late.”

  The officer nodded to his partner, who had slowly been making her way from the rear of the car to the front passenger-side window. “Roll your window down,” the first officer requested. Missy fumbled for the lever and quickly rolled it down, the old, rusty gears squeaking with each rotation. The first officer continued to hold his gun, pointed at Missy. “Badge,” he requested. “Hold it up.”

  Nervously, Missy pulled her backpack onto her lap from the passenger seat and gripped the zipper to the front pouch.

  “Slowly.”

  Missy obliged, slowly unzipped the pouch, and pulled her identification card out, holding it near the window so the officer could see her picture. “Stay put,” he instructed before walking off to the side. Missy’s heart raced as she watched him speak into the radio attached to the shoulder of his shirt. After a few moments, he returned and nodded at his partner, who walked toward the car blockade.

  “Michelle Wild, duty started at 0700 hours. I apologize for that—we were not expecting any more staff to arrive. Trish is going to move the car here for you. Just drive through and park in the lot. You are to report to the administrative office. Use the side entrance of the building.” The officer stepped back and tapped the roof of her car, indicating that she should move forward.

  As Missy did so, the crowd behind the orange barrier began to shout obscenities at her, and one anonymous person threw a beer bottle at the front of her car. Missy let out a high-pitched yell as the brown bottle shattered, sending pieces of glass all over her windshield.

  “Assholes!” she yelled out of her window. As she quickly rolled up her window to avoid any more harassment, through her left rearview mirror, she could see one of the officers tasing a young man in t
he crowd. Watching the man squirm, his limbs flailing in the air, made her chuckle. “Sweet justice,” she whispered as she scanned the parking lot for an empty spot.

  The parking lot was packed, with cars parked where spots never existed, blocking cars in, making it difficult for the cars in the rear of the lot to leave. Settling for a spot on the grass near the front of the school, Missy put her car into park. She wanted to be able to easily leave the lot when the day was over. As she exited her car toward the side entrance of the school, she noticed more police officers guarding the rear entry of the building, near the fields. More orange barricades were placed in the back of the building, some tall and not as wide as others.

  Am I being stupid doing this? she wondered as she remembered Don’s pleas.

  As she approached the side door, she could hear the officer speaking on his radio. “Michelle Wild is entering the building.” When she was near the door, he opened it for her, and she cautiously walked inside. This was not the atmosphere that had been advertised to her the day before. The inside of the school was quiet, as if she was the only one there. As she walked through the back halls toward the administrative office near the front doors of the school, all she could think about was finding Mary.

  Missy walked through the second-grade hallway, past the cafeteria. The yells from the crowd outside were a sharp contrast to the silence inside the building. Where was everyone? There were more cars in the lot than she dared to count, and yet the inside felt like a ghost town. Her sneakers made a soft clap on the white vinyl floors and made her feel out of place. As she entered the administrative office through the door behind the receptionist area, she found Joyce Almer, the school secretary, reapplying her bright-orange lipstick while staring into the mirror of her compact.