Kate nodded.
“But I honestly feel we should stay here this time. Perhaps after we’re rescued, we can investigate that ship.” She paused. “What do you think?”
Kate sucked hard on the inside of her lip and waited until an alternative presented itself. Do the safe thing—nothing—and hope someone else saves you. Or, do something, with no guarantee of anything, and more risks it could fail. “You may be right, Mares. The best action could very well be to do nothing. However,” she shifted her weight on the console, “let’s approach our situation thoroughly. What if we consider the travel option as if it’s the only one available? We take a few minutes, map out a course to the Mare Marginis, calculate O2 reserves, battery power and so on. We look at all needed actions as if we were going.”
Mary considered this, and asked, “Then what?”
“Then we look at the pros and cons of each one. Mary,” she said, “We should decide what to do based on the cold equations of logic, right?”
“I suppose.”
“Okay, so let’s map out how we could do it first. We’ve got eight hours of oxygen, plus or minus. It’ll take us five hours to get back to the destroyed lunar lab site, and another hour from there to the alien ship site, right?”
Mary stood up and paced. “Yes, but that assumes we retrace our path. You said we didn’t come here in a straight line.”
“True.”
“So, if we plotted a more direct course from here to the Mare Marginis, how long would it take?”
Kate hopped off the console and returned to the scooter. Mary followed. She punched in the coordinates on the nav screen for the Mare Marginis where the Rossian ship had been. The first recommended route took them back to the Mare Crisium along the same path, more or less, by which they came to the mining site. Approximate travel time: 6 hours, 28 minutes.
Barely enough time to do anything.
Two other alternative routes appeared. One took them along the Moon’s northern limb, then east to the ship site. Approximate travel time: 9 hours, 10 minutes.
“That one’s out of the question,” Kate said.
The second alternative route displayed a direct path; rather, most of it was a straight line with some notable exceptions. Kate selected it and reviewed the route parameters. Lunar mares and associated flat terrain covered most of the route. The challenge appeared just west of the Mare Marginis. Almost 500 kilometers of cratered, broken and rocky moonscape presented a major obstacle for them, and the scooter’s navigation algorithm showed a bird’s nest of paths zig-zagging through it.
“Can’t we just fly above it all?” Mary asked.
Kate studied the elevation data, zooming in and out on it, following the proposed route. “Parts of it, yes, but the scooters aren’t designed for flying over ten meters above surface, or else their grav engines lose their connective traction, remember? Still, look at this.” She pointed out a couple travel time approximations. “If we followed the suggested route, it would take us about 7 hours. Not bad. But check this out.” Kate varied the recommended scooter parameters such that the route across the terrain became fully straight. No negotiating around craters or volcanic cones.
“Four and a half hours?” Mary asked.
“Yes, but there’s a reason the algorithm recommends against doing this. Flying up and over rocky hills and down into craters is dangerous. We can increase velocity and make the trip faster, but the risks of an accident are significantly greater.” She looked at Mary. “Still, we could squeeze about three hours of quality alien time in there.”
Mary grunted and perched herself on the edge of the cargo bay, silent.
Kate peered southeast over the horizon in the general direction of the Mare Marginis and this time, when the blue light reappeared like a candle in the window, she was not surprised at all.
TWENTY-FIVE
Atteberry
The anxiety of not knowing tore into his thoughts like a recurring nightmare. Atteberry believed the brief EM pulse had to be Mary’s doing; she’d seen him operate on that frequency numerous times back home. But would she still be alive when they arrived? And there was Kate to think about, too. He’d taken her friendship for granted over the years, but now with the pressure on, Atteberry recognized that she’d grown to be more than his best friend. Something between a lover and family, yet neither. He grew itchy with anticipation, as if spiders explored his flesh, and couldn’t stop moving, pacing.
Esther reclined in her flight seat across from him, catching a nap while the Echo screamed toward Luna. He studied the history in her face and wondered what might have happened to them if the Ross 128 signal hadn’t been discovered? Moot point, to be sure, since the alien craft had brought them together in the first place. He still liked her that way despite their problematic differences, and held her in deep regard, but the opportunity for anything more than a tenuous romantic possibility had come and gone. To try reigniting those old feelings now would be awkward and forced.
Carter marched around the bridge like the big boss he was, leaning over the pilots, studying viewscreens. Atteberry caught glimpses of their conversations, figuring they’d be reviewing rescue protocols and such. Instead, the CEO seemed more interested, almost in a joyful way, in the other ship traffic being generated. Unable to relax, he heaved himself out of his flight seat and wandered up to join the crew.
Carter’s right hand grasped the captain’s chair from behind. They both studied a graphic of icons floating in a three-dimensional grid. “How many vessels now?”
“A dozen so far. All originating from Earth.”
“Fascinating . . .”
“Excuse me, Captain,” Atteberry interjected, “but why all this interest in a simple rescue mission? I mean, I get that ships have an obligation to help, but is this normal?”
Carter flashed him a brief, surprised look, and answered, “Oh, they’re mostly curious, like children when they see a new toy. It’s clear to them all that the Echo is the fastest vessel out here and they simply want to have a peek.” He paused, motioned to the vacant comms station and added, “Take a seat, Mr. Atteberry, and join us. Quigg’s off for the moment, so sit.”
Atteberry’s eyes widened, and he slipped in behind the smooth, ergonomic console, brushing his fingers over the clean workspace in front of him. He welcomed the distraction.
A series of messages scrolled over the primary comms screen, catching his eye. He read a few and said, “Looks like some of those ships don’t know what we’re doing, judging by the inquiries.”
“They probably don’t.” Carter took up a position beside him and skimmed over the incoming traffic. “Understand that whenever a new ship goes into service, we all want to learn as much as we can about it.”
Atteberry grimaced. “But these notes, I mean, they’re asking why we’re en route to Luna. It’s as if they don’t even realize we’re on a rescue mission.”
Carter’s eyes narrowed, and he scrutinized the comms screen again. “Perhaps they honestly aren’t aware, and genuinely want to help if we need them. Difficult to tell. There’s not much honor left among the space-faring nations and corporations.”
The cycle of messages continued scrolling over the viewer.
“Would you like to send a transmission to them all, Mr. Atteberry?”
“I don’t understand.”
Carter stood up tall, looked around, and said, “Apparently, I’ve lost Mr. Quigg to a meal. You seem to know a fair bit about this sort of thing, so would you step in for a while?”
Atteberry glanced hard at the equipment in front of him. He quickly identified two types of radio transceivers, one short range, the other deep space. A data reader, a full suite of viewers displaying various operating parameters, and backup systems completed the bulk of the station’s core. Above the dashboard, the primary comms viewer pumped out written messages from other ships and a handful of terran outfits. Everything about the setup had been designed for simplicity and ease of operation. And, it pleased
him to contribute more directly to the mission.
“I’ll give it a try, Clayton—I mean, Mr. Carter.”
“Please, let’s dispense with the formality, shall we? Call me Clayton.”
“Call me Jim.”
Captain Powell smiled at him and winked. Co-pilot Jenson nodded.
“All right, then, let’s send a message to all ships and interested terran observers.” Carter cleared his throat. “Comms Officer?”
“Oh, that’s me. Um . . . yes, sir.”
“Open all interspace hailing frequencies and transmit the following.”
Atteberry scrambled. He put in an earpiece, surveyed the frequency tabs on the short range transceiver, found the commands on a small screen above with Carter’s help, and punched the button that read “INTERSPACE FREQ”.
“Ah, frequencies open . . . you’re good to transmit.”
Carter paced, head down, his hands clasped together behind him in a theatrical pose. Then he stopped beside Atteberry and bellowed, “Attention all ships and terran observers in this sector. This is Clayton Carter of the Echo. We are currently en route to Luna where two our people there require help.” He paused. “While we appreciate your interest and offers to assist, you undoubtedly have noted the Echo is the fastest vessel in space, and we expect to arrive shortly. So, no need to follow. Echo out.” He nodded at Atteberry, and he ended the transmission.
“That’ll give ‘em something to fuss about.”
He choked back the desperate lump forming in his throat and ignored the fatigue in his body after a couple days of no sleep.
Hang on, Mares. I’m coming.
Captain Powell interrupted his thoughts. “Sir, two more ships have entered the sector, bearing three-three-zero mark 15 . . . heading to Luna.”
“Three-three-zero? Where are they from?”
“Point of origin is the Martian system. Stand by . . . ship signature data is coming in.”
Atteberry wondered why Carter suddenly looked concerned. He didn’t know all that much about Mars and its colonies, or Eros, other than that moon held significant resource interests.
“Two similar vessels, sir . . . heavy security cruisers.”
“Registration?”
“Prussian Consortium.” Powell looked up from his viewscreen and caught Carter’s eyes. “Brandenburg class, sir.”
“Is one of them the Volmar?”
“Negative. Volmar continues to follow the Malevolent.”
“Shit.”
A wave of panic rose. “What—what does that mean, Captain? Clayton?”
Carter pulled on his chin and sighed. “I don’t think it’s anything we need to worry about. The PC does a lot of excavation on Eros and they also support a community on Mars.”
“What are ‘heavy cruisers’?”
“Security ships, Jim. We have several, like the Malevolent, as do the Chinese, the Indians, and a bunch of resource outfits. They’re escorts, basically. Keep all our freighters safe and snug.”
Atteberry shook his head. Something didn’t add up. What would compel these craft to abandon their posts on the Martian run and head to Luna? More was going on than a mere interest in the Echo and her ability to fly fast, more than offering to assist in the rescue of his daughter and his closest friend.
Esther had awakened and now joined them on the bridge.
“Look at you,” she said, smiling at Atteberry.
He noticed she’d sidled up to Carter a little too closely, a little too quickly. Carter pulled away a fraction of a centimeter. She cocked her head to the side, eyes sparkling.
Captain Powell said, “Sir, is there anything you’d like to do about the cruisers?”
Carter scrunched his eyebrows together and thought for a moment. Then he smiled coldly. “No, John, not yet. We’ve got a mission to accomplish first.”
Atteberry stared at the primary comms screen. Various messages continued pouring in from all over the sector. Offers to help, offers to support, random comments about the Echo’s flight capabilities, criticisms of Carter’s leadership and so on. But Atteberry had a nagging doubt there was more, something other going on below the whispers. His gut screamed: this is not a mission to save Mary. His head replied: not at all.
Esther
“Esther, do you have a minute?”
Jim Atteberry threw her a furtive, inquisitive look. A sudden change had washed over him, and his eyes shone wide with fright.
“Sure, I was about to get some juice from the galley. Wanna come?”
She led him off the bridge, and they walked without speaking to the narrow galley in the back third of the craft. On their way, they passed Quigg returning to his post, and nodded. Inside the kitchen area, Jim slumped down at a small metal table while Esther pulled two juices from the dispenser.
She watched him with curiosity. The boyish enthusiasm from a few minutes ago at the comms station had been replaced with worry and restlessness. Dark circles expanded around his ragged eyes and his greasy hair flew off in all directions. He thanked her for the drink, took a sip, and stared into a corner of the room.
“There’s something going on here, Es.”
“What do you mean?”
He drew a deep breath, clearly frustrated. “Can you just tell me?”
“Tell you what, Jim? What are you talking about?” Her voice betrayed a hint of annoyance.
“This rescue mission isn’t a rescue mission at all.” Those soft blue eyes met hers and plumbed her soul.
Esther sat upright, shifting her weight awkwardly on the metal stool, drawing circles with the juice container on the tabletop. Jim was no idiot. Surely, he recognized how slim the chances of finding Mary and Kate alive were, even if they had transmitted that spurious pulse.
“It is a rescue mission. No one knows if—I’m sorry but I’ve got to be blunt—if Mary is alive, and indeed if she is, we have no idea what kind of shape she’s in.” She paused, took a sip. “Is this about Clayton?”
He remained silent.
“Clayton Carter is many things: ambitious, resourceful, used to getting his way. I have no illusions about what he’s capable of doing, but he’s no heartless monster. Look around you for a moment.”
Atteberry glanced through the galley and back out into the ship’s main quarters.
“He’s pushing these new engines harder than they’ve ever been stressed. They haven’t even gone through a full range of testing yet. So, sure, he’ll salvage anything he can from the Titanius lab up there, puff out his chest for his competitors, and maybe see what that alien ship is all about—”
He flashed daggers at her.
“—but first, he’s going to save your daughter and your colleague because above all else, I think—I hope—Clayton’s a humanist. That’s what drives him.”
Atteberry’s face tightened, and he stared at his drink.
She couldn’t fathom the gut-wrenching patience he needed while they raced to the Moon. He wrestled with the anxiety of not knowing what they’d find. He already lost his wife to some espionage racket years ago, and now he may have lost Mary too, and there was nothing in her lifetime of experience that ever came close to that kind of pain. She placed her hand over his.
“Jim, you know he asked for you specifically to be on this flight, against my better judgment. He cares, you see?”
Atteberry sighed. He hadn’t thought of that. “You’re right. It makes sense to recover what’s left of the lab, I get that. But did I hear you correctly?” He lowered his voice. “Does he know about the alien ship, too?”
Regret suddenly flooded her mind as she struggled with not being up front with this man—the one she still had some residual feelings for despite their insurmountable philosophical differences. She fidgeted with her juice container.
What have you become now, Esther?
He hadn’t caused her renewed career focus after Mount Sutro. She didn’t blame him at all for apparently putting his own interests ahead of her welfare or the integrity of
the TSA when the tower came down. They both had jobs to do, lives to lead. Now, with a Titanius partnership imminent, she felt the rush of being in command of all aspects of her life. What did it matter that she’d pawned her ethics for power and control?
“He’s heard the rumors too about the ship and its FTL tech. Spies still ply their trade and I suppose the word about that Rossian ship on Luna got out.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “From you?”
“No,” she held his gaze, “but regardless, if they’re there, I want the TSA to make first contact.”
“Thank God he didn’t learn it from you, Es. Thanks.” He finished his drink and ran his fingers over his hair. “I suppose that explains why so many other ships are interested in what we’re doing.”
“It’s not unusual to attract a crowd up here.” She paused. “Did you happen to notice where they came from?”
“Mostly Earth. Two Berlin class cruisers or something coming in from Mars.”
She stopped twirling her drink. “You mean Brandenburg? Prussian ships? So that’s what they were talking about when I joined you.”
“Yeah, the captain seemed nervous about it, but Clayton dismissed them.”
Esther closed her eyes, thinking this through. If the Consortium and others also knew about the alien ship why had they waited until now before investigating? The rumor mill operated 24/7 and no one could chase down everything the grapevine offered, so maybe they only paid attention to it when the Echo lifted off. She needed to speak with Clayton about this.
“Now you’re looking nervous, Es. There is something else going on.” His voice rose. “These aren’t ships offering to help with the rescue mission, are they? Are they?”
At that moment, Clayton appeared in the galley doorway, mock concern on his face. Atteberry stood up. She noticed his fists clenched.
“Jim . . .”
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