329 Years Awake

by Ellie Maloney

  This meant that they had watched humans even before the Big Ice. But for how long? Second was the Voyager’s golden record. Yes, the very 1970s golden record that humans had sent into space, hoping to send a message to alien civilizations. During the First Contact, the Unkari had left behind one of the Voyager’s records and retreated into the ocean after the coast guard opened fire. Since then, it had been a month and the military could not locate them in the ocean. They just vanished. Third, and this was Anika’s personal favorite, did the Unkari indeed provoke the coast guard to open fire? The details of the First Contact were classified, including the existence of the golden record, and normally Anika would not have gained access to this information. But for some unknown reason, she was given the clearance to the classified report from the First Contact event and summoned to General Nagasaki’s office.

  In the General’s waiting room, about two-dozen visitors were pacing the faded red carpet, anticipating an audience. Anika pushed through the crowd to the secretary’s desk and introduced herself. “Finally,” exclaimed the relieved young officer and immediately dialed the General’s office. “Private Anika Borgess is here at your request. Uhu. They are also here. All of them at once? Yes, General.” After the secretary broke off the connection with the General, he cleared his throat and loudly announced: “Officers,” and two-dozen military bigwigs simultaneously turned their heads toward the announcer. “General Nagasaki is expecting all of you in his conference hall.”

  The conference hall was equipped with an oval desk that seated twice as many people as were immediately summoned to the meeting. The group hastily took seats at the table and prepared to take notes. The General walked in with a man in his forties, dressed in a casual sleeveless yellow shirt and tan pants, a civilian, who looked distinctly out of place. The General took his seat at the head of the table and directed the visitor to take a seat by his left side. “You have been briefed on the events of the past month. I called you here to establish a strategic task force. Your job will be to develop as many scenarios of the unfolding events as possible. The resources of the Royal Moroccan Fleet are at your disposal. Most of you know each other. However, there is someone I need to introduce to you.”

  The General pointed to a man seated at his left side. “Meet Professor Otis Solarin, an eyewitness of the First Contact. Professor Solarin witnessed how the Unkari exited the ocean while he was having dinner right there in the Anglers restaurant in Monrovia. The restaurant is located on the beach, and he was able to observe the scene of the aliens exiting the ocean. Professor Solarin teaches space history and he immediately identified the Golden Record. Long story short, he disagreed with the coast guard’s decision to open fire and started a fist fight with the officers. Professor Solarin spent a month in the local jail for assaulting an officer, and because of the hectic events he was forgotten. Professor, again, my sincere apologies.”

  “Apologies accepted, General,” Solarin answered dryly.

  “Because the Professor saw the account and knows about the record, the decision was made to include him in the task force. This way he can be useful to us while bound by the nondisclosure agreement.”

  “Glad to be of service,” uttered Solarin just as unenthusiastically.

  “Another person of interest to the task force is Private Borgess, our linguist from the Fourth Orbital.”

  “Me? How can I be helpful?”

  “Private Borgess, have you seen the record yet?”

  “No, I only checked it out in the historic NASA files.”

  “Alright,” said the General and initiated the holographic screen before Anika. A 3D rendering of the record hovered in front of her. “Take a look at it for a minute and see if you can find anything of interest. Meanwhile, Professor Solarin, would you be so kind to brief us about the record?”

  “Gladly. In the 1970s, NASA launched two space crafts, Voyager 1 and 2. The purpose of the crafts was to explore the solar system. After the crafts left the solar system, they took different trajectories en route to the nearby stars. At the speed that they traveled, numerous generations would pass until they were expected to encounter anything but empty space. We lost contact with both crafts years ago. Both crafts contained golden disks modeled after the twentieth-century audio carrier - a vinyl record. These records contained data about humanity, our location in space, our culture, our knowledge of mathematics and the universe - all encrypted in the grooves of the records. This was our ‘message in a bottle’ to extraterrestrial civilizations.”

  “Thank you, Professor,” said the General. “Now it appears that this alien civilization found our ‘message in a bottle’ and returned it to us. Upon return, the record was enclosed in a transparent case, where in several human languages was written: “Humans lost, Unkari found.” Do you see this encryption, Private Borgess?“

  “Yes, I can see it. Oh my god,” gasped Anika. The entire room full of military who’s-who peered their eyes at her in anticipation.

  “What do you see, Private?” inquired the General.

  “Well, among these inscriptions in several languages, there is one that looks familiar to me. I cannot believe it. It is incomprehensible…”

  “Spell it out, Private. You are here for a reason.”

  “This is Voynichese. The previously unknown language from the Voynich Manuscript.

  4

  MISSING MINUTES

  JULY 3, 1882.

  LEBANON, CONNECTICUT

  Robert and Richard were successful businessmen. Steel production was their business; astronomy was their life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness. Several nights a week the brothers devoted to their passion, venturing in the back yard and observing the night sky. One such night, Robert’s telescope was pointed at the Moon. His twin-brother Richard sprawled on the dewy grass besides him, also gazing at the hazy Moon disk and dreaming.

  “Someday we will know…” Richard vaguely pointed out to no one in particular.

  “Know what?”

  “What is out there…”

  “Someday we will.” Robert agreed and returned to his observations. He pressed his right eye to the rim of the viewfinder, dictating notes for Richard to record in the log. All those Moon dreams, combined with a huge Italian dinner, put Richard to sleep. Two hours later, Richard’s loud snore was interrupted. “Richard, wake up, wake up now!” yelled Robert while frantically adjusting the focus of the lenses.

  “What? What’s so urgent?”

  “Get up and look for yourself.”

  Richard got up and pressed his right eye to the viewfinder. “Dear Mother of God!”

  “Ok, now you tell me what you see.”

  “Did you clean the lens?”

  “It’s as clean as a whistle. So what do you see?”

  “To hell if I know!”

  “Describe it! We need to make sure that our observations match.”

  “Well, alright. I see two slices of pizza hovering above the Moon surface.”

  “Pizza? That’s one way to put it!”

  “Seriously. Those things look like pizza slices. How long had they been there?”

  “About 20 minutes.”

  “Are they in motion?”

  “It appears to be so. I did some quick calculations. These things might be in a Moon orbit.”

  “They are probably going to collide then. Goodness, can you imagine their speed? I can’t quite think straight now, but I know that if I can observe movement over this vast distance, that’s faster than… faster than sound for sure.”

  Two hours later, the objects rendezvoused and stopped for a good hour before they started moving in the opposite directions. No natural satellite could possibly move in such a trajectory. And certainly no two meteors could be shaped like equilateral triangles. Next morning, the brothers wrote an article for the local paper, a decision they grew to regret in the weeks t
o come. Richard and Robert became instantly famous in Lebanon, Connecticut, and not in a good way. The newspaper published a response letter from one of the readers featuring both brothers chasing pizza slices around the Moon.

  JULY 20, 1969.

  THE MOON

  The Unkari transporter was parked at the edge of a Moon crater etched by the impact of the meteor. Normally, for any Unkari, a space rock like the Moon would be generally worthless, but the infrastructure analysts Harutin and Sinbiu had their orders. According to the risk assessment plan, human technology would progress soon enough, and the research outposts in the ocean would have to be removed. The Moon was a viable option for a new secret observatory, because it was tidally-locked, and the shadow-side would be perfect for a long-term facility.

  There was one wrinkle in that plan: humanity’s ridiculous pursuit of space exploration. “We go to the Moon not because it is easy, but because it is hard!” Sinbiu mocked a phrase that had become iconic among the humans. “What kind of logic is that?”

  “I told you, Sinbiu, they will do it. So here we are, on the Moon, watching them disembark on the surface,” said Harutin. “We should have shot them down.”

  “And kill our best research samples?” Sinbiu tried to rub his chin, but his face was covered with a helmet.

  “Just look at these idiots…” said Harutin contemptuously. The aliens were watching from afar as two humans disembarked from their awkward vessel and bounced on the low-gravity lunar surface.

  “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind…” heard the Unkari in their audio feeds tapped into the astronaut’s communication system.

  “Actually, I think they are kind of courageous,” mumbled Sinbiu carefully.

  “You think? And where is the courage in trying to supersede their fellow human tribe? This whole space race is not about courage, my colleague; quite contrary. They are cowards, it’s all there is to their philosophy.”

  “If you say so. I still think it takes courage to venture into open space in that… thing…” Sinbiu motioned towards the Apollo 11 vessel, which almost looked more reliable in the defused sunlight. This way, the observer was not forced to notice all the crude stitching of the metal.

  “Oh… I suppose it does.” Harutin waved it off. “But let’s not waste time, colleague. I guess I have to go talk to them. What an assignment! Make sure you suppress their recording of our conversation.”

  “I’m on it. You’ll have a window of white noise. How long should I set it up for?”

  “Let’s start from two minutes.”

  NOVEMBER 17, 1986.

  COMMERCIAL FLIGHT AIR JAPAN: PARIS-TOKIO OVER ALASKAN AIR SPACE

  20:15 Hrs

  “Anchorage, do you read me?”

  Sh-sh-sh

  “Yes, Japan 1628. Loud and clear.”

  Sh-sh-sh

  “Anchorage, eh… do we have traffic intersecting our trajectory?”

  Sh-sh-sh Click click

  “Ah… Negative…”

  Sh-sh-sh.

  “Anchorage, we have a visual on a… perhaps an aircraft carrier.”

  Click click

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “Well I can’t tell exactly, but there is something there. My co-pilot and other crew confirm the visual…”

  Sh-sh-sh - click - crack - crack - click

  “Japan 1628, ah… we stripped filters from the radar data… On the raw data we … ah… confirm an object in your relative proximity, 3-4 km North West.”

  Sh-sh-sh

  “Well, Anchorage, do you know what is it? My passengers are edgy. I can’t prevent them from taking the pictures, you know…”

  “Can you describe it?”

  “Well, it is cigar-shaped… With the lights evenly spaced along the hull. It looks like it’s matching our speed and staying dead ahead of us, within the visibility range from the cockpit and the A isle, the window isle I mean.”

  Sh-sh-sh-click-crack

  “Standby Japan 1628. We will contact the Air Force Base.”

  20:38 Hrs

  “Anchorage, Anchorage! This is a distress call!”

  “Come in Japan 1628.”

  “We may be under attack!”

  “We are reading two small crafts by your side. What’s your visual?”

  “They have separated from the mothership…”

  “Mothership???! With all due respect, what are you smoking there?”

  Crack

  “Anchorage, they exhibit erratic movement patterns, unlike anything I’ve seen before. What’s the update from the air force?”

  “It’s not theirs. It is an unidentified craft.”

  “Do you think it is hostile? God help us, Anchorage, I have a full aircraft of passengers.”

  “We can’t say. Try evasive manoeuvre. We suggest dropping the altitude. Standby for the course correction.”

  “We read you. Dropping the altitude to the mark.”

  20:41 Hrs

  “Japan 1628! We follow your manoeuvre on the radar. The hostile crafts matched your position. Do you read me, Japan 1628?”

  Click click

  The com channel was open, but the pilots were not responding. Instead the Anchorage air traffic controller’s booth was flooded with the high-pitch sound. “Sanders!” Yelled the Fairbanks airport shift leader Mitchem. “Get the fucking Air Force on the line!”

  While Sanders was patching through to the base, Mitchem was watching Japan 1628 on the radar firmly locked between two small unidentified crafts. Regardless of the manoeuvre the passenger craft took, the two satellites seamlessly matched the trajectory and speed. “1628! 1628, come in! What’s your status?” Agonized Mitchem biting the skin around his big fingernail.

  Sh-sh-shhhhhh click click

  “Anchorage!” came the agonizing cry of the 1628 pilot. “We are blasted…” sh-sh-sh “…with light. light… heat... flooded…” sh-sh-sh “and heat, like a furnace… bright light penetrated the walls!”

  “1628, perform emergency landing. Confirm!”

  “Negative! We have lost control. The electronics is jammed. We are not flying this airplane any more!”

  “Let us try to override it from here!” Mitchem tried to take over the flight control, but his attempts met an unusual firewall. “1628… Unfortunately we cannot take over control… How are you holding up? What is your status?”

  It took 1628 longer than usual to respond. Mitchem gnawed at his fingernail too hard drawing blood from the cuticle. Finally the com channel lit up green.

  “Anchorage… ah… what’s the status on your radars?”

  “1628, I no longer see them on the radar. Do you have the visual?”

  “Ah… negative… They are gone….”

  “Can you control cruising?”

  “Affirmative…”

  “Take course on the emergency landing. We opened a lane for you.” Sh-sh-sh- click

  “The course for the emergency landing according to the provided coordinates is established.”

  Sh-sh-sh

  “1628… What’s the status of the passengers and crew? Any … eh… casualties?”

  “We are still checking, but the quick assessment is that everyone is fine. Minus a few hysterical ones, but that’s understandable considering.”

  “Good to hear. Ehhh…. 1628, safe flight.”

  “With all do respect, Anchorage, go to hell. 1628 over and out.”

  ***

  “How many times do I have to repeat myself?” pleaded exhausted Japanese pilot Ichiro Akiyama of the flight 1628 en route Paris-Tokyo.

  “As many as we require,” flatly hissed a man in civilian suit and shaded aviator glasses, although the room was as dim as the devil’s soul. The man, who introduced himself as a liaison from the Reagan Administ
ration, took the last drag from his cigarette and squeezed the butt in the filthy ashtray, the only decor attribute in the entire interrogation room. Upon landing, the crew had been whisked away by the U.S. military cogs and transported to an unknown location in vehicles with tinted windows.

  Akiyama only knew that he was about a forty-minute drive from the Fairbanks International Airport. “Am I under arrest?”

  “It depends.”

  “On what? I am a Japanese citizen. I need a lawyer.”

  “Mr. Akiyama. We found illegal narcotics among your personal belongings.”

  “What? Impossible!”

  “As a captain of the airplane, wouldn’t you say that you receive reduced security attention when you are boarding?”

  “This is nonsense. I need a lawyer.”

  “Just. Answer. The. Fucking. Question!” At that last word, the bureaucrat smashed his fist down on the desktop, suspending the ashtray in a momentary zero gravity and spilling half of its pungent content.

  “Perhaps. This doesn’t mean….”

  “So you were aware that security is unlikely to check you with scrutiny. How long have you been on cocaine, Mr. Akiyama?”

  “Never! I have never consumed cocaine or any other drugs!”

  “Perhaps the blood test will testify otherwise,” smiled the nameless bureaucrat from the corner of his mouth.

  “What do you want? Where is this all going?” asked Akiyama in a defeated voice.

  “Straight to business, Mr. Akiyama. I like that. These are your choices. We will arrest you for international drug trafficking. We have just the right criminal ring to connect you to. As for the extradition... Forget it. Not gonna happen.”

  “I take another option.”

  “Alright. You go back on the plane, you fly your passengers home, and you live happily ever after.”

  “What is the catch?”

  “You change your testimony. There was never a UFO, there were never two aircraft that ceased the cruise control, and there was no supernatural light show.”

  “So you do know about this. What happened to us there?”