by Scott Mackay
Then the Moon towers grew still.
At first the launched vehicles orbited the Moon several times, gaining speed with each go-around. By the third time, they were making the journey in less than fifteen minutes. After the fifth orbit, the vehicles broke free one by one and headed for Earth.
Pittman’s scorpion elation ebbed. This was starting to look worse and worse. Peaceshield rotated defense assets to meet the incoming threat, the screen showing green light after green light as the system’s six hundred and twenty killer satellites armed themselves.
‘‘Can Greenhow extrapolate a comprehensive view of the combat arena?’’
Goldvogel immediately got on the phone, asking for new visual dynamics. Fye was now in contact with a variety of commands. Blunt leaned toward his waferscreen, following the readiness reports that came in one after the other. Pittman saw them on his own screen, all elements of the military responding to this sudden emergency.
He looked up and discovered Greenhow had the combat graphics loaded. Earth showed up blue to the left while the Moon was represented in white to the right. The ninety-two incoming modules appeared as red points, while Peaceshield was a comprehensive blur of green dots. The USAF’s suborbital fighters, diagrammed as orange arrows, moved into position. Pittman was glad to see that Earth’s assets outnumbered Builder assets by a margin of ten to one.
Yet now he was concerned by how fast the alien modules moved. Even the fastest Earth-Lunar vehicle took just under a day to cover the four hundred thousand kilometers to the Moon. Greenhow sent in speed estimates. Twenty-seven million kilometers per hour, so fast that the gulf between Moon and Earth looked as if it would be breached in minutes. It wouldn’t matter if these launched vehicles weren’t weaponized. At that speed, even an unweaponized projectile would be a planet killer.
He glanced around the room. Fye’s hand, clutching his cell phone, eased away from his ear in an absent manner as he watched this miracle of speed. Blunt and Goldvogel looked as if they were witnessing the Second Coming. To see the ninety-two launch vehicles come so quickly, and to realize that the easily perceptible movement on the small graphic was actually taking place in real time, in real space, confirmed for Pittman yet again the Builders’ immense technical prowess. Despite Earth’s ten-to-one advantage, Pittman realized they simply didn’t have anything fast enough.
He tensed up. ‘‘Gentlemen, our defensive capability has just been rendered useless.’’
Nonetheless, he issued a standard attack-when-in-range order. Peaceshield launched orbital missiles and parked them in various positions around Earth, having them prowl geosynchronously in the shallows of the thermosphere like barracudas, poised to strike when the launch vehicles got close enough.
When things looked hopeless, the alien launch vehicles suddenly formed their own orbits around Earth, far above Peaceshield’s barracudas.
‘‘There’s no evidence of braking,’’ said Goldvogel. ‘‘No emissions or thrust signature. They’ve just stopped.’’
And it was true: all ninety-two vehicles stopped and right-angled into orbits around Earth—instantaneously—breaking all known rules of physics.
They stayed like this.
Orbiting Earth, doing nothing.
Just beyond Peaceshield’s range.
Pittman could only guess what their next move might be.
A few hours later, with the stalemate still unchanged, Pittman and the Orbops crew eavesdropped on a conversation between Conrad and Dr. Nolan Pratt, his old astronomer friend from the university. This was courtesy of Oren Fye, their intelligence man.
Sound quality wasn’t the best—voices were raspy, nasal, and long pauses after each transmission punctuated the exchange, the time it took the signal to travel the four hundred thousand kilometers to the Moon. Despite this, the meaning was clear, startling, and portentous.
Dr. Pratt spoke in a faltering way, as if he felt he had to apologize to Dr. Conrad for what he had to say. There was news. About Tau Ceti, one of the sun’s closer neighbors.
‘‘Tau Ceti’s a main-sequence star, like our own,’’ said Pratt. ‘‘I’m afraid something’s happened to it. An anomaly. And while I believe it’s probably unrelated to what’s going on up on the Moon, Cam, I thought I’d let you in on our findings, just in case.’’
A crackling long pause.
‘‘And what are your findings?’’
There came another long pause; Pittman and the Orbops team heard nothing but static. Then Pratt’s voice came on again.
‘‘Tau Ceti was supposed to burn as a main-sequence star for the next three billion years. But it’s unexpectedly entered its red giant phase early and we can’t explain why.’’
Pittman now felt out of his depth because he really didn’t know what a red giant was, and knew they would have to do some digging. What bothered him was the tone in Pratt’s voice. Tentative. Unsure. Scared. Most of all, perplexed.
Pratt said, ‘‘In order for Tau Ceti to enter its red giant phase, it would have to use all its hydrogen fuel. I’m not sure how it could burn three billion years’ worth of fuel so quickly, especially when there’s no astronomical evidence of any cataclysmic event. But the analysis of the light coming from Tau Ceti indicates that it’s definitely gone into its red giant phase.’’
‘‘Anybody know what a red giant is?’’ asked Pittman.
Fye shook his head and sighed. ‘‘I’m looking.’’
Cam Conrad spoke. ‘‘I’m not sure why you think it would have anything to do with what’s going on up here.’’
‘‘I’m not sure that it does. But in the interests of thoroughness, I thought I’d better report it to you. It’s a major astronomical event, and a huge mystery. There’s no evident cause for this . . . this sudden hydrogen depletion.’’
‘‘But Tau Ceti’s got to be what, three parsecs away?’’
‘‘Closer to four.’’
‘‘Not exactly our neck of the woods.’’
‘‘Neither is NGC4945.’’
In the boardroom, Fye spoke up. ‘‘A red giant is what happens to a main-sequence star when it dies.’’
‘‘So, what’s your theory?’’ Cam asked Pratt, and Pittman now noted a slight edge to Cam’s voice.
‘‘I don’t have a theory. I’m studying the problem. That’s all.’’
‘‘But you felt the need to contact me.’’
‘‘Merely to report an anomalous observation that may or may not have some bearing on what you’re doing up there.’’
‘‘You think the Builders may have caused this red giant?’’
‘‘Builders?’’
‘‘That’s what we’re calling them.’’ Conrad paused. ‘‘Nolan, come on. The light you’re seeing from this red giant, it was generated eleven years ago? Correct?’’
‘‘Eleven-point-three.’’
‘‘And the Builders arrived on the Moon last month.’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘So that means there’s a separation of eleven-point-three years between the two events.’’
‘‘Correct.’’
‘‘And you’re still supposing a connection?’’
‘‘Cam . . . what I’m witnessing—and believe me, I’ve conferred with my colleagues—what I’m observing is theoretically impossible. Tau Ceti, according to all previous estimates, should have burned as a main-sequence star for the next three billion years. What we’re recording here is a new phenomenon, one that’s never been seen before. It could be a completely natural phenomenon. Then again, it could be an artificially created one. And because in the annals of both ancient and modern astronomy there’s never been anything like it, the artificially created explanation seems reasonable. And if it’s created by some sentient force, the engineering involved is extremely advanced compared to anything we have. You probably recognize these last words from the report you sent me a few days ago. The hydrogen depletion in Tau Ceti represents a major achievement, if in fact it was engineered. No
w the Builders have commenced this tower project on the Moon. We have no idea if the two are related. And we don’t know what all these Moon towers are going to be used for. But it certainly stands to reason that they might be designed to create a hydrogen bleed in our own sun.’’
A good long pause, and Pittman thought the transmission might be at an end. But then Dr. Conrad spoke. ‘‘You’re aware of the launch? It happened just a few hours ago. You got my e-mail?’’
‘‘Yes. What are they?’’
‘‘Energy cells of some kind.’’
‘‘Has NASA sent a probe?’’
‘‘It has.’’
‘‘That was fast.’’
‘‘Colonel Pittman knows how to get things done.’’
‘‘Any useful intelligence?’’
‘‘Unfortunately, no. When the probe got within fifty kilometers, its systems died. Without explanation. It’s nothing more than space junk now.’’
‘‘The Builders disabled it?’’
‘‘It would appear so.’’
‘‘Are you going to tell Orbops about Tau Ceti?’’ asked Pratt.
Now a long pause as interlunar static scratched through the speakers. Pittman glanced around the room, his eyes finally alighting on Blunt. Blunt’s face had turned pink.
Dr. Conrad gave no immediate answer. ‘‘The red giant perplexes me, Nolan. Why would the Builders do something like that? Why would they come twelve million light-years specifically to turn Tau Ceti into a red giant? You think they would have more immediate local concerns. Colonel Pittman is just itching for a chance to launch a preemptive strike against them, so I’m going to put off telling him for the time being. I need more time to study things. Have you observed any other anomalous red giants?’’
‘‘A complete sweep is taking place as we speak.’’
‘‘Good. I’ve got Dr. Tennant working on the communications angle. It’s important we make ourselves heard. If we can speak up and let them know we’re here, then we’ll be that much closer to a dialogue with them. And dialogue is what prevents war.’’
At the end of the transmission, Pittman felt let down by Cam Conrad. That Conrad saw fit to suppress information, even if that information seemed currently extraneous, galled him; he would have thought seriously about dismissing him as team leader if he weren’t producing a steady stream of useful results. Still, it was worrisome, and he voiced his concerns to the group. ‘‘I’m really beginning to think that thing has turned him somehow.’’
‘‘We’ll certainly have to watch him closely,’’ said Blunt.
‘‘He doesn’t understand chain of command.’’
‘‘He’s a civilian. What do you expect?’’
‘‘I’m going to have to give him a dressing down. I don’t want to go around being suspicious of him all the time.’’
By the end of the hour, Fye had a report on what would happen to Earth if the sun accelerated into its red giant phase, for the sun also was a main-sequence star.
‘‘As the sun depletes its hydrogen supply, its nuclear furnace would no longer burn with the same degree or force, and so the sun would slowly begin to collapse under the force of its own gravity. Its mass would naturally become denser because of this collapse, and the pressure would then reignite the sun to such a degree that it would become a red giant. During the initial collapse we would experience a significant cooldown on Earth, with temperatures dropping drastically. But then when the red giant phase came, things would heat up to unsurvivable levels. The sun would actually grow to envelop Earth, and that of course would be the end of us.’’
8
Cam was investigating another Moon tower fifty-five kilometers away from Gettysburg the next day when blinding pain shot through his head. For a brief instant, he saw the inside of Alpha Vehicle again, the universe all mapped out for him; then he fell to the Moon’s gray-brown regolith, bouncing once in the low lunar gravity before he settled on his side. He couldn’t breathe. It was as though the entirety of his brain, even the sections responsible for automatic functions like breathing, had been momentarily rerouted to another purpose, and didn’t have the capacity to keep his body alive. He clawed his wristpad—which would send an emergency signal to his coworkers—with mounting panic, then called up visuals on his biomonitor, saw his heart flatline, his respiration taper to a standstill, and his pulse flicker into nonexistence.
The Moon tower next to him reversed its customary gravitational push, and now fluxed with a gravitational pull.
It drew him in; he felt funneled by a vacuum.
Unlike Alpha Vehicle, the tower didn’t pull him right inside, only to its east wall, so that he was pressed flat against it, caught like a fly on flypaper. His brain tingled, and strangely, unexpectedly, his panic ebbed, and he didn’t feel so frightened anymore. He had the sense that the Builders were trying to read him again. He felt precariously balanced on the precipice of existence. Then he sensed a lessening of his head pain, and a moment later his breathing grew easier and his heartbeat came back.
He experienced a mirage. Written figures and symbols danced before him, unlike any he had ever seen before. Were they trying to communicate with him, then, in written form?
Maybe not, because a moment later, the tower pushed him away, reversing gravitational flux so that he toppled to the ground.
He was surprised by the rebuff. And a little hurt. He gazed at the Moon tower in mystification, wondering if the thing had saved his life. Or conversely, had nearly murdered him. He heard Lesha calling him through her radio, but it was as if her voice came from a great distance. He thought of the mishmash of symbols in the mirage, but even as he pictured them, he couldn’t remember them anymore. He got up and brushed moondust off his arms.
Lesha now stood beside him. ‘‘What happened?’’
‘‘I had a . . . a weird episode. I couldn’t breathe. And the tower pulled me in.’’
‘‘Are you all right?’’
‘‘I am now.’’
She motioned at the tower. ‘‘The thing reversed flux, according to the instrument readings.’’ She was out of breath, her voice anxious, and she rubbed his arm repeatedly as if she had to convince herself that he was still alive.
He looked at the tower, saw his own reflection in its glimmering surface, the surrounding moonscape, and the black line of the horizon far to the rear. ‘‘Everything seized up on me, my heart, lungs, and limbs, like when I was inside Alpha Vehicle, only it was painful this time, and I thought I was going to die.’’ He looked up at the tower mistrustfully. ‘‘And when the thing pulled me in, I had this odd hallucination. I saw symbols.’’
She grew still. ‘‘What kind of symbols?’’
‘‘Like writing. Or mathematical symbols.’’
‘‘Can you remember any of them?’’
‘‘No. They’re gone now.’’
‘‘But you’re okay?’’
He brushed himself off. ‘‘I seem to be.’’
Lesha looked at the tower. ‘‘I don’t like these towers. They’re starting to scare me.’’
‘‘I think I better sit down. My heart’s pounding. Why would it try to hurt me?’’
‘‘Cam, you’re pushing yourself too hard. Maybe you should take a day off.’’
‘‘I can’t take a day off. I’ve got to prove to Pittman that Alpha Vehicle means no harm or he’s going to blow it up. I had no idea he would be eavesdropping on my radio transmissions.’’
‘‘Just sit here and try and get your breathing under control.’’
‘‘I didn’t like the way he lectured me about my conversation with Nolan.’’
‘‘Maybe you should have told him about the red giant thing right away.’’
‘‘He’s suspicious of me now. And you know what? I’m suspicious of him.’’
‘‘You’re getting yourself upset.’’
He got up. ‘‘We should start working again.’’
‘‘Cam, just sit.’’
&nb
sp; But he couldn’t. He felt that time was running out. ‘‘He’s automatically assumed a connection between Tau Ceti and the Builders. And that’s just the kind of excuse he needs to get trigger-happy with Alpha Vehicle. I’m not going to let that happen. I’m going to protect Alpha Vehicle any way I can.’’
She was looking at him now through her yellow visor. ‘‘You’re starting to sound like a convert. And that might make him get trigger-happy as well.’’
Johnsie Dunlap, the nurse practitioner, wanted to assess him when he got back at the end of the day. She went over his symptoms one at a time, the bluish light of the clinic lamp burnishing her dark face with a violet penumbra.
‘‘So, sharp head pain?’’ she asked.
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘That’s what it started with?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘And then what?’’
‘‘I couldn’t breathe.’’
‘‘So, shortness of breath.’’
‘‘I wasn’t short of breath,’’ he said. ‘‘I had no breath at all.’’
‘‘Any visual disturbances?’’
He looked away. He had to be careful here. He could tell she was just waiting to push him off the research team. Yet at the same time he felt he had to tell her the truth. ‘‘I had this . . . this vision, I guess you’d call it.’’
Her eyes widened. ‘‘What kind of vision?’’
‘‘I saw these symbols. Like writing.’’
‘‘Writing? What kind of writing?’’
He shook his head, now feeling bewildered. ‘‘I don’t know. I’ve never seen it before.’’
‘‘But you’re sure it was writing.’’
‘‘Definitely.’’
She paused for a long time after that, thinking, then typed a quick entry into her chart. ‘‘And you saw these hallucinations while you were pressed against the side of the tower?’’
‘‘I wouldn’t call them hallucinations. I firmly believe the thing was trying to communicate with me in some way.’’