The Schrödinger Enigma

by Greg Krojac

  The Administrator took his first sip of whisky.

  “I don’t know what I fear most, Roger. That the probe here is an elaborate hoax, or that it is the same probe we launched forty years ago. If the DNA matches, it’ll raise so many questions like how did it get here? Why is it here? What does that mean for the Voyager we’re still getting signals from, the one that’s over thirteen billion miles away? Is that a phantom? Is our equipment faulty? And what about Voyager Two for that matter?”

  The Deputy needed another sip of whisky.

  “Or, even scarier, what if they’re both the real Voyager One, like Doctor Khan suggested? That would suggest technology that defies the laws of physics as we understand them. And, if that’s the case, what the hell do whoever the hell they are want?”

  At a maximum security JPL laboratory in Pasadena, a small group of men and women were gazing through a toughened glass window at a physically impossible sight, the Voyager One space probe. All were dressed in full biological insulation protective garments and had undergone a rigorous decontamination process, just as the spacecraft had done before the JPL technical staff began their analyses and investigations. The fear of cross-contamination in either direction was very real, and nobody – not even the President of the United States – was exempt from the process.

  As Voyager One had returned to Earth from deep space it had been automatically designated a Restricted Class V contamination risk, in line with the "Outer Space" Treaty of 1967.

  The President had, naturally, been kept informed of the recent return to Earth of the space probe and had been advised not to visit the laboratory where it was being examined, but, being the type of person he was, he had ignored the advice of his advisors and insisted on making the trip to the laboratory to see the celebrity spaceship (as he liked to call it) for himself. He pointed to the object on the other side of the glass.

  “I want to go in there and see the spaceship close up.”

  Gerald Rickman, the Director of JPL, shook his head.

  “I’m sorry Mr President, but I’m afraid you can’t go in there.”

  The President gave the Director a steely stare.

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, Gerald. I assume all decontamination protocols have been followed to the letter?”

  “Well, yes Mr President. Of course. But that doesn’t mean – “

  “Doesn’t mean what, Gerald?”

  “It doesn’t mean that it’s one hundred percent safe.”

  The President gestured to the half a dozen technicians working on the space probe.

  “If it’s not safe, then why are they in there?”

  The Director was becoming flustered. How do you say no to this President of the United States and keep your job? Men in higher positions than him had been dismissed from their posts, for far lesser reasons.

  “But you’re the President. You’re the most important man in this great nation; you’re the leader of the free world. We can’t risk anything happening to you.”

  The Director hoped that this blatant display of sycophancy might win the day. The President loved to be flattered. However, on that day, the President was not to be dissuaded.

  “Thank you for your concern, Gerald, but I haven’t just gone through a rather unpleasant decontamination process just to look at the thing through a pane of glass.”

  No amount of cajoling or protests, by the JPL Director or the President’s own staff could persuade the President that he should be satisfied with simply looking at Voyager One from a safe distance.

  “The spaceship has been decontaminated to the fullest extent possible, yes?”

  The Director was forced to concede that it had been. The President continued.

  “And I have been decontaminated to the fullest extent possible, yes?”

  “Yes, but Mr President.”

  “And this protective suit I’m wearing is the best there is. State-of-the-art, yes?”

  “Yes. Mr President, but…”

  “Then that’s good enough for me. Let’s go in.”

  The President nodded to a member of the laboratory staff to open the door and then walked into the room, making a bee-line towards the probe, feeling very happy with himself. He spent about five minutes strolling around Voyager One, examining the spacecraft and nodding to himself occasionally, trying to give the impression that he understood what he was looking at. He returned to the waiting group with a huge smile on his face. He enjoyed being President; it gave him the opportunity to do things that the common man or woman couldn’t. And nobody could stop him. He was the only one that mattered.

  Back in Dutch Harbor, Grant Schumacher was looking forward to his time off, time on dry land instead of working his fingers to the bone on the Alaskan Mermaid. Even though it was tough physical work he enjoyed his job, but a month of kicking back and doing nothing - nothing fishing related anyway - was exactly what he needed. It was the end of the Pollock A season, Pollock B season didn’t start until June, and he’d booked a flight to Anchorage for the next day. From there he would fly on to Seattle, where his family would be waiting at the airport for him. Unlike most trips, this time he would have a really interesting story to tell - how they had caught a fallen satellite in their nets, and how NASA had come to check it out and then had taken it away by helicopter. He made a mental note to remember to tell his teenage daughters that the scientist who had come to examine the thing was a woman; they were both interested in science and it would be good for them to know that such opportunities existed. He would have loved to have had the opportunity to sit down and have a chat with Sitara, but she’d been far too busy for small talk. Just the fact that she was there, as a NASA scientist, would be an inspiration to his girls.

  His first night onshore was to be ‘Grant time’. He’d have family responsibilities to take care of in Seattle but the first evening back on shore would be spent with his crewmates in their favourite local bar, before they all went their separate ways. After a long hot shower at his friend Richie’s company apartment, newly clean-shaven (like most of his shipmates he had grown a bushy beard during the weeks at sea) and smelling fresh as a daisy, he made his way to join Richie and the rest of the crew. Most of the fishing vessels had already docked a couple of weeks earlier, offloading their catches, and flooding the town with hundreds of noisy raucous fishermen wanting to let off steam. And most of those had already gone home. The trawler men had all spent weeks at sea, risking their lives in the pursuit of the American dollar and, much like the cowboys of the old West returning from a cattle drive, they could be quite a handful at times. But that night the twenty-six officer strong Unalaska Police Department would have a much easier time. The town bars would be busy but, without the weight of numbers adding to the stress and confusion, the police patrols could almost relax.

  Grant left Richie’s apartment later than intended, having been delayed by a video call from his wife Nadine just as he was about to leave, and they’d chatted via WhatsApp for nearly half an hour. Then, his daughters wanted to talk with him, even though they would see him the next day. Family was more important than missing out on a couple of beers.

  Arriving at his favourite Unalaska bar, The Norwegian Rat Saloon, he walked over to a group of tables near the bar where Richie and several others of their shipmates were sitting. The table was already crowded with both full and empty bottles of Wild Blue lager. Richie raised a newly opened bottle of beer while handing another to Grant..

  “You’re late Grant. You’ve got a fair bit of catching up to do.”

  Grant took a swig of Wild Blue and looked at the plates on the table that betrayed that his friends had already eaten, as well as having a head start on him in the beer-drinking stakes. His stomach rumbled and reminded him that it needed attention.

  “I’ve got to get some food inside me first, Rich. I’m starving.”

  He ordered himself a Thor Burger. If Angus beef, pulled pork, molasses BBQ and onion rings didn’t silence his stomach, nothing w
ould. There were two main reasons why Grant liked The Norwegian Rat. First, he thought the burgers were to die for and second, after spending weeks at sea with only his male shipmates to look at, it was a welcome relief to be able to see some pretty female faces behind the bar. The fact that the women were both friendly and good at their job was a bonus. However, he was very happily married, deeply in love, and would never dream of straying.

  The main topic of conversation in the bar that night – between games of pool and shuffleboard – was, understandably, the satellite. The crew were perfectly happy with Sitara’s explanation and didn’t doubt her when she said that it was a reasonably common event. The trawler’s skipper, Dean Romanski a scrupulously fair man, had already assured the men that any reward for finding the satellite would be shared equally and, although they hadn’t received any money yet (and had no real idea how much it would be), they couldn’t help spending it in their heads. Some would spend it on a new car, some on vacations, some on house improvements, but Grant knew what his share would go on. With two teenage daughters who both wanted to study science at college, what better cause than their college fees? And, if there was some money left over, then maybe a family vacation to Disney World. The girls had always wanted to go and now, perhaps, they’d be able to take that dream holiday. But education came first.

  Grant and his friends sentenced forty-seven people to death in the bar that night. They didn’t want to kill them, and they had no idea that they had done so, but the fact that they’d celebrated in that particular bar that night had sealed the fate of those forty-seven residents of Amaknak Island.

  DAY FOUR

  27 April – Infected 1,405 Dead 0

  Alaska Airlines flight AS3299 from Tom Madson Airport left on time the next day, at 12:40 prompt. The take-off was uneventful, despite the runway being bordered by a large hill on one side and a steep drop off to the ocean on the other. For the first time visitor it could be a slightly unnerving experience, but both the pilot and Grant had taken off from Dutch Harbor many times previously. Half the passengers on the Saab 2000 turboprop aircraft were from the Alaskan Mermaid and most were still nursing the remnants of the morning’s hangovers. Grant, however, was surprised how little he was suffering, and settled down to while away the two and a half hour flight to Anchorage by reading the latest issue of The Bristol Bay Times. Conversely, most of his shipmates were sleeping, trying to quell the thump thump thumping in their heads with the relief of unconsciousness.

  By the time the plane landed at Anchorage International Airport, at 15:05 local time, twenty more passengers and the flight crew had been unwittingly served a death sentence.

  Grant was now faced with a wait of nearly seven hours before his flight to Seattle would leave - a long time to spend in an airport lounge, even if the airport was modern and had good facilities. He could have rented a car and visited Lake Hood or driven south on the Seward Highway along the Turnagin Arm, taking in the beautiful scenery, but that was the kind of thing he liked to do with his family, so he did what he normally did - he took a taxi to downtown Anchorage.

  He made his way straight to the 5th Avenue Mall, to begin his rehabilitation to civilisation. He enjoyed the remoteness of Dutch Harbor and the challenge and hard work of the weeks at sea, but it felt good to return to the land of Starbucks, Foot Locker, and the Apple Store. While at the mall, he bought a couple of designer fleeces for the girls (they could never have too many fleeces) and a beautiful pair of elegant gold earrings for Nadine. They had a wedding to go to in two weeks’ time and he thought that they’d go well with whatever dress she decided to buy for the event. He’d have loved to have surprised her with a new dress, but that was something best bought together. It was a dangerous business for a man to buy a dress for a woman, without her being there, so he’d wait until they could shop together back in Seattle. A succulent steak at Sullivan’s Steakhouse finished off the evening well, giving him plenty of time to return to the airport and catch his flight back home.

  Alaska Airlines flight AS106 took off on time at 21:50, and had a perfectly smooth journey to Seattle, leaving hundreds more walking dead in its wake.

  DAY FIVE

  28 April– Infected 6,948 Dead 0

  Flight AS106 landed at Seattle at 02:16 the following morning, just four minutes late. Grant made his way through the baggage claim area and his spirits lifted when he saw his family waiting for him in the arrivals area. They waved, and quickly moved to where the metal barriers opened up, allowing the arriving passengers to funnel through. Grant’s youngest, thirteen year old Carol-Anne, ran forward and launched herself at her father, throwing herself into his arms. She hadn’t seen him for four months, except on Skype, and couldn’t wait any longer for one of his strong hugs. Grant carried her towards Nadine and his other daughter, fifteen year old Melody, placing Carol-Anne gently back on her feet alongside the rest of his family. After a welcome hug and kiss from Melody, it was Nadine’s turn. She wasn’t jealous of her daughters being greeted first - she knew that her real welcome would be far more intimate and passionate. The family would have her husband back for four whole weeks; that’s what was important.

  DAY SIX

  29 April– Infected 8,327 Dead 0

  The first breakfast of the first full day after Grant’s return home from Dutch Harbor had become a Schumacher family tradition. The family got up late and headed to the Portage Bay Cafe at Ballard for brunch. Unusually, all four of them decided to eat the same meal of West Coast Benedict on organic house-made, Yukon gold English muffins, with organic, herb roasted potatoes. Carol-Anne would normally have chosen a few items from the children’s menu, but now she had turned thirteen she wanted to show off her new maturity by eating what the rest of the family chose.

  Then they made their way to Washington Park Arboretum for a relaxing stroll amongst the trees and shrubs. They’d visited many times before – whenever Grant returned home – but it never lost its charm, and was exactly what Grant needed after spending so long away at sea. Strolling around the 230 acres of woodlands and gardens was the perfect antidote to his working life in Alaska. The recently opened Cascadia Forest, which covered nearly two acres, was very impressive. Despite her adult brunch earlier on, Carole-Anne showed that she was still just a kid by racing the others to the circular rock overlook, the highest elevation point in the Arboretum. She stood at the top, her hands raised proudly, drinking in the moment of her victory, and accepting the applause of an imaginary crowd of spectators. It made Grant and Nadine so happy to see that their youngest daughter was still just a child at heart - children seemed to grow up so quickly nowadays and they wanted those childhood days to last a little longer, even though they knew from their experience with Melody that she would soon turn into a young woman.

  Back home, the evening was time to just be a family, chilling out and watching a movie or maybe even binge-watching a TV series on Netflix. A giant pizza was ordered in, and the family settled down, the parents snuggled together on the sofa, and the girls each almost swallowed by their giant bean bags. Grant could never understand the animosity of some people to having pineapple on a pizza – as far as he was concerned, you couldn’t beat a deep pan Hawaiian pizza. It was the pizza of the gods.

  The Schumachers knew that their time together was going to whip by faster than they realized, and they were determined to make the most of the next few weeks. That first day was just the start of some wonderful family-time.

  DAY SEVEN

  30 April – Infected 41,746 Dead 0

  On his second full day back in Seattle, Grant woke up with a splitting headache, the like of which he had never suffered before. Normally a very healthy person, he tried to sleep it off but, when it actually intensified after a couple more hours sleep, he could bear it no more.

  “Nadine. It’s getting worse.”

  His wife rushed to his bedside, really worried. This was completely out of character for her husband. He didn’t normally even succumb to a cold. She put his
normal good health down to the extreme conditions that he worked in, believing that he had somehow built up a natural resistance to illnesses. This wasn’t like him. She put her hand to his brow.

  “Christ, Grant. You’re burning up. We’ve got to get you some medical attention. This isn’t normal – especially for you.”

  Grant didn’t like bothering doctors.

  “No. I’ll take a couple of Tylenol. That’ll probably fix it.”

  “A couple of pills won’t sort this one out, Grant. I’m taking you to a clinic. And don’t try talking me out of it. I’m in charge.”

  Reluctantly, Grant surrendered to his wife’s advice. He was in no condition to drive, so Nadine drove him to UW Harborview.

  The staff at the hospital did their best to help Grant but, unable to find any specific root cause, the best that they could offer was a prescription for strong painkillers that would hopefully solve the problem.

  Grant survived another six hours, his condition worsening with each passing minute, as the disease secured its grip on his body. After a painful deterioration into agony, during which he lost control of his bodily functions, he finally succumbed to his inevitable fate, nestled in the arms of his loving wife.

  Elsewhere, in various towns and cities in the USA, as well as some who actually lived in Dutch Harbor, Grant’s shipmates were also falling ill and succumbing to the Grim Reaper’s welcoming arms. In Anchorage, both the crew of the helicopter that had retrieved the space probe from the sea and the crew of the USAF transport plane that had ferried it to JPL Pasadena were admitted to the J-BER hospital, suffering from the same symptoms, and dying in the same agony.

  Sitara felt fine.

  DAY EIGHT

  1 May – Infected 208,803 Dead 39

  Thirty-nine people had died the previous day but suspicions of anything more than a local viral outbreak hadn’t been aroused. It was certainly strange that twenty people had died in the same way, all in the same area, but the other nineteen victims were spread far and wide and there was no reason to consider them to be linked to the outbreak in Dutch Harbor. However, as a precaution, the Mayor of Unalaska had hurriedly convened an extraordinary meeting of the City Council in the morning of the 31st, where, despite some objections from the occupants of City Council seats C and F (who were understandably concerned for the effect that any such precaution might have on the commercial fishing industry), common sense prevailed and Tom Madsen airport was temporarily closed, in accordance with CDC recommendations. Coupled with this was the closure of the port, and vessels were allowed to neither enter nor leave the harbour. The residents were for the most part accepting of the measures, believing that although the closures were officially until further notice, both the airport and seaport would reopen in a matter of days.