UMO: A Chilling Tale of First Contact

by K Patrick Donoghue

  He’d seen flashes of the rhino tamer within Christine during training, but the deeper they traveled in space, the further they flew from their familiar surroundings, the shakier she became. Whether it was fear of the unknown, or a by-product of the long journey, the change in her behavior was so pronounced Avery worried whether she could hold it together long enough to complete their mission.

  Turning away from the window, Avery donned a headset and pressed the microphone button. “Rise and shine, folks. Time to get to work.”

  With their morning system checks completed, the three members of Cetus Prime’s crew gathered in the galley for a quick breakfast and briefing. Over granola, dried fruit and pouch-and-straw-served coffee, Avery kicked off the proceedings.

  “Okay, first order of business. We need to get our baby birds ready to fly. I want to test-drive all three before we get into orbit,” he said.

  “Roger that,” Nick said. “Let’s do CPO first. Then Andromeda, and save Perseus for last.”

  CPO, or Cetus Prime Orbiter, was a small instrumentation probe that would perform long-range scans of their planned orbital path around Mars. It would hunt for debris from Phobos-2 and NASA’s Mars Observer. CPO would also serve as a sentinel, using its electromagnetic detection devices to provide the Cetus Prime crew with an early warning of any UMOs in their path.

  Once CPO located the wreckage, Andromeda would swoop in to examine the debris in detail. Andromeda’s payload included telescoping robotic arms the crew would use to gather samples of the wreckage. In addition, the probe was outfitted with cameras to document the debris trail and an X-ray generator to look inside damaged sections deemed too big to fit in Cetus Prime’s storage bay. Andromeda also carried spectrometers similar to those onboard CPO to detect sources of electromagnetic radiation in and around the remnants of Phobos-2 and Mars Observer.

  Perseus, the third of Cetus Prime’s baby birds, would lag behind CPO and Andromeda. Armed with a dozen missiles fitted with EMP grenades, Perseus would maintain a position between the two scientific probes and Cetus Prime. At the first sign of trouble from the UMOs, Perseus would be activated to protect the mothership.

  “Shouldn’t we test Perseus first?” Christine asked. “Just in case the UMOs show up before we get into orbit.”

  “Doesn’t matter to me, but this far out, I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” Nick said. “Your call, Commander. I’ll send ’em out in any order you want.”

  Good old Nick, thought Avery. As accommodating as ever. The flight engineer and copilot was as unflappable as astronauts come. Nothing fazed him. Avery had once teased him that if Nick were captain of a plane plunging toward the ground, he would be the guy who’d come on the intercom in a soothing tone and say, “Good afternoon, folks. For those of you seated on the right side of the plane…”

  Yet, despite his laid-back attitude, sandy-haired surfer-boy looks and country charm, Nick was the most versatile astronaut Avery had ever met. He could fly the bird, fix the bird and man any of its stations. Hell, he was the bird! His only flaw, so far as Avery could judge, was the odor that enveloped him. Granted, they all reeked at this point, but Nick was monkey-house nasty after seven months in space.

  “Let’s stick with your plan, Nick,” Avery said. “We’ll keep Perseus deployed for good once we complete the shake-out. No sense in deploying it twice.”

  “Roger that,” Nick said.

  Christine lowered her head and stared at the floor with vacant eyes. She mouthed a comment, but Avery couldn’t make out what she said. It didn’t matter, though; he understood the meaning behind her gestures. She was worried that activating CPO’s and Andromeda’s electromagnetic scanners might attract the UMOs, leaving them vulnerable to attack if Perseus was still docked. But they weren’t close to Phobos yet, nor had they picked up any UMO activity on their approach to Mars, and Avery didn’t want to manage the mission based on fear of an absent threat.

  “Next item. Any news from Goddard, Chris?” Avery asked.

  “Huh?” said the zoned-out Christine.

  “Did you get an update on the latest round of MAG-SAT tests in yesterday’s uplink?” Avery clarified.

  The MAG-SAT tests represented the second arm of NASA’s two-pronged approach to determine what had caused the UMOs to destroy Mars Observer and the two Soviet probes. While there was a strong conviction within the agency that the attacks had been triggered by the activation of electromagnetic instrumentation aboard the three Martian probes, there was no consensus as to which instrument or combination of instruments had been the catalyst.

  In response, NASA had launched experimental satellites to the outer edge of Earth’s atmosphere to broadcast different forms of electromagnetic radiation, hoping to lure UMOs to the satellites and stimulate a swarm like the one depicted in photos taken by Phobos-2. But, thus far, the MAG-SAT experiments had failed to provide any insights.

  From what NASA had shared with Avery during the trip to Mars, the MAG-SAT experiments had been a bust because there were too few of the creatures circulating in Earth’s ionosphere, and too many competing sources of radiation from other satellites, terrestrial radio waves and solar wind to attract a critical mass of the UMOs to the MAG-SATs. But NASA continued to tweak the experiments, even as Cetus Prime closed in on Mars, hoping for a breakthrough that would provide the crew with intelligence that might help avert an attack.

  “Um. No. Still no swarm. Not even a gaggle,” Christine said. “In fact, Dr. Braun’s beginning to waffle on her theory about the UMOs.”

  Dr. Heidi Braun was a biologist, like Christine. She had been hired by NASA as a consultant for the Cetus Prime mission because of her research specialty: animal swarming. She had been a leading investigator on the seemingly esoteric subject for more than a decade, studying the swarming behavior of starlings, sardines and honey bees, among other animals.

  “Waffling, how?” Nick asked.

  “She’s always contended the Phobos-2 photo showed classic signs of migratory swarming,” Christine said.

  “Right. Because she said it’s unusual for swarms to attack,” Nick said.

  “Exactly. Honey bees, for example, swarm when their hives become overpopulated. The queen of the hive births a new queen and then leaves the hive to establish a new colony, taking thousands of bees with her. They form a swarm around the old queen to protect her from predators while they search for a spot to establish a new hive,” Christine said.

  Avery recalled the passionate defense Braun had given in favor of the migratory theory. The UMOs hadn’t attacked the spacecraft because they posed threats, she had said. They’d attacked them because they were rich in electromagnetic radiation, the theorized food source of the UMOs. Honey bees, Braun had told NASA, often stop at interim points in their hunt for a new home to rest or nourish themselves. She believed the unlucky probes had come across hungry UMO nomads during their search for a new home in the solar system.

  She based her theory, in part, on the fact that Mars has a significantly weaker magnetic field than Earth. As Braun had pointed out, Mars’ magnetosphere and ionosphere are almost nonexistent, meaning there isn’t an abundant source of ions in Mars’ atmosphere for the UMOs to feed upon. So, Braun deemed the possibility of a hive or colony of UMOs orbiting Mars unlikely.

  NASA had been quick to latch onto Braun’s wandering-nomad theory, for it solved a puzzling riddle. Why had these specific probes been attacked, while previous probes sent to Mars had made it to the planet without encountering a swarm of UMOs?

  Lastly, Braun posited a final reason in defense of her migratory theory versus the notion of outright predatory behavior, the favored theory of the Pentagon.

  “Herds of African antelope swarm when under attack by lions or other safari predators,” she had said. “In so doing, the weaker beasts in the herd gravitate to the periphery of the swarm, while the stronger animals aggregate inside the swarm’s protective bubble. It’s believed to be an evolutionary adaptation. Protect tho
se most likely to propagate the species by sacrificing the weakest to predators. The same behavior has been observed in starling flocks and other animal herds.”

  She told NASA and the Pentagon that the same behavior applied to migrating honey bees. The queen is considered tantamount to a colony’s survival. She is at the very heart of the swarm, with expendable worker bees surrounding her. Presuming the UMOs had evolved a similar hierarchy, Braun had contended, it would go against the survival-of-the-species instinct for the whole swarm to attack. They would want to protect their “queen” or strongest members. The swarm would be more inclined to flee rather than fight.

  Avery supposed Braun’s wavering commitment to her migratory theory was based on NASA’s continued inability to attract a swarm to feed on one of its electromagnetic-radiation-generating satellites. “What’s her theory now?”

  “She’s drifting toward the Pentagon theory,” Christine said, her voice weak.

  “How long has she been drifting?” Avery asked.

  Christine shrugged, still staring at the floor. “I dunno. She’s seemed more uptight in her last few messages, but she didn’t say anything outright about having second thoughts until yesterday. She didn’t say why, but I think the last round of MAG-SAT experiments tipped her over the edge.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me.” Nick yawned. “I’m sure Ferris is leaning on her pretty hard.”

  “Yeah,” Christine said. “That, and we haven’t run into any UMOs during our trip. I’m sure everybody at NASA is leaning toward the predator theory by now.”

  There was truth in Christine’s and Nick’s comments, thought Avery. The military had been steadfast in their conviction that the UMOs had inflicted a surgical assault on Phobos-1, based on the damage to the probe evident in Phobos-2’s fly-by photographs. Phobos-1’s comms array had been sheared off and partially melted. And while not all of the probe’s instrumentation could be seen in the pictures, those that were visible had been pierced through with laserlike precision. The same was true of the section housing the spacecraft’s nickel-cadmium batteries.

  With each failed MAG-SAT test, General Ferris had ratcheted up pressure on NASA to treat the UMOs as hostile entities. This much Avery knew from private messages he’d exchanged with Colonel Paul Morgan, CAPCOM for the Cetus Prime mission. In those messages, Morgan hadn’t provided Avery with any indication that Braun was wavering. He’d just said, “Chest-thumping in Arlington can be heard in Greenbelt.”

  That said, Morgan had to know of Braun’s change of heart. As CAPCOM, Morgan was the crew’s primary communication conduit with NASA. All communication between Mission Control and Cetus Prime passed through Morgan. Therefore, Braun’s message to Christine would have received Morgan’s review before transmission. Given that, it surprised Avery that Morgan hadn’t provided him with a direct heads-up. He would have to ping Morgan after the crew briefing to find out why.

  “Whether Braun’s wavering or not, it doesn’t change anything about our mission,” Avery said. “Everybody back home is just guessing, anyway.”

  “You’re wrong, boss,” Nick said, covering his mouth to hide another yawn.

  “Wrong about what?” Avery asked.

  “Braun wavering does change one thing,” Nick said.

  “Yeah, what’s that?”

  “I agree with Chris. We should test Perseus first.”

  3: SEPARATION FAILURE

  Cetus Prime

  Pallet Control Center

  Date: 04.28.1995

  Time: 1718 UTC

  While Nick went aft to prepare to launch Perseus from Cetus Prime’s pallet, Christine returned to the lab to monitor her bank of instruments. Avery returned to the flight deck and typed a message to transmit to Morgan. It read, “CDR to CC: Heard the beekeeper is moving to Arlington. Should we be concerned? CDR out.”

  Given Earth and Mars were sixty-five million miles apart at this point in their journey, Avery’s message would take six minutes to reach Morgan’s console at the Goddard Space Flight Center in Greenbelt, Maryland. Assuming he read the message right away and responded immediately, the quickest Avery could expect a reply was in twelve minutes.

  However, Morgan tended to wait for a routine mission update before responding to one of Avery’s thinly-coded messages. Avery supposed Morgan did this to avoid attracting undue attention of others in Mission Control who were copied on all ship-to-Earth communications, most notably the mission director, Dennis Pritchard, and Ferris’ Space Command duty officer.

  Morgan was a straight shooter in Avery’s experience, so he expected a candid answer, whenever it came. He was more interested to see Morgan’s word choices, for they would reveal how far the pendulum had swung toward the military point of view. If Morgan’s message was uncoded, Avery would interpret it to mean there was consensus between NASA and the Pentagon, whatever his answer. If Morgan’s reply contained coded language, it would mean there was a battle brewing between the two factions.

  “Hey, Commander?” came Nick’s query through Avery’s headset.

  “Yeah, Nick. What’s up?”

  “Got a problem with Perseus. Better get down here and see for yourself.”

  “On my way,” Avery said, unclipping his safety harness.

  The trip to reach Nick involved a float down the flight deck access panel to reach the forward fuselage’s middeck, where the ship’s communications center was located. From there, Avery passed through a hatchway and proceeded through the laboratory, flying by the foot-tapping Christine on the way. At the far end of the lab, he glided through another hatchway and into the compartment housing the crew galley and quarters. After passing through a third and final hatchway, he reached the aft compartment, home of the ship’s engine control room and pallet control center.

  Avery found Nick peering out the porthole at the pallet beyond the aft compartment. The girderlike structure sat between Cetus Prime’s main cabin and the engine compartment at the ship’s stern. The engine compartment of the ship also contained the storage bay where the crew would house debris salvaged during their mission. From the side, the pallet looked like a flatbed train car wedged between two boxcars. At the front of the pallet rested the three probes, docked side by side. Behind the probes, the pallet was populated by a variety of antennas and other instruments that protruded in every direction like the spines of an angry porcupine.

  When Avery arrived, Nick said, “Damn thing won’t separate. I think one of the docking clamps is stuck. All the control panel says is ‘sep-fault.’”

  “Did you check the hydraulics?” Avery asked.

  “Yes sirree. Pressure gauge shows nominal, same with the temp gauge. Actuator seems to be functioning properly. That leaves the clamps. Trouble is, I can’t see them. Too dark on the pallet.”

  Nick moved aside to let Avery look out the porthole. Sure enough, the pallet was obscured by the shadow cast by the ship’s dual-wing solar panels.

  “I take it the pallet lights aren’t working,” Avery said.

  “You got it. I checked the fuse, it’s still good. Bulbs probably froze. It’s an easy fix, but it requires an EVA to change out the bulbs,” Nick said with a smile. “I can inspect Perseus while I’m out.”

  “Uh-huh,” Avery said.

  Nick had a thing for extravehicular activity, a.k.a. spacewalking, and for weeks he’d been crowing about his intention to become the first astronaut to perform an EVA in Mars’ orbit. He’d even prepared a speech for the occasion, which he’d recited more than two dozen times over crew dinners.

  “You know it won’t count,” Avery said. “We’re not in orbit yet.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nick said. “I’m just trying to get our baby bird airborne.”

  The earnest expression on Nick’s face made Avery laugh. “Nice try.”

  “What?”

  “Look, seriously, is the Perseus sep-fault legit or not?” Avery asked.

  “One hundred percent legit. I wouldn’t mess around wi
th something like that.”

  Avery stared him down, waiting for a crack in Nick’s poker face. When none appeared, Avery said, “Let me roll the ship to get the pallet in the sun, get you a clean look at Perseus from inside,” Avery said. “If you still can’t tell what’s going on, we’ll suit you up.”

  “Roger that.” Nick grinned.

  “Don’t get all giddy. There’s a condition.”

  “Condition?”

  “Yeah, when you get back inside, take a sponge bath, put on some cologne, change your clothes, man. My eyelashes are going to fall out if you don’t deal with your eau-de-whiff.”

  The roll maneuver illuminated the pallet, but not the cause of Perseus’ separation-fault error message. So, Avery met Nick at the airlock in the crew compartment to assist Nick into his extravehicular mobility suit, or EMU, and SAFER thruster pack. He then stepped out of the airlock and cranked the inner hatch shut. With the airlock sealed, Nick began the two-hour depressurization process while Avery returned to the cockpit to apprise Mission Control of the situation and their plan. The time was 1752 UTC.

  At 1955 UTC, Avery gave Nick the go-ahead to begin the EVA. Nick activated his helmet’s solar shield and cranked open the airlock’s outer door. Before exiting Cetus Prime, he clipped the D-ring of his safety tether to the fuselage handrail and checked the display and control module strapped to his chest to verify the suit’s life support and power supply were functioning properly. Once outside Cetus Prime, he cranked the airlock closed and glided toward the pallet.

  Avery watched Nick’s progress via monitors mounted on the cockpit’s instrumentation console, while Christine watched from similar monitors in the lab.

  As they waited for Nick to change out the frozen lightbulbs, Avery turned his thoughts to Perseus and its weapons. He wouldn’t admit it to either Christine or Nick, but Avery was convinced the probe’s weapon system was more window dressing than lethal firepower.