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  “No,” Marge corrected, “you changed the power source. We were working on safe alternatives that would still meet our mission parameters.”

  “Those parameters have changed,” Nicholson said. “Your ship and crew, and my men, are effectively stranded on Mars with nothing to assist them unless we send it there ... soon.”

  Marge’s eyes widened, and she stood suddenly, turning to Jack. “Open your laptop and get me a reading on console eighteen ... now!”

  Jack quickly did as she asked and before he could show her, she reached over the edge of the table, grabbing his computer and swinging it to face her. She watched it for a moment, then sat back down and sighed, closing her eyes.

  “What the hell was that about?” Smith asked, half standing in the process.

  “Marge,” Rock asked. “Why did you want a data pull from the neutrino detector?”

  Everyone understood the implication, if not the reasoning. The neutrino detector was physically located in New Mexico, but console eighteen, oftentimes unmanned, was dedicated to monitoring its function of detecting the elusive subatomic particle, which could fly right through a solid object, including entire planets.

  Marge opened her eyes. “It’s nothing, really.”

  “I’d hardly call that nothing,” Smith said, turning to face Rock. “What’s she on about?”

  “I think the fact that there was an attack, or at least an action that is being interpreted by you and our military as hostile, led Marge to believe something similar could happen elsewhere as well.”

  “Elsewhere?” Smith asked. “Where else but Earth could you be referring to?”

  “I’m not,” Rock said simply, and sat back down.

  Smith stood for a moment longer, if hovering with knees half-bent could be called standing. “We’re not even close to Mars. Even their stun gun on the moon couldn’t reach us here. I think the good Doctor Jones is worrying for naught.”

  “You just said she was right not more than ten minutes ago,” Lisa said, looking at the man with wide eyes.

  “That was about the alien intent. I don’t think the species is planning a full-scale invasion of our planet at this time. Besides, I’ve read more than one of Doctor Jones’ hypotheses involving the fact that this species could very well already be extinct. Isn’t that right, Doctor?”

  Marge looked at the man and nodded, though it was obvious she took no pleasure in agreeing with him on any subject. “We haven’t seen any biological trace of this species; no records have been uncovered of their history, culture, scientific or mathematical capabilities, or even a picture or drawing of what they could look like. With time measured on a universal scale involving eons and billions of years, they could have very well ceased to exist as a species millions of years ago.”

  “That would be a long time for their technology to survive intact,” Nicholson commented, his focus on hardware suiting his military demeanor.

  “It’s not like there are forces of erosion at work where their technology resides,” Marge continued. “The construct on Mars is a good example. It probably was on the surface millions of years ago and migrated, intact, to its current location. It would not be so hard to imagine an ecosystem, or any sort of engineered construct, that would be designed to maintain its integrity over very long time spans.”

  “So we’re talking about ancient aliens?” Nicholson asked her.

  “Perhaps,” Marge said. “On the other hand, these artifacts could very well have been placed in our solar system only a few decades ago, maybe even a few years.”

  “We’d have known if that were the case,” Smith said.

  “Would we?” she asked.

  Rock raised his hands to get their attention. “Please, humor me for a moment, Mister Smith, and let’s review one more time where we are at.”

  “What isn’t clear to you, Crandon?” Smith asked.

  “We reestablish communications, but in effect, there’s no one home up there.” Rock pointed over his head, indicating their ship and crew. “We know that the data feeds and info dumps were all queued and waiting for confirmation of encrypted synching before they transmitted. We are sifting through that now, but the three messages we’ve sent—one of which was sent automatically last night—and the other two this morning have gone unanswered. You’re saying that our crew can’t answer due to this attack, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “We were informed of this attack by the Soviets?” Rock asked.

  “At first, the information of the first attack on your crewmembers was auto-logged and sent before the ship was disabled. Then we learned from the Soviets about the latest situation,” Smith said.

  “They told us?” Rock’s voice carried no doubt of his skepticism.

  “Not they as in their government. More as in our intel sources close to their space program.”

  Rock remembered discussing the HUMINT, or Human Intelligence asset that the NSA, or more likely the CIA, had nurtured, and he recalled his own part played when he personally phoned his counterpart in Russia. “Our crew, are they safe?”

  “All but one astronaut, who is currently MIA, and one KIA from my team,” Admiral Nicholson interjected.

  “Jesus H. Christ,” Jack said, shaking his head and bringing his hands to his head as if he had a headache.

  “Who’s missing?” Lisa asked, anxiety in her voice.

  “Science officer Maria Mayer,” Smith said, looking at his notes after opening his portfolio for the first time that day. “The SEAL team lost....” Smith was looking for the man’s name.

  “Petty Officer Charles Murphy,” Nicholson said.

  “I remember him,” Rock said softly. “Chuck, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, for those that knew him well.”

  Lisa also was shaking her head and wringing her hands. “How did this happen ... how could this happen?” It wasn’t clear if she were asking rhetorically or if she really expected someone to answer.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Rock began. “You mentioned a rescue mission which, quite frankly, if I may be so bold as to say, sounds insane right now.” No one spoke, so he continued: “We have the Black Infinity which, by my last report, only finished its systems integration testing last month. It has yet to be certified in any of its sixteen sub-systems and not one safety protocol has been tested for it—well, at least not an operational one.

  “Add to this the fact that it has a new, untested power source, one banned by treaties signed by almost every country on our planet. It also has....” Rock got up and walked over to Jack’s laptop, which lay skewed on the table after Marge’s rough handling.

  “You want me to pull up the interstellar orbital chart, Boss?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah, get the one showing the various launch windows and corresponding delta-Vs, though disregard the default order and sort by shortest transit time.”

  It took a couple of minutes, but Jack punched away on the keyboard and Smith yawned then looked at his watch. He exchanged a look with the admiral, staring at each other for a moment before Smith turned and asked Rock, “Will this take long?”

  “Long enough,” Rock said. “The lives of everyone you’re willing to put at risk are worth you waiting.”

  “Got it,” Jack said, turning the laptop towards Rock and leaning back with his hands folded, a smug gaze on display at Mister Smith’s expense.

  Rock scrolled down, then pushed the display towards the other side of the table so the admiral and NSA officer could see it. “The current launch window would close in just over two weeks, assuming the ship could do what it’s rated for. The next one after that is a good twenty months away.”

  “There has to be a mistake,” Lisa said, her face still showing the creases in her skin where she continued her frown. “What you’re implying operationally isn’t possible.”

  “I thought you NASA folks had a saying,” Smith said, his tone low and his words measured. “Failure is not an option.”

  “Well, n
either is suicide,” Jack shot back.

  “Don’t be so melodramatic,” Smith pressed forward. “The ship was built over a year ago and your astronauts have over a thousand hours in the sims for it.”

  “The ship’s frame was finished last year,” Rock corrected the man. “The internal subsystems, computers, life support, and all the rest that makes it a ship were only recently installed.”

  “Craig topped out at just over six hundred hours, a far cry from your figure,” Marge added firmly.

  Smith scowled. “That’s not the point.”

  “What is?” she asked.

  “The point is that the president has ordered us to mobilize Black Infinity and begin rescue operations. We’ll work through intel and diplomatic channels to see if we can get some assistance from the Soviets for the crew of the Red Horizon, but in the meantime, you have your marching orders ... so either NASA does its job, or we’ll do it for you.”

  “Black Infinity was never meant to go to Mars,” Rock said. “The signal source, from within the Jovian atmosphere, was its primary objective. It was designed first and foremost for an Earth to Jupiter mission.”

  “Which wasn’t scheduled for another forty-two months,” Marge added.

  Lisa threw out another issue: “The crew selection process hasn’t even been finalized yet, much less any candidates identified.”

  “We don’t need a crew,” Smith said. “The ship’s primary mission now will be to rescue and continue with the Mars mission. We’ve got the momentum, having arrived first at the alien base. Now we need to press that advantage home and find out what technological advancements we can glean from it before . . .”

  The NASA team looked at him intently, and it didn’t help that he paused mid-sentence. Marge urged him to finish his thought. “Go on.”

  Smith hesitated slightly then said, “Before the Soviets.”

  “Or, God forbid, the Chinese,” Admiral Nicholson added for good measure.

  “Well, I’m not one to agree with the military often, but I’d hate to think what they would do to the place. Simply destroying it would seem too easy for them,” Lisa said, shifting her gaze to Nicholson, who nodded at her in appreciation for their shared sentiments.

  Smith dismissed the moment with a wave of his hand. “What matters, for the national interest of the United States of America, is that any alien technology on that planet, or anywhere else in this galaxy, finds its way squarely and solely within our hands.”

  “We got that,” Rock said. “What’s stopping the Soviets, then, from contesting our current presence planetside?”

  “That’s a good question,” Smith said to Rock. “We think they are a bit, shall we say, gun-shy with what happened to them on the lunar surface, as well as the destruction of the Chinese ship and the disabling of our own.”

  “Gun-shy?” Marge raised a brow.

  Nicholson put a hand up. “Smith is correct. We have reason to believe that they actually fear the alien technology more than anything we, or the Chinese, have to offer. The fact that they witnessed the purposeful intent of said technology against our ship has them in a state of fear and paralysis. They are pondering their next move.”

  The room went quiet for a moment before Rock spoke. “What’s the flight time, Jack, with the plasma engines running by a capable electrical generator?”

  Jack looked at Rock oddly and then answered, “I’d need to have the power rating before calculating that.”

  Rock turned to Smith as Jack pulled his laptop back to him and punched in several numbers. “What’s the exact rating for your nuclear reactor?”

  Smith hesitated and they all listened intently to the faint sounds of Jack’s keyboard clicking as he typed.

  Jack spoke first. “We’d need 210 megawatts simply to break free of Earth orbit with enough velocity to reach Mars.”

  All eyes went to Smith, who showed no sign of answering the question, so Rock asked him again, “The power generated, Mister Smith?”

  Smith spoke softly. “330 megawatts at peak, though the research team maintains their objection to running it at anything over 305 for prolonged periods.”

  Rock looked at the admiral, knowing the man would confirm the number or not.

  Nicolson nodded, then said, “Those figures are correct.”

  Jack started typing furiously, then looked up. “If the mass is ship plus expected manifest and fuel, then we’re looking at forty days for orbital insertion, but that is a very optimistic flight profile, Boss.”

  “It would have been better to have launched a month ago in order to maximize the speed of Earth’s orbit relative to Mars,” Marge added, her astrophysics side coming to the surface.

  Rock shook his head, “There won’t be anyone to rescue in fifty-four days.”

  “I thought he said forty?” Smith asked, looking at Jack.

  “I did.”

  “Forty days of flight time and, if I recall correctly, the maximum time we’d have in the current launch window for preparations which is roughly two weeks,” Rock clarified.

  “Who said you’re authorized to use all of the launch window on preparations?” Smith challenged.

  “I did,” Rock said. “You’ll be lucky if we could launch in two months, much less two weeks.”

  Nicholson interjected: “For the record, we do have chemical rockets to begin the ... what do you call the initial take off for our space ships?”

  “Boost,” Lisa and Marge said together.

  “Yes, then, we do have a hybrid boost that can assist ... so don’t think it’s only the plasma motors with nuclear reactors,” he finished.

  “Nothing like a military plan for our space program,” Lisa said dejectedly.

  “Well, if this is true then we have a few months of work to cram into the next two weeks. Are you sure about this, Mister Smith?” Rock asked.

  “Look....” Smith’s voice lowered, and he crossed his arms defensively. “You do your job and we’ll do ours. For the remainder of the week, the admiral and I have been assigned here until we have confirmation of the exact departure time for this mission. Make it happen, Mister Crandon.”

  “I will, but first I want to call the president myself,” Rock said.

  “She’s expecting your call,” Smith said, too smugly for the NASA team’s comfort. “Besides, I can’t think of anything worse than you wasting time while your crew members’ lives are in jeopardy.”

  Marge’s next words were chilling, “I don’t know. I can think of quite a few things that would bring you nightmares ... enough to last a lifetime.”

  Chapter 6

  Into the Fire

  ALIEN CONSTRUCT

  93° West, 4° South

  Near Tithonium Chasma, Mars

  In the near future, Year 4, Day 179

  “OW,” JULES SAID, COMING-to and feeling strong hands support and assist her as she sat up from her prone position on the floor. She blinked a few times and tried to shield her eyes from the white light permeating throughout the room. “What hit me?”

  “I think you hit the floor, Commander,” Neil said, crouching next to her and steadying her with a hand on her back. “How do you feel?”

  “Fine, I guess. How long have I been out?”

  Neil looked up and behind her, and Jules heard Major Carter’s voice, but couldn’t see the man. “A few minutes shy of thirteen hours.”

  Julie nodded, then gasped, “Maria.”

  “We’re still working on it,” Carter said. “We managed to pry the door open less than a half hour ago and I have two of my men conducting a recon as we speak.”

  “Help me up,” Jules said, putting her hand forward.

  “Your leg is injured,” Neil said. “It’s best if you stay off of it for now.”

  Jules frowned, but reached down and felt the bandaging on her calf. “It’s minor. I can feel strength in both my legs, and I damn well am not going to sit on this alien floor any longer, so help me up.” She put her hands out again and Sullivan g
rabbed one hand and arm to assist as she stood and gingerly placed some of her weight on her injured limb.

  Turning, she saw the major standing guard at the half-opened interior door that had activated when the black alien orbs had entered the room and abducted their science officer. Carter was holding a rather large claw-hammer in his right hand and in his other a flashlight, which he had pointed into the darkened corridor.

  “What are you doing?”

  Carter finally turned his head to look at her, but his light and hammer remained motionless. “It’s rather complicated, Commander.”

  Neil spoke. “This will take a few moments, Commander. This ... place seems to have some sort of chemical dampener that we’ve never seen before.”

  “You’re referring to the gunpowder tests that Major Carter conducted after their weapon malfunctions?”

  “Yes, Commander,” Neil said, keeping an arm on her as she wobbled slightly on her feet. “The chemical make-up of all three components—sulfur, charcoal, and potassium nitrate—are altered enough that the chemical reaction isn’t possible and so no combustion occurs, no sulfur burns, and the weapons don’t work. Basically, their ammunition is inert and ineffective. We didn’t get a chance to brief you on the final results of the chemical analysis yesterday.”

  “Understood,” Jules said. “We need to find Maria and get back to the ship. I don’t know what that thing was, but it attacked us, so I’m sure we can classify it as hostile.”

  Her statement was greeted by three stone faced looks. Neil, Carter, and Harris were staring at her. After a moment, both military officers turned to look at Neil and he nodded slightly. “Commander, we have bad news, I’m afraid.”

  “Jesus, Neil, just spit it out, I’m not a teenage girl that needs her hand held at a prom. What the hell is it?”

  Neil still seemed hesitant despite the rebuke by his commander. Finally, he said, “The aliens hit Red Horizon with some sort of pulse beam from that transmitter of theirs at the Alpha Target site. We tracked the pulse but our monitors were able to confirm the discharge before we lost all communications with our ship.”