“You guys realize I can hear you, right?” Hopkins asked.
Jansen folded his wiring diagram back up and tucked it into a pouch. “Do me a favor and hurry up, would ya? I’m missing a Jefferson’s marathon.”
“And the whole world wept,” Marco said caustically. “Over and out.”
Jansen covered his microphone. “Dolt wouldn’t know quality TV if it bit him on the ass.” A moment later, he began to twiddle his thumbs, hoping that the pressure suit’s thick gloves might make the task more challenging. He was sorely disappointed.
Then Nils Jansen heard a noise like none he’d ever heard before. It was so strange that he couldn’t even begin to describe it. So strange that he began to wonder if it was a noise at all, or if he was suffering some kind of hallucination. He was pretty sure “space madness” was only an urban legend, but he sometimes had his doubts. This was one of those times.
“Guys, there’s something weird going on out here,” Hopkins’ ever-pitiful voice squeaked, huffing and puffing between words.
Not a hallucination, Jansen decided. “What is it?”
The response came back fast. “I don’t friggin know, Nils. If I knew, don’t you think I would’ve said something more descriptive than something weird? Jesus.”
“Jansen, I’m in an access tube right now. Can you see what he’s blubbering about?”
Jansen was already moving around to a better vantage point. “Which direction, Hop?”
“Heading… I dunno. Just look towards the moon.”
He wheeled around and there it was, whatever it was. There was a slight shimmering in empty space, like photos he’d seen of the aurora, but the pattern was all wrong. It reminded him of the house he grew up in, when the late summer sun would reflect off the pool, leaving undulating patterns on the screen door and the ceiling.
“Do you see it, Jansen?”
He was dumbfounded.
“Jansen?”
He snapped back to attention. “Yeah, I see it. I don’t know what the hell it is, either.”
He stared at the undulating field of light, slack-jawed, while colors played across it in every shade of the rainbow. In another moment, he was sure that it wasn’t just one field of light, but seven spaced out evenly.
Then solid shapes began to emerge from within. The lights stretched around them, clinging like latex, until they were whole and complete. The light shimmered and faded away, revealing seven jagged discs like nothing Jansen had ever seen before. There was a lot of that going around.
“You see ‘em, Hop?” He asked.
“Sure do. They look like… like bone or something.”
“See what?” Marco demanded.
Jansen ignored him. “Oyster shell.”
“No, more like coral,” Hopkins said.
Hopkins was right. The texture of the discs was remarkably like coral in a fantastic shade of royal blue. Jansen had no idea what that meant, or if it meant anything at all. As he floated there against the window with his mouth gaping open, he tried to find some frame of reference to gauge how big the discs were, but to no avail. He suddenly wished he’d paid more attention in his astronomy courses. Like Hopkins had. “What do you think? Five kilometers across?”
The line was dead for a moment. “Bigger. Ten, maybe twenty. It’s hard to tell.”
“You guys aren’t making any damn sense,” Marco said bitterly. “Would someone please tell me what’s going on? Use words and sentences.”
For a single pregnant moment, the discs sat there motionless, and Jansen had a feeling they were examining the Earth. They were considering their next move. Then they burst into motion, accelerating at a rate Jansen never would’ve believed if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. They scattered around the globe.
“Maybe they’re trying to make contact,” Hopkins said. The tone of his voice said he didn’t believe it either.
There was a burst of light in the distance. An explosion. The Sunyaev Observatory was out that way. Another light flashed, this time from the direction of the Brahe Array. A half dozen more explosions appeared in the following seconds. It was the first depressing fireworks show Jansen had ever seen.
“Marco,” Jansen finally said into an already dead communicator, “we’ve got company, and I don’t think they brought pie.”
Chapter 6:
The Earth Stands Still
The sky was dull grey, and rain was trying to fall in fits and starts. It wasn’t a storm yet, but the promise of something dreadful hid within the water fat clouds. Jack Hernandez wasn’t pleased. The last thing he wanted to see on returning from hurricane-ravaged Jacksonville was more rain. He’d been hip-deep in flood waters for so long he could scarcely remember what dry underwear felt like, and he spent the entire flight home dreaming about the warm San Jose sun. His plan was to do nothing but dry out for two straight days.
The sun, that cowardly bastard, was nowhere to be found.
Jack’s train ride was quiet and fast, followed by an energetic if mechanical march back from the station and a quick trot up to the door. The apartment unlocked itself as he approached, and he was already half-stripped when the door closed behind him. He tossed his backpack aside, unzipped his jumpsuit and let it hang limply from his waist, drew his tank-top over his head and threw it to the floor. Hopping, he yanked off one boot and then the other, stepped out of the jumpsuit and left it in a damp heap. In another moment, his sponge-like boxers and socks were gone, and he collapsed on the living room carpet naked.
The air in his apartment was cool and—to Jack’s great satisfaction—bone dry. Without the television on, the room was silent save for the sound of his breathing and the intermittent patter of rain on the patio. It didn’t quite measure up to his sun-soaked dreams, but it would do. He lost track of time lying there on the floor, staring at the ceiling and listening to a world momentarily at peace.
When his phone began to ring, he was adamant about not answering it. Just let it go, he told himself. It can’t be anything important. The answering machine will get it. The second ring came and went, the third followed close behind. By the fourth, he was starting to reconsider. Before the fifth ring came, he was on his feet and moving.
He plucked the handset from its cradle. “Hello?”
“Hey Jack,” a sultry sweet voice came back. “You were supposed to call when you landed, dopefish.”
“Sorry, Jess. I was so tired, I came straight home and passed out.” That was close enough to the truth.
“Good news, then. I’m on my way over with an armload of groceries. I’m cooking you dinner tonight.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“How about because I miss you, silly?”
Jack smiled, and for a second his thoughts wandered to the ring nestled in its delicate little box at the bottom of his sock drawer. “Good reason. How far away are you?”
“Five minutes,” she guessed.
“That doesn’t give me much time to get dressed.”
“Whatever you’re wearing is fine,” Jess said. “See you in a bit.” Then dial-tone.
Jack dropped the phone back into its cradle and saw the message light blinking. It couldn’t be good news. It was never good news, but he hit play anyway.
“Don’t suppose you recognize my voice, do you? It’s your mother. Maybe I should adopt the answering machine; at least it picks up the phone when I call. Anyway, just letting you know Charlie got promoted to Staff Sergeant. Isn’t that great? I know you don’t like what he does, but you should talk to him. He worked so hard, and… He’d never say it, but he still looks up to you. He only joined up with Carbon Corp because he wanted to help people like you do. He’s starting his third tour, Egypt this time, and I’d really appreciate if you at least gave him a call before he ships out. I guess that’s it. Hope you and Jess can join us for Thanksgiving. Love you, and call me sometime.”