Then the ship passed through… something. It was like a thin film or the surface of a liquid, and there was suddenly something massive out in front of them, so large that it filled the entire viewport and made all the nearby asteroids seem shrimpy by comparison. The object was long and thin like a cannon, and Marcus knew from his studies that it stretched more than thirteen kilometers from end-to-end, with a secondary structure attached to its hip that, while shorter, was still more than eight kilometers long.
Seen for the first time in person, the sheer scale of Zebra-One was confounding.
The air of discovery rushed back into the bridge, electrified with total astonishment. It was moments before anyone could muster the ability to speak.
Faulkland spoke first. He furrowed his brow, pursed his lips, and said, “Ms. Park, bring up the survey image of Zebra-One.”
She looked to Marcus questioningly, and he nodded his assent. An instant later, the image Marcus had presented to the GAF was floating above the holographic projector at the front of the bridge, right beside the viewport where the real thing could be seen. The image showed an object of the right dimensions, but with a glistening exterior that was black like obsidian, and ringed by a series of vertical ridges. The real Zebra-One was entirely different, a greenish shimmering iridescent surface half caked in a layer of sediment, and bristling with tiny spires that evoked Roman architecture and insect anatomy all at once.
Faulkland looked back and forth between the reality outside the window and the holographic fake. On his face, Marcus recognized the look of a man who had just been cheated at cards. “Doctor Donovan. You wanted to come clean about something.”
“I did, Commander.”
The beleaguered commander ran a hand through his greasy hair, past veins that were starting to throb on his forehead. “Now would be the time. What in hell am I looking at?”
Marcus unbuckled himself and floated out to the front of the bridge, taking up station beside the projection. “Park, please bring up the original.”
The image of his fictional asteroid was replaced with the final scan from Copernicus. “Commander, this is Zebra-One, an artifact of unknown origin which my team and I have been researching for the past seven years. We haven’t been able to determine what she is exactly, but I suspect she’s not from our neck of the woods.”
Rao, awkward and nervous, said, “Wait, it’s not metallic hydrogen? I must have been mistaken.” It was half-way between a weak lie and a bad joke.
A growl rumbled deep in Faulkland’s throat. “I don’t appreciate being lied to, Donovan. You’re telling me this is what? Some kind of alien craft?”
“Maybe, or maybe the alien itself. We couldn’t be sure from Earth, which is why we’re here.”
Faulkland’s arms were crossed, and he was staring straight through the massive artifact. His breathing was slow and methodical. “They never would have approved that mission,” he finally said. “The windbags would’ve destroyed your data, and you along with it. Made sure you couldn’t get a job teaching grade school science in Siberia. You’re a real son of a bitch, Donovan.”
“Thanks… I think.”
Faulkland unbuckled his harness and pushed off into the middle of the bridge, his eyes fastened on the strange object. “I know I should be furious right now, but man alive, this is really something. Something wonderful.”
Marcus drifted over to meet him, and then turned and pointed out at Zebra-One. His pose mimicked every painting of an explorer discovering a lost city. “A promise just waiting to be fulfilled. Besides, where would you prefer to find your name in the history books, Commander? By a manned mission to Jupiter, or first contact with extra-terrestrial life?”
“Yeah,” was all Faulkland said. Then he woke from his stupor. “Shen, prepare a status update for Bangalore. Tell them that we’ve arrived at Zebra-One and will begin initial survey within the hour.” He gave Marcus a knowing nod.
“That might be a problem, sir,” Mason Shen said in consternation. He was working furiously at his station. “I’ve lost contact with Earth, sir.”
“Solar flare?” Faulkland asked.
“No, sir. The forecast is spotless, and radiation is within tolerance. Signal just went dead about five minutes ago, and I haven’t picked up a thing since. I’m still receiving a carrier signal from Mars, though.”
“Strange. Probably nothing. Relay through Mars until we can re-establish contact.”
“Aye aye.”
Faulkland turned back to Marcus. “What now, Doctor?”
Marcus had years worth of plans ready to unfold. “This is our first glance up her skirt, and I’d like to make a few passes along the length of her. Get the lay of the land. With any luck, we might get some insight into how her camouflage works. After that, we go out to meet her in person. Rao’s team identified a number of structures we call irises, which they suspect are air-locks, or else some kind of unknown organ. Either way, our investigations should start there. Iris Charlie on the starboard side of the main hull appears to be the most accessible.”
“How many times have you rehearsed that speech?”
“Thousands,” Marcus replied. Then he noticed something about Faulkland’s demeanor that he couldn’t immediately put into words. “You’re coming along,” he said incredulously.
Faulkland had a smile as wide as the stars. “Wild horses couldn’t stop me.”
“Isn’t that kind of reckless?”
“If we weren’t a little reckless, Marcus, we wouldn’t be space cowboys.”
Marcus Donovan reflected on that and decided that truer words had never been spoken.
Copernicus Observatory was dark. Its generator was off-line for routine maintenance, and during this part of the station’s orbit, the sun was completely hidden behind the Earth, leaving the distant stars the only remaining source of light.
Nils Jansen was floating around near the main power console, idly looking over a wiring diagram with a flashlight. He was wearing most of a skin-tight pressure suit, all except for the helmet which was still dangling from his hip. The station was reasonably comfortable, and he could hardly stand to wear the stuffy thing. It made him feel claustrophobic, and he likely wouldn’t put it on until air inside the station began to taste foul.
Other than Jansen, the spherical control center was completely deserted. He was part of a three-man skeleton crew who kept things in order while Bangalore controlled the scanning array from the ground. Research teams occasionally came through on short tours, but in the mean time, Jansen and the other two technicians kept the seats warm, made sure the place didn’t fall apart, and tried not to kill one another.
It wasn’t Jansen’s dream job, but the salary was alright, it was easy work, and he accrued enough leave to visit his family every few months.
It could be worse, he assured himself. He could be hurtling through space on some fool alien hunt.
He flicked his headset on. “Marco?”
There was another moment of silence, then his earpiece crackled to life. “Polo.”
Jansen groaned. “When are you gonna give up that lame, tired ass joke?”
“About ten seconds after you start addressing me properly.”
“Fine,” he said. “Technician Jansen to Technician Esquiveclass="underline" Are you done yet? I wanna turn the power back on. Over.”
“Nope. Two blown fuses at Junction D7. I just sent Hopkins off to get replacements.”
Jansen looked down at the crinkly wiring diagram and found Junction D7, then started looking for the nearest storage locker. He found it a hundred meters away. “You sent Hop? He’ll take a week.”
“He’s getting faster,” Marco said hopefully.
Jansen shook his head. “No, he’s not.”
“Just let me pretend.”