The Solar Sea (8 page)

Myra sat back and stared at the Oxford linguist. “That doesn't make any sense. Who are they warning?"

"That's difficult to say.” Joyce's brow furrowed. “It's like they've been reading too much Tolkien. They're warning someone they call ‘the keepers of the rings.'” She paused and sent some more information across. “I know it sounds utterly fantastic, but I'm sending along all of the notes and programs I used to come to my conclusions."

"Any idea who ‘the keepers of the rings’ are?” Visions of dolphins jumping through hoops at Marineland in California came unbidden to Myra's mind.

"You said the whales started their song at one o'clock in the afternoon of April 17?"

Myra nodded, remembering the event clearly. It was difficult to believe that almost two months had passed since then.

Joyce hesitated before answering, “The only other significant event that happened at the time was a broadcast from Quinn Corp executives announcing a mission to Saturn."

"The ringed planet,” mused Myra. “Are you trying to suggest that the ‘keepers of the rings’ are little green men from Saturn?"

Joyce shrugged and sighed. “I almost hesitated to mention it."

Myra nodded. “Thanks. Can the programs you've devised tell us anything about what the whales say in any of their other songs."

"I haven't had time to do much with the other songs.” Joyce appeared relieved by the change of subject. “All we can really pick up are sequences that repeat with subtle changes more than any specific words. It's as though the whales are reciting poetry or repeating a litany."

Myra nodded to herself. “That's what I would have expected to find given their behavior."

"Us too."

Myra thanked the linguist, then shut down the computer connection. She brushed tangles out of her hair while visions of whales floating in the clouds of Saturn came to her mind.

Pilot smiled when Jefferson's jaw dropped as they climbed into one of the launch bays, near the spheroid's central core. The craft before them was like nothing the colonel had ever seen. The lunar transportation shuttles were large, chunky ships with cylindrical bodies mounted on broad delta wings. Aside from their size and the power of their engines, they were very similar to the space shuttles of the late twentieth century. Even the Martian Lander was a large bug-like craft, built more for functionality than for grace and speed. The shuttle aboard the
Aristarchus
was trim, with graceful, curving lines. On one hand, the sloping delta wings made the craft look a little like the fighter jets that Jefferson had once flown for the Air Force. On the other hand, the gently sloping top and sleek lines gave him the impression of a sports car.

"It'll hold a crew of six,” explained Pilot. “This one is optimized to handle the high winds of Jupiter and Saturn's upper atmospheres and stay there for an extended time."

"This one?"

"There are four extravehicular craft in all.” Pilot stepped over and ran his hand along the shining, silver wing. “This one is for the Jovian planets. We also have one for the thin, Martian atmosphere, one for the thicker atmosphere we're going to encounter on Titan and one for deep space exploration and towing—another redundancy in the ship's control system. Though they are optimized for certain environments, each ship can operate in all of the environments we're likely to encounter."

"So, we have a way to rescue someone who's stranded, for instance,” said Jefferson.

"Precisely. Or if one shuttle malfunctions for some reason, we don't have to abort the entire landing mission.” Pilot looked lovingly up at the little silver ship.

Jefferson walked over and touched the wing, in spite of himself. After a moment, he scowled. “Have any of these ships been tested?"

Pilot looked up at Jefferson, as though he'd been slapped. “Of course. Each of these has been flight tested between the Earth and the Moon.” His gaze fell to the floor for a moment and he turned his back to the one-time astronaut. “Admittedly, we may encounter ... unexpected variables along the way that might give us problems."

"That's the nature of exploring the unknown."

Pilot turned and looked at him. “All of our data, all of our information for how to design these craft came from NASA missions—either yours to Mars or unmanned missions to the outer planets."

Jefferson rubbed his chin and smiled darkly. “In other words, you're working with the best you've got. I understand that. I hope
you
understand that sometimes the best you got just isn't good enough. Sometimes, every backup system in the world fails and that's the end of the mission and the end of us. We learned that with
Challenger
and
Columbia.
Each and every one of us will have to face that possibility out there and I'm afraid you don't know what you're getting us into. I worry about people like O'Connell who've never had to risk their lives before."

Pilot nodded and frowned. “I suppose you think I'm an over-excited schoolboy who can't wait for the next field trip."

Jefferson snorted and turned away. “Not exactly.... “He stepped over to the hatchway. “More like an over-excited Boy Scout. You're prepared. I'll give you that. I'm just used to having more training time, getting to know my crew better. I also don't think you're being one hundred percent honest with me, Mr. Alonzo.” Jefferson descended the ladder.

Alonzo kangaroo-hopped to the ladder and looked down at the top of Jefferson's head. “I take it that means you've decided to turn down my offer."

Jefferson looked back up. “No, it means I need to sleep on it. Show me to my quarters and I'll talk to you more in the morning."

Pilot smiled and descended behind Jefferson when the cell-phone in his pocket buzzed. He hit the button, putting it on speaker while hanging from the ladder. “Hello."

"Sir,” came the voice of a station communications operator. “The president's secretary is on the line and she says he would like to speak with you."

"The president? He has my number. Why is he going through the switchboard?” asked Pilot, indignantly.

"Not the president of Quinn Corp, sir. The President of the United States."

"I'll take the call in my office.” Pilot turned off the phone.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Communications

Myra Lee was so distracted by her own thoughts as she drove to the Oceanographic Institute that she ran a red light and nearly hit another car. She waved an apology to the other driver, who was already speeding away, flashing a rude gesture at her. Myra pulled off to the side of the road and took several deep breaths.

Her mind raced through numerous possibilities now that an Oxford University linguist had confirmed her wild theory that the new whale songs were, in fact, a binary encoded message. She wanted to apply that knowledge to other songs that she had recorded as soon as possible. All the data and programs Joyce Harmer sent were in her laptop computer on the passenger's side floor of the car. She hoped she could make a little more sense of the data once she got into the office and had Lisa Henry's help. She also thought about placing a call to Stirling Cristof in San Francisco to get his take on the findings.

Feeling a little more collected, Myra pulled back out onto the street and continued into the office. When she arrived, she wasn't surprised to find that Lisa Henry had yet to report to work. She fired off an email to Stirling Cristof, not certain whether he'd be at work yet, or not. He tended to be a late riser. To her surprise, he responded almost instantly, then initiated a video chat session.

"Your friend the Oxford philologist says the whales are sending some kind of warning,” explained Myra.

"Are you serious?” Cristof's eyebrows rose. “Who are they warning?"

"Little green dolphins on Saturn—or maybe a jeweler in Santa Monica—if we believe your friend.” Myra laughed nervously, then gave a more reasoned explanation. “She says it's someone called ‘the keepers of the rings.’ It just so happens that the message was sent at the same time as Jerome Quinn was announcing the Saturn mission they're organizing. Because of that, she's speculating that the ‘keepers’ are connected to Saturn in some way."

Cristof chewed his lip and thought about what Myra told him. “It's not completely unreasonable,” he said after a moment. “I take it you don't agree with her assessment."

"I don't know what to think.” Myra ran her fingers through her hair. “It just seems so incredible and there's always the chance she's got it wrong.” Myra sat back and looked at her bookshelf while she weighed different possibilities. Finally, she turned back to Stirling. “She seemed pretty convinced about the warning part and I buy her explanation about how she came to that conclusion. It's the ‘keeper of the rings’ part that really bothers me."

"Let's table that for the time being,” said Stir. “Rest assured, she'll be checking her preliminary conclusions with her colleagues. Did she say anything about how the whales are delivering their warning?"

"Professor Harmer says that the language is a binary-type sequence, as we suggested.” She shrugged, as though apologizing for guessing correctly.

"That's not what I mean.” Cristof shook his head. “I mean how are they transmitting? It's not like the whales are using radios."

"I didn't think about that.” Myra sat back stunned. She thought for a moment and frowned. “That must mean the people from Saturn—or whoever the whales are warning—are listening in."

Cristof nodded slowly. “It also means that the whales know they have an audience. They expect to be heard. If it is someone from Saturn, they're watching us."

Pilot kangaroo-hopped through the corridors of the Moon base speaking with Jefferson about the phone call from the president and asking him to follow. “If you're still willing to consider commanding this mission, this call could affect you as much as me."

Pilot frowned and slowed his pace slightly when he heard Jefferson's labored breathing. Once they arrived at the office, Pilot quickly waved a huffing, puffing Colonel Jefferson to a chair while he picked up the office phone and asked the person on the other end to put him through to the president.

"Hello, Mr. Alonzo,” came the voice of Oscar Van der Wald. “I've been following the progress of the
Aristarchus
and I'm calling to congratulate you on your initiative."

"Thank you, sir,” said Pilot, genuinely flattered. He sat down behind the desk. “However, I must say that I'm caught off guard. I certainly wasn't expecting a phone call today."

"My call isn't entirely social,” said the president, turning darkly serious. “I have concerns about this venture of yours."

"I can assure you, Mr. President, that we're taking every safety precaution.... “Pilot's mind raced, trying to anticipate what the president was going to say next.

"I'm sure you are.” Van der Wald impatiently cut him off. “We are more concerned about what you might find and how it may affect the interests of the United States."

Pilot widened his eyes and sat back in the chair. A moment later, he found his voice. “Mr. President, this is purely a scientific endeavor."

"Scientific endeavors routinely generate more ... how shall we say ... tangible results.” Van der Wald paused, letting that sink in. “We are naturally concerned about what your mission means for National Security."

"In what way, sir?” Pilot's eyes narrowed. “We've been exploring the solar system for the past century, both with manned spacecraft and unmanned probes. There's never been any evidence for intelligent life outside of the Earth."

"I'm more concerned with intelligent life that started on Earth.” The president's tone—already dark—turned menacing. “Specifically, I'm concerned about a private corporation establishing a foothold on another world that's not U.S. territory."

"Are you suggesting that we might try to break away from the United States, sir?” Pilot stood up, his mouth hanging open for a moment while he tried to find suitable words. “Sir, Quinn Corp along with two of our competitors have bases on the Moon. We've never shown any sign of trying to form our own government up here. It's not in our best interest."

"That may be true, but the Moon was established as United States territory during the lunar landings of the ‘40s. We have some claim on Mars since we're the only country to have sent a mission there. After that, you're moving on to completely undeclared territory. You're certain to make many discoveries, Mr. Alonzo. Who will those discoveries belong to, the United States or Quinn Corp?"

Pilot started sweating. His knees went weak and he had to sit down again. “What are you suggesting?"

"I would like a representative of the United States military to join your crew.” The president's tone turned gentle and reasonable. “Captain Natalie Freeman of the Navy."

"Absolutely not.” Pilot didn't care for a moment who he was talking to. “We've already selected a mission commander. I won't have his authority undermined."

Jefferson made a cutting motion across his throat. Pilot uttered a hasty apology and covered the phone's receiver. “Who does he want to send?” asked the one-time astronaut.

"Some Navy captain named Natalie Freeman."

"Natalie Freeman?” asked Jefferson. Pilot nodded, eyes narrowed. “Take her.” The colonel's tone was like an order.

Pilot nearly dropped the receiver. “You can't be serious!"

"First off, she's about the best officer the Navy has. I've followed her career for years. You need hands and she's one of the best you could possibly find,” said Jefferson. “Second, I haven't said ‘yes’ to this mission yet. She would be a great mission commander."

"I don't want her as a mission commander.” Pilot huffed. “I want you. If I can't have you, I have other choices already lined up."

"I'd be her second-in-command any day,” said Jefferson. Then, he pointed to the phone. “That's the President of the United States you're tying up there."

"Oh.” Pilot hastily returned to the line. “I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. President."

"That's quite all right,” said Van der Wald. “I wasn't so much thinking about having Captain Freeman aboard as the mission commander. Rather, I'd be willing to have her aboard in an advisory capacity. If that's all right with you and Jerome Quinn."