Back to the Moon-ARC (18 page)

“Paul!” Bridget shouted, followed by the others. It startled him.
 

“What?”

“We have a glint! I’m zooming in now.”
 

The spot was more than two hundred miles away. At that range, the telescope could resolve trashcan-sized objects. Bridget zoomed all the way in on the glint and then brought the contrast and brightness of the image back up to normal. And there it was.

“…
mumble mumble
God, please! Do you hear us! This is
Harmony
. We crash-landed seven days ago. We only have air for another eight. We only have functioning this low-power transmitter and have no means of getting home. Can you respond?
Dreamscape
please reply!
”

“
Harmony,
I read you.
Dreamscape
copies! Do you hear me?”

“
Dreamscape
! Please help us. There are four of us…
static
…
help, need air and evacuation…
STATIC.”

“
Harmony
! Do you copy?
Harmony, Dreamscape
heard you. If you hear us, we WILL relay this information back to Earth!”

“I got some nice video of their lander. If that is what you’d call it.” Bridget Wells put the imagery data up on all the screens she had access to.

“Wow! Look at that there.” Mbanta pointed at the large divot in the lunar surface that scratched out up to the lander. The Chinese spaceship appeared to be on its side, and there was a gaping hole near its bottom.

“Talk about being up a creek,” Graves said.

“They’d need a lot more than a paddle,” Thibodeau added.

“Right. Good work, everybody. There is nothing more we can do for them at this point.” Paul looked out the window as they moved away from the Chinese crash site. They would be in radio contact with Earth in just a few minutes, and then all they could do was send the data they had taken. For now, Paul had a lump in his throat.
 

No one in the cabin of the small spaceship looping behind the Moon on the world’s first space cruise uttered a word for the next several minutes. The crew of
Dreamscape
had turned out to be a fairly capable bunch, with hidden talents. Mbanta understood cameras, imagery, and finding needles in haystacks. That suggested to Paul that he might have some involvement with African military or intelligence groups, but he had no way of knowing that. Bridget Wells had followed her training and run the ISR telescope like a trained Air Force spy. But it was John Graves who had really stepped up. Paul had known the man was smart and a computer-savvy engineer just this side of Bill Gates, but he hadn’t understood the depth of the man’s knowledge. Paul had a new respect for his crew. Sure, they were all rich fat cats that sometimes seemed spoiled rotten. On the other hand, they had skill sets that enabled them to become those rich fat cats. Except perhaps Mbanta, who was born into it, and even he wasn’t useless after all.

It wasn’t until Paul heard the voice of his friend Rob Anderson in his headset that he moved away from the window and back toward the command chair. Suddenly the chair looked a whole lot smaller. In fact, the
Dreamscape
looked a whole lot smaller and much more fragile.

“Rob, you won’t believe what I have to tell you. Get Caroline and Mr. Childers on the line ASAP. The
Dreamscape
is okay, but I’m not sure about the people on the Moon.” Paul waited for his bombshell to drop, which it did a mere second later after the light-speed radio signal made it back to the Earth.

“Paul, say again. Did you say
people
?” Anderson sounded like someone had just told him that aliens had landed in Washington, D.C.

“Yes, I said
people
. How soon can you get Mr. Childers on the line? I believe I need to explain this to all of you at the same time. And get the audio and video portions of the engineering data that’s coming down now from the flight computer. You need to hear it and see it.” Gesling paused, waiting for Childers and, hopefully, Caroline O’Conner to get on the line. Bandwidth limitations would prevent the video images from making it for a few minutes, but the audio would be instantaneous, barring the speed-of-light limitation, of course.

Chapter 17

This was one press briefing for which Caroline O’Conner hadn’t prepared Gary Childers. They had the speech ready for a fully successful mission. They had a speech ready for a disaster. In fact, they had five different speeches ready in case the worst happened and
Dreamscape
didn’t make it back to Earth. They didn’t have one prepared for telling the world that they’d discovered stranded Chinese astronauts calling for help from the surface of the Moon.

The hastily assembled press corps was expecting one of the five prepared speeches. It was, after all, too soon to declare the voyage a success, since the
Dreamscape
was still at the Moon and wouldn’t be home for another few days.

“Hello.” Childers began speaking. “A little over an hour ago, the pilot of the
Dreamscape,
Captain Paul Gesling, took the ship around the far side of the Moon and into radio blackout. The mass of the Moon blocked all radio transmissions to and from Earth. At this time, the
Dreamscape
picked up an SOS from the surface of the Moon.” He paused.

The assembled press was truly surprised. Not a sound was uttered—other than one chuckle from a reporter who thought it was a joke—as they expectantly waited for Gary Childers to continue.
 

“The SOS apparently originated from the crew of a Chinese expedition that crash-landed on the Moon about a week ago. We know there are four of them, but we don’t know how they came to crash. All we know is that during the radio blackout, they, whoever they are, used a very low-power radio transmitter to signal
Dreamscape
and ask for help.”

The men and women of the press corps quickly regained their composure. A few were already texting or twittering the information to their newsrooms, while others were preparing follow-up questions.

“Ahem.” Gary Childers was not yet finished. “Captain Gesling spoke briefly with one of the Chinese, a woman, and she told him that they had enough air to last at least another eight days. The onboard telescope was able to zoom in on their crash site due to some amazing work by the crew of the
Dreamscape
. Who said they are space tourists? Those people are astronauts, if you ask me! And we have images of the crash site that will be available soon.

“We sent the information off to NASA and have no idea what they intend to do with it. I’m not even sure they knew we sent it. That is all I know. We weren’t sure whom to call, and, given the urgency of the situation, we thought it best to let the world know about the crisis—so those that need to know can learn about it as soon as possible. That’s why I’m here. And to be honest with you, I never expected I’d be up here saying anything remotely like this.”

The reporter from ABC, recognizable to any space advocate as the “voice of all things space” from his almost cheerleading-like coverage of NASA and space flight in general, got the first question. “You’re sure they are Chinese? Are you telling us that the Chinese test flight that launched recently wasn’t a test flight but a real flight?”

“No, I’m not telling you that. You and I might infer that the Chinese actually launched people on their purported test flight, but I don’t
know
any such thing. The woman told Paul they were Chinese. She called her ship
Harmony
. And no, I am not sure they are Chinese. I suggest you ask the Chinese about that.”

“Mr. Childers!” shouted a CNN reporter. “Can your ship render any sort of aid?”

“Unfortunately not. And it’s not my decision.
Dreamscape
is firmly in the hands of Newtonian physics and on its way back home. The ship’s trajectory took it around the Moon, and now she’s headed back toward the Earth. There isn’t enough fuel on the ship to change course, and she isn’t designed to land anywhere except here. That is, unfortunately, reality. I truly wish it weren’t so. I would very much like to help these people. Perhaps merely detecting their signal was more help than we realize. I hope so.”

“Mr. Childers!” The CNN reporter followed up with another question. “I assume you recorded the conversation. Can we hear it?”

“Absolutely. In fact, I’m being told through my earbud that the imagery data is ready now as well. Ms. O’Conner, please play the audio recording and post up the images.”

Caroline started playing back the compressed recording on cue. The assembled media mob listened, spellbound, until the last burst of static. The images of the crashed Chinese spaceship cycled through on the large monitor behind him.

“We will provide a digital copy of the recording to everyone. Next question?”

“Mr. Childers!”

“Yes, Jason?” Gary pointed at the Fox News reporter.

“If they have been up there for a week already, why haven’t the Chinese told us about it?”

“I guess you should ask the Chinese about that, but the implications disgust me to the very core.”
 

The press was full of additional questions, but Gary Childers and Caroline O’Conner had only limited answers. The audio and imagery were all they had to offer.

“Bill! Bill! Get in here. You’ve gotta hear this!” It was the voice of Helen Menendez calling Stetson to the break room.
 

Stetson was in the hallway talking to Anthony Chow about the timeline of the second sortie that was planned for day three of their lunar mission. Chow’s title was mission specialist, and that meant he and Helen were responsible for conducting the science operations while they were on the Moon. Stetson was learning of a small change that Chow wanted to make that would potentially shorten their time on the surface by as much as an hour. Given the urgency in Menendez’s voice, the discussion would have to wait.

Stetson and Chow hurried down the hallway of the hotel-like building that housed them in the last few days before their historic launch. While they weren’t isolated to the extent that the previous lunar-mission crews had experienced fifty years before, as much as possible they were still kept away from most sources of potential illness—other people. And, more importantly, they were kept away from the press.
 

Though it was a minor annoyance, Stetson fully supported the quasi-quarantine. He was known for saying that he didn’t want to miss his chance of going to the Moon due to “a case of the damned measles” or, worse, “foot-in-mouth disease.”

They entered the spartanly furnished break room just as the news commentator on the television began playing the
Dreamscape
’s recording.

“
Emergency! Please help!…
STATIC
SOS! This is the crew of the Chinese exploration ship
Harmony
calling for help! We’ve crashed and are…
STATIC
crew of the
Harmony
calling
mumble mumble
crashed and we need assistance!…
STATIC
. You do hear us! We’re the crew of the Chinese exploration ship
Harmony
. We crash-landed seven days
mumble mumble mumble
air for another eight, maybe
mumble
days
mumble mumble
only this low-power transmitter and
mumble mumble
home
STATIC.”

“Son of a bitch!” Stetson was the first to react. “You’ve got to be kidding me! The Chinese crashed on the Moon?” His mind was racing. His first thoughts were uncharitable toward those who had beaten him to the Moon. Getting there had driven his career, and his life, since he was a little boy listening to Gene Cernan say those final words before he and
his
crew left the Moon for home.
 

Only after he cursed them did he start thinking of how scared they must be—trapped on an airless world, waiting on their air supply to run out. He stood in silence, weighing the magnitude of the crisis with his personal sense of purpose.
 

Charles Leonard, the last of Stetson’s crew, came into the break room and stood between Menendez and Chow as the television newscaster continued. “This is breaking news, and as yet there has been no reaction from the Chinese government or ours. What will the United States do in light of this new development? We will bring you up-to-the-minute information as we know it.”

“That sucks” was Leonard’s first comment after hearing the news. “They got all the way to the Moon, and now they’re going to die there. I bet you they cancel our flight. You?”

Stetson didn’t react. He’d had the very same thoughts shortly after hearing the news, but he quickly put them aside as counterproductive if not distastefully selfish. After all, there were humans about to die up there. Stetson’s mind was racing, and he already had a plan that, if successful, would mean that most, if not all, of the trapped Chinese would get to see once again the blue sky of Earth. And they’d owe the United States space program their lives!

Calvin Ross wasn’t accustomed to being summoned to the White House. Sure, he’d met the President there before his appointment, but all his other interactions with the administration had come through bureaucratic means—memos, budget blueprints, and a few phone calls from the White House Office of Management and Budget. This was a first, and it came just fifteen minutes after Ross had learned of the stranded Chinese. He had a desktop-computer application that tracked certain keywords such as
NASA
,
space
,
Moon
, etc. It was through an Internet alert that he became aware of the
Harmony
crew and their imminent death. He’d hardly had time to ponder the news before the call came to his BlackBerry and he was informed that a driver would be picking him up in three hours for a meeting with the Vice President and, perhaps, with the President himself.

Ross ran his fingers through his hair and picked up his cell phone to call his Associate Administrator for Space Flight. This AA was responsible for all of NASA’s flights that involved sending people to space. There was a separate AA for robotic science missions, and another for aeronautics research. If anyone would know what was going on or if NASA could do anything to help, it would be
this
AA.