The Solar Sea (9 page)

Pilot took a deep breath and glared at Jefferson. “Very well. It would seem Captain Freeman comes highly recommended. We'll bring her up to the Moon on Monday. Is that fine with you, sir?"

The president agreed and hung up. Pilot held the receiver for a few moments before setting it back in the cradle. Jefferson nodded approvingly. “With her aboard, you've just increased my odds of saying ‘yes’ to this mission,” he said.

"I hope so,” said Pilot. “Let me show you to the dining hall and we'll grab some dinner, then I'll show you to your quarters."

Just as they stood, John O'Connell appeared in the office doorway. “I just came across some chatter on the Internet. I think you'd better see it. Something about whales talking to Saturn."

When Lisa Henry arrived at work, Myra asked her to take a look at Joyce Harmer's translation programs. Lisa sat down in front of the computer and spent much of the morning looking over the programs while Myra paced back and forth behind her. She wanted to interrupt but knew it was actually better to stay out of the way as much as possible. She wracked her brain trying to think if the phrase about the ‘keeper of the rings’ could mean anything other than someone who lived on or near Saturn.

"Well, the binary translation algorithm looks good to me,” said Lisa. “The Oxford people really are seeing sensible patterns in the whale song and they've identified several words in the new message. Their translation looks good, given the limited vocabulary."

"So, can we use this program to translate other whale songs?” Myra stepped over to her desk and picked up a bristly piece of whale baleen.

Lisa shook her head, then leaned back in the chair, propping her feet on the desk. “I don't think so. First off, we only have about five words. Secondly, if this new song is a warning, wouldn't it make sense if it was in the language of the people the whales were trying to warn?"

Myra looked at the baleen as though she would find the answer there. “It does and it ties in with Stirling Cristof's ideas about the songs.” She placed the baleen back on the desk. “The problem is, if that's true, none of this actually helps us translate the older songs."

"Maybe, maybe not,” said Lisa. “The Oxford people can tell that they're hearing a litany in the older songs, but can't necessarily make out the words. Maybe the people the whales are talking to can help us understand the whales’ native vocabulary. After all, someone had to teach the whales the new song."

Just then, the phone rang. Lisa reached over and picked it up. A moment later, she handed the receiver to Myra. “It's some guy who calls himself Pilot."

Two days later, Myra Lee and Lisa Henry found themselves aboard a shuttle bound for the Moon. Though all three companies that had factories on the Moon offered tour packages, they were quite expensive—well beyond the budget of a scientist or a technician employed by an under-funded oceanographic institute. As such, neither Myra nor Lisa had made the trip before.

On the way to the Moon, Myra virtually demanded to sit in a window seat, so she could see everything along the way. She looked forward to a distraction from the problem of the whale songs. The more Harmer and her colleagues examined the message, the more convinced they were it was intended for ‘ring keepers’ or ‘ring watchers’ of some kind.

Lisa was content to sit on the aisle. She lay the seat back and fell into a light doze. When the flight attendant came by, Myra was delighted to try the gooey ‘astronaut food’ that had been the fare of shuttle crews for most of a century. She regretted it, though, when her stomach started doing flip-flops after a few bites. Though used to the rocking of ships at sea, she wasn't used to null gravity. Lisa woke up long enough to eat her meal, then fell asleep again.

When the shuttle finally landed on the Moon, Myra gratefully unbuckled her seatbelt and pushed herself upright only to crash into the luggage rack above her head. Lisa held onto Myra's arm and helped her navigate the corridors to Pilot's office. He welcomed them and asked them to sit. “I gather you're on the verge of quite an extraordinary breakthrough,” he said.

"Possibly,” said Myra. “We have a crude translation of a whale song, but that translation doesn't seem to help us translate any other whale songs. Either we've got it wrong or the whales are bilingual. If the latter's true, our findings will be extraordinary, but perhaps little more than a curiosity."

"On the contrary,” said Pilot. He stepped over to a coffee pot and offered some to them. Lisa accepted while Myra politely declined. “I believe you've discovered the whales are speaking to someone called the ‘keepers of the rings.’”

Myra leaned forward. “How do you know that?"

Pilot poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Lisa. With the other cup, he gestured toward the computer on his desk. “You and your colleague, Dr. Cristof, have insecure Internet connections."

"You mean you were spying on our conversation?” Myra asked, incensed. “What gives you the right?"

Pilot shrugged. “Quinitite's used in almost all computer motherboards these days. When the Oceanographic Institute bought your computer, they signed a user agreement granting us license to any information transmitted or received from that computer.” He took a sip of coffee. “It's allowed under the Gates Act from the beginning of the century."

"I thought the act only governed information regarding commerce,” said Lisa, more curious, than angry.

Pilot nodded and perched on the edge of the desk. “This
is
a matter of commerce.” Sitting the coffee cup down, he retrieved a bound report from the bookshelf at his elbow. He opened it to a chart and handed it to Myra. “The conditions on Saturn's moon Titan are almost identical to those of the early Earth. We know the atmosphere is full of biocarbons. It's not impossible that some form of life has evolved there. Understanding life on Titan could help us understand life on Earth better."

"Pushing biological and medical science forward hundreds of years,” affirmed Myra. “But...."

Pilot held up his hand, cutting her off. “I'm looking for a team that can run our biological scanners and communication gear. I've read through both of your resumes.” He nodded toward Lisa. “You're an audio and computer technician par excellence. Not only can you assist Dr. Lee with the scientific analysis, you're well qualified to operate the communication's equipment."

Lisa frowned. “If you think I'm going to be like that woman in the old television show that wears a red mini skirt and says, ‘Hailing frequencies open, Captain,’ every five minutes, you've got another thing coming."

Pilot rolled his eyes both at the comment and Myra's laughter. He took a sip of coffee.

Myra put her hands on her knees and leaned forward. “I'm still waiting to hear how I can help you. I'm a cetacean biologist...."

"Who minored in organic chemistry,” finished Pilot. “You have the knowledge we need to find the biological compounds we're looking for, and perhaps more importantly, the two of you have demonstrated that you make an excellent team."

"Plus we've been studying whales that are talking to ‘the keepers of the rings,'” said Myra with more than a little sarcasm.

"Exactly,” said Pilot, unfazed.

"Well, I hate to burst your bubble.... “Myra stood quickly and gasped as her stomach rumbled. She sat down again, looking deflated. “Fact is, we don't know if our translation is right. Even if it is, it's only speculation that the message is meant for someone at Saturn. It could easily be coincidence that the whales altered their song at the same time as Quinn's announcement. Other things were happening around the world at the same time."

"I know that.” Pilot's eyes narrowed and he sat the coffee cup down. His voice was suddenly icy. “Don't lecture me like a child until you hear me out.” He hopped off the desk, then sat in the chair and folded his hands. “I propose that your colleagues—Dr. Cristof and Dr. Harmer—come to work for Quinn Corp. They'll have access to a ship and all the computers, equipment, and other resources they need to continue the research you started. Your team will have better funding and facilities than they do now.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You see, I'm betting they're right and if these ring keepers are from Titan—or anywhere else in the Saturn system—you will hold the key to communicating with that life."

"What if they're wrong?” asked Myra, quietly.

"Then I still have an excellent biosciences and communication team and Quinn Corp still benefits from Harmer and Cristof's research."

Myra sat back and closed her eyes. If the whales really were talking to someone on Saturn, she wanted more than anything to know who that was and why. “There's one other problem.” Sorely tempted as she was, reality battled with curiosity. “What makes you think I'm cut out to be an astronaut?"

"You should have seen her on the flight up here.” Lisa nudged her boss’ arm.

Pilot shook his head and sighed. “I want the people in charge of biosciences and communications to be experts. I want you to be able to talk to whom or whatever we find. I think you two are the best qualified to do that."

"So why not bring Cristof and Harmer up here and leave us behind on Earth?” asked Myra.

"Neither of them are audio technicians and neither of them have a background in biochemistry. Even if there is no one at Saturn for you to talk to, I still need people who can help me achieve the primary mission goals.” Pilot grinned wryly. “Besides, Harmer's a landlubber and I gather Cristof prefers his office to a boat. The two of you are used to spending time at sea and we're going on a voyage through the biggest sea of them all. If you think you're having trouble with null gravity, think how it would be for them."

"I'll have to think about it.” Myra chewed on her lip for a moment. “I think I could use that coffee now ... or better yet, something a little stronger."

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Assembly

Jonathan Jefferson sent his resignation to Martin-Intelsoft the morning after he met with Pilot. He was told he could go back to Earth to retrieve anything he needed from his house. “I have my toothbrush and some spare underwear,” he replied. “Will you be providing me with a uniform?"

"You'll have everything you need,” said Pilot. “We'll allow the crew to wear civilian clothes off-duty, but we have coveralls, coats, boots, and so forth that we recommend for on-duty wear."

"Is there a weight allowance?"

Pilot quoted a figure. “Still, we can be quite flexible. A few kilos one way or the other isn't going to affect our velocity much given the ship's design."

Jefferson returned to Earth for a day, retrieved some belongings and made arrangements for the care of his house. Two days later, he found himself back on the Moon and outfitted in a space suit, walking out on the lunar surface. The sand crunched like snow under his feet and he turned and looked back at his footprints. He shook his head when he saw a work crew drive over his tracks, eroding them away almost as fast as they were created. On the other side of the Moon, another set of footprints was carefully fenced in, those belonging to Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin. Those footprints would be there for centuries, until micrometeorites erased them.

A Quinn Corp technician named Vanda Berko led Jefferson to a scaffold. The two climbed a ladder and Jefferson found himself standing above one of the quinitite sails. From that vantage, he saw a device mounted on rails that almost looked like the inner workings of an old-fashioned toaster. Giant coils mounted to the device glowed red for a few seconds then, in the blink of an eye, the section of sail below the coils was shiny as a mirror.

"On Earth, they use huge vacuum chambers to put aluminum coatings on things like telescope mirrors,” said Berko. “Up here on the Moon, we can coat anything with aluminum right out in the open."

"Impressive.” Jefferson watched the giant coils move along their rails to a new place and apply another coat of aluminum. “How long will this take?"

"We're hoping to deploy the sails later this week,” said Berko.

Natalie Freeman arrived on the Moon in her full dress uniform, carrying a duffel bag. Neb O'Connell hurriedly showed her to her quarters and gave her directions, so she could find the dining room. “Is there anything else I can show you?” he asked.

She smiled. “It seems like you're in a hurry to get out of here. Is something the matter?"

O'Connell took a deep breath and shook his head. “Nothing at all, ma'am. It's just that they're getting ready to lift the core of the
Aristarchus
into lunar orbit and I don't want to miss it."

"Well, why didn't you say so?” chided Freeman. “That sounds like something I don't want to miss, either."

"I thought you might want to get comfortable.” O'Connell shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Freshen up or something."

Freeman shook her head. “I've been in the Navy a long time, Mr. O'Connell. I care a lot more about the ship that's gonna carry me across the water than taking a few minutes to ‘pretty up.'” She batted her eyelashes at him.

O'Connell made an indiscernible noise—something halfway between a moan and a gurgle—then quickly recovered. “This way, then.” He led her toward the observation deck of the vehicle assembly building.

As they arrived, they found a number of the other members of the
Aristarchus
crew. Natalie Freeman took in their faces. Two women stood together. One was young with long, blondish hair. She leaned languorously on a railing, but her blue eyes watched absolutely everything happening outside the windows of the observation deck. Natalie surmised that must be Lisa Henry. The other woman—Dr. Myra Lee—was slightly taller with a sun-darkened face and dark brown hair—a few strands streaked white. While Lisa remained still, Myra kept adjusting her position, as though trying to find the best possible vantage.

A lanky, young man, with wiry hair and blue coveralls, watched the action happening outside with intense interest and carried on a fervent conversation via radio. From the sound of his voice, Natalie could tell he was Thomas Alonzo, the pilot. Yet another man was unmistakable to Natalie even with white hair. He was tall, handsome, and wore the same coveralls as Pilot—Jonathan Jefferson, the last astronaut to walk on Mars. Jefferson turned around and caught sight of Natalie, then stepped between two other people, extending his hand.