David Golemon - Legacy

“Oh, God,” Ellenshaw said, as if they had just witnessed the real-time deaths of billions of people.

The mauling of the solar system continued as the debris from the exploding world hit the small moon and the violent impact shifted it closer to Earth. Their own home world took the next hit. The supercontinent was smashed by pieces of Ophillias. It started to burn. Volcanoes erupted and the planet became a shining ball of gas as the clouds were pulled away and the atmosphere filled with poison.

When the picture settled they saw the new alignment of the solar system. Mars was now the fourth planet from the sun and Earth was still the third, only it was now much closer to the sun. Two large chunks of Ophillias were still intact. They orbited around the newly murdered world of Mars as its new moons, Phobos and Deimos.

The room was silent as the hologram ended. Niles reached out and unplugged the small machine. He shook his head as he realized that they had just witnessed the most catastrophic event in the history of their solar system-all in actual footage.

“I now believe our alien visitors had no choice but to immigrate here,” Niles said.

“But what happened to them?” Charlie asked as he took off his glasses and wiped them on his dirty shirt.

“They came to a hostile world. By the looks of their colony, I don’t think they made it,” Niles said. He looked at the large globes once more. “But there very well could have been a few who did survive. We’re just too close genetically to them to ignore. It may take years to understand, but we are linked somehow, someway.”

Jack was about to ask a question when a shockwave struck the blockhouse. It rocked the interior and men fell to the floor for cover thinking it was an earthquake. Only Jack, Everett, and Sebastian knew that it wasn’t.

“Get out of here and take cover,” Jack yelled as loudly as he could.

As the men started to move, they heard the crackle of small arms fire and then another explosion rocked Gallery Number Two.

Hugh Evans was dozing at his station.

He had been awake for seventy-eight straight hours and refused to leave mission control. His relief would sit in a chair next to him and coordinate efforts with Jet Propulsion Lab in getting signals from the Beatle John and correlating the data against what little telemetry could find its way through regarding Altair. Thus far they were concluding that Altair had reached the surface of the Moon but there had been no word on whether the crew was still alive.

It had been twelve hours since the president announced through a joint communique that the Chinese space program was now cooperating with the ESA and NASA teams. This had come as a gesture of goodwill after the sudden death of their great leader, who had suffered a severe heart attack while sitting at his desk. The disturbing factor in all of this was that all three space programs-the ESA, NASA, and the China National Space Administration-had not one single scrap of evidence that there were live members of any crew on the lunar surface. All communication, including telemetry, from all three platforms, had ceased. The Chinese could only verify that their Magnificent Dragon had achieved orbit and its LEM had reached the surface. Just after the news had been relayed to the Chinese crew that cooperation between the powers had been achieved, communication with the orbiting crew module and the lunar lander had ceased.

Hugh Evans had heard speculation around mission control and the gist of it was that there were ten-to-one odds in favor of all the crews being lost. They would never say that to Evans himself, but the talk was there regardless. The mission thus far had not only lost contact with all elements on and orbiting the Moon, but information had been received through the gossip corridor that the vice president of the United States and executor of the American space program had been placed under house arrest by the FBI. He was more than likely going to be charged for his involvement with Samuel Rawlins, which would implicate the vice president in the assassination attempt on the president. Hugh could only wonder what else could possibly go wrong with Dark Star and the other missions that had been sent to the Moon.

Someone nudged Evans on the arm and he opened his eyes. He was staring at a cup of coffee held by the oncoming CAPCOM specialist.

“Figured since Mohammed wouldn’t come to the mountain-grown coffee, the coffee would come to Mohammed.”

Evans smiled for the first time in days and sat up in his chair. His eyes felt like there was sand lodged in them. He rubbed them until they were flaming red.

“Thanks,” he said, accepting the white cup. As he did so, he saw the NASA logo on its side and wondered if the program would be extinct after the debacle of the Dark Star missions. Sipping the black coffee, he could only speculate if he was presiding over the extinct dinosaur that was now the space program.

To be so close and to lose the last of the LEMs had been a shock to him and everyone at mission control. The presidential calls to the center asking for any update were the worst. He had spoken to the president twice, offering his latest version of the same information, only to feel the president deflate even further after his pat answer.

“What was that?” a technician called out from the fifty rows of telemetry stations.

Evans glanced up at the large center screen. The picture was still being relayed by the Beatle John and the camera view hadn’t changed. Evans went back to drinking his coffee.

“There it is again. Could someone tell me just what the hell it is? Flight, we have a shadow that has passed over John ’s lens twice now.”

Evans grimaced at the coffee in his cup and placed it on his console. He adjusted his headphones and microphone, and then stood up, hearing his bones cracking as he did. He looked down and let his anger show for the first time that day.

“Who is speaking to me?” he asked. “When someone has something to report, it would be helpful if I knew who I was talking to.”

A young man in row nineteen of mission control stood and looked back at the mission flight controller. Evans was staring down from his high perch with his hands on his hips.

“Sorry, Flight, this is telemetry from John coming in from JPL. We’re getting shadows around the peripherals of the rover’s camera.”

Evans rubbed his eyes and focused on the young kid, who was connected directly to JPL through a computer link.

“Just what the hell does that mean?” he asked.

“I think we have movement around John. ”

Evans looked up at the picture streaming from outside Shackleton Crater. Neither the camera angle nor the rover had moved in days. The picture was still fixed on the center of the interior, showing the devastation after the explosion. As he watched, he saw nothing out of the ordinary.

“What is JPL saying?” Evans asked.

“Whoever is on duty missed it. I guess I’m the only one who saw it,” the young engineer said, looking timid.

Evans nodded his head and fixed the technician with his tired eyes.

“That’s okay, son. You report anything you see. You never know.” Evans started to sit down and that was when he saw it. He froze halfway to his chair. The rover had moved. “Jesus, has anyone issued a command to John to change positions?” he asked. The heads of three hundred men and women looked up as they wondered what Evans was talking about.

On the main view screen, John began to vibrate and the camera angle went off kilter.

“Good God, we have movement of the rover! It could be slipping down the slope of the crater.”

“No, no,” Evans shouted, as he watched the camera view go further askew. “Not now, not now!”