Paul Gillebaard - USSR Hoax

Peter was impressed the search team was able to haul up one of those beasts. However, he seriously doubted a Russian part could be on that engine. The Soviets were America’s mortal enemies during the ’60s when the two countries were in a heated race to the moon. “Have you seen the picture?”

“Yes, and our team is analyzing it. But the lighting isn’t good. Besides, that engine has been submerged for over forty years and the part is showing its age with some corrosion. The CEO financing the expedition doesn’t want the engine disturbed in any way, but he was open to having a government representative stop by to inspect it.”

It was becoming clear why Gavin had called.

“Since you’re already out there, I wondered if you wouldn’t mind swinging by their ship to take a look.” His boss tried to put a positive spin on his request. “You never know. It could be one of the engines that sent your dad to the moon.”

Peter looked at Anya, who, he could see by the set of her mouth, was getting a sense of what was going on. “All right, send me the picture and where to go.”

“I’ll send the picture now and follow it up with the address and who to see.”

“Sounds good. I’ll call you once I’ve inspected it.” As he said goodbye, a displeased look darkened his wife’s face.

Anya’s voice was laced with a pouting tang. “This was supposed to be our time.”

Anya spoke and read Russian; maybe she could translate the markings. “Though it is work, it might be something you can help me with.”

Peter’s phone vibrated, signaling that he’d received an email. Seeing it was from Gavin, he swiftly brought it up. Attached was the picture. He opened the file and studied the image for a moment. Gavin was right. The markings stamped on the metal were tough to see on the aged part, but as he focused in, his heart skipped a beat. Could it be? The writing looks the same. He slowly rotated the picture around, and though the part was partially blocked by other components, his eyes still widened. Is this the same piece of hardware that was in those pictures I found in dad’s safe?

Earlier in the year, well after his father’s death, Peter had helped his mom go through the morbid chore of boxing up items in his dad’s office. When he was going through his dad’s safe, he came across a handful of ’60s vintage Polaroid photographs. Each photo was of the same shiny metal hardware. The only difference was that some had stamped cryptic lettering while the others had scratches ground over where the script probably once was. Wondering why these photos were in his dad’s safe, Peter had confronted his mother. Her alarmed expression at the sight of the photos made Peter even more curious. After some persistence, his mom eventually opened up. She stated that his dad had been involved in something top secret at NASA that worried him, and only a few people knew of it. Peter’s dad was convinced that if the information ever leaked out, it would ruin his career and possibly bring harm to innocent people.

Peter had a sneaking suspicion the part he was about to inspect was the same hardware. He handed the phone to Anya. “Are you familiar with this style of writing?”

She stared at the phone for a minute. “It looks like some type of old Russian character encoding similar to those used in our early computers. I’ve run across it at work.”

“Can you tell what it says?”

To get a better look, Anya put her hand over the phone in an effort to block out the sun. “Not really. This picture isn’t very clear.”

Peter definitely needed her help and did his best sales pitch. “Well you mentioned you wanted to check out a museum. How would you like to be one of the first to see a historical engine that is destined to be in a museum someday? It’s one of the rocket engines that took men to the moon.”

In a joking tone, Anya asked, “Russian men?”

A smile crossed Peter’s face. Anya knew the only cosmonaut to have flown to the moon was her father. “There’s only one Russian who’s been to the moon, and I took him.”

Peter went on to explain why they needed to inspect the F-1 engine and his suspicions. When she learned of the details and why she was needed, she happily agreed. They quickly packed up their stuff. The plan was to stop off at the beach house to change and drop off Viktor before hustling over to the expedition ship.

CARRYING HIS SHOES, Peter sauntered across the living room floor in his socks. He had washed and dressed in a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved polo shirt, the appropriate clothing for venturing on a servicing vessel. His mom sat cross-legged on the floor, placing Cheerios on a small plastic tray attached to the blue activity play saucer Viktor sat in. Peter’s son ate some of the cereal rings while occasionally tossing a couple on the tile floor. Peter took a seat on the couch watching the annoyed look cross his mother’s face as she picked up the loose food. He wondered how she was going to handle the situation.

His mom spoke in a stern voice as she held a Cheerio by her mouth. “No, Viktor, don’t throw. You eat them, like this.” She put a few onto her tongue before chewing them.

Viktor started swinging his arms excitedly as she placed a few more on the saucer. The boy grabbed the Cheerios and brought them close to his mouth. He held them there for a moment and stared at his grandmother, as if challenging her. Peter knew what was coming next. In defiance, the child threw the cereal to the floor. Peter chuckled internally as his mom calmly picked up the mess and said, “Then, no more for you.” As she got up Viktor let out a loud wail.

Peter started putting on his shoes. “Was I stubborn like that as a nine-month-old?”

Anne took a seat on the couch next to Peter. She took off her glasses as she kept her gaze locked on her grandchild, who had already gone back to playing with one of the toys on the saucer, having forgotten about the cereal. “Though you could be just as ornery, sometimes you surprised me.” A soft smile grew as she seemed to be reflecting on a distant time. She slowly turned. “You were nine months when your dad flew his first space mission. Our house was filled with family and friends there to support me. But occasionally I had to get away and be alone. I often escaped to the privacy of my room, taking you with me. I would play with you on the bed while listening to the mission’s transmissions over the squawk box. You were so cute and well-behaved. I was lucky to have you there, especially when your dad was struggling during his spacewalk. To me, you seemed to understand what I was saying. You helped me get through it all.”

Of course Peter had no recollection of the moment or that period of his life. Most of what he knew of the troubled Gemini flight was told to him by his father. Peter patted his mom’s leg. “Well, I’m happy I was able to help.”

A vibration in his pocket signaled he had gotten a text. As he reached for the phone, his mother sat back down on the floor next to Viktor. A quick glance showed a text from one of his top agents, Jesse Johnston, the ex-NASA astronaut Peter recruited from EarthOrbit. He scrolled up the text. Did you hear Chris Riddick died?

A tinge of satisfaction shot through Peter reading the news. He despised Chris, and strongly believed the man had secretly supported the Chinese, backing their lies about the moon landings never happening, which Peter felt had led directly to his father’s death. There was no love lost between Peter and his old boss. Under his breath, Peter uttered, “Good.”

Hearing the remark, Anne tilted her head slightly. “What?”

Peter sent a reply, questioning how Chris had died. Peter looked to his mom. “Chris Riddick just passed away.”