Andrew Mackay - Infinity Claws

Emily wasn’t much consolation either, no matter how hard she rubbed her son’s shoulder.

The technician took pity on the mother and son as the belt delivered Jelly to her destination and out of sight. “It’s never a nice feeling. But I promise, Jamie, it will all be worth it.”

Let’s look at a live feed of Saturn, our solar system’s sixth planet, and the second-largest planet.

The images you can see are provided by something called a Star Drone . It was sent to the ringed planet three years ago to discover what happened to a vessel named Space Opera Alpha .

In the year 2110 the International Moon Station , known in common parlance as IMS , received what could readily be described as a distress call from the ringed planet.

The message itself reached the primary radio situated on the space station in just under an hour and a half.

The world’s foremost linguisticians and authorities on communication could not make head nor tail, if you’ll forgive the pun, of the message.

The communication itself lasted only thirty seconds. A mixture of sounds that the common human being would recognize as static, more often than not punctuated by the sound of three chords from an electric guitar.

One of Earth’s most intelligent scientific minds, Pascal D’Souza (2056–2111), studied the waveform.

He spent three months listening to the recording on virtual repeat and came up with nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

The intense diet of listening to nothing other than Saturn Cry affected his health in general. Whenever he spoke to his wife or child, a strange hum would fall out of his mouth instead of the words he intended to use.

For example, saying ‘Hello, honey. How was your day?’ came out as the sound of a yet-to-be-opened bottle of soda releasing its gas, followed by a hiccup.

His wife grew increasingly fed up with her husband’s insistence on listening to Saturn Cry . Especially over and above sundry conversations about paying bills, securing a place at a top school for their child and how often she thought they should indulge in congress.

One sunny day as she prepared to wash the dishes, Pascal asked what was for dinner. At least, that’s what he thought he had asked. In actuality, all he had done was clear his throat and say the word ‘frog’ in a sarcastic manner.

She turned around and thumped him across the head with her fist in frustration.

The result of this action caused the playback in Pascal’s memory bank to slow down quite accidentally. It was at this time that D’Souza made what was to become a very important discovery.

Three distinct ‘boom’ sounds occurred throughout the message.

When played at regular speed, the ‘booms’ were indistinct. Slowed down by approximately fifteen percent, however, they became very noticeable indeed.

The discovery of the three ‘bumps’ was a revolutionary moment in humanity’s comprehension of Saturn Cry .

Due to the marital upset the dishes were never washed that night, either…

Location: IMS International Moon Station

Date: 13th January, 2117

Committee Meeting #1029 / 12

The boardroom.

A cone-shaped table with twelve chairs surrounding it. In each chair, a man in a suit engaged in conversation with their neighbor.

USARIC’s logo hologram spun around on the surface of the conference table.

“People, may I have your undivided attention, please?” asked the hologram. “Thank you.”

The logo fizzed away to nothing as the men adjusted themselves in their seats.

One of the men rose from his chair at the head of the table. Dimitri Vasilov, the deputy chief of USARIC, stood awkwardly on account of his unsound leg. In his sixties, he spoke with a Russian-cum-Texan drawl.

His name appeared on the holographic console.

Tripp Healy sat in the eighth chair, dressed in his military uniform.

Dimitri cleared his throat and looked at Tripp.

“As you know, the Select Committee has concluded its deliberations. I’ve asked Commander Tripp Healy from the American Star Fleet here today to deliver their update on Opera Alpha. Tripp?”

“Thank you, Dimitri.”

Tripp stood up and yanked on the sleeves of his combat jacket. “Can we call up Opera Alpha, please?”

“Yes, Mr Healy.”

A holoprint of Space Opera Alpha appeared several inches above the surface of the console. It spun around on its central axis very slowly, offering the board members every conceivable angle of its body.

“Forgive me for the summary, but I feel it’s important to establish the findings of the select committee. As you know, in 2113, USARIC sent Opera Alpha to Saturn to try to discern the source of Saturn Cry.”

A picture of a Japanese woman in her twenties appeared above the rotating ship.

“On board was captain Zillah Chin-Dunne and a manned crew of five. Also on board was a K-12 series Androgyne unit, along with the autopilot computer, Manuel.”

The holoprint of Zillah vanished. Tripp waved his hand to the left, enlarging the image of the vessel.

“A year later, Opera Alpha confirmed with USARIC Base that they’d reached Saturn’s vicinity. Specifically, one of its moons named Enceladus. It was established that Enceladus was the source of the transmission. Approximately five days later, all communications were cut. Three years later, we are still without communicable channels to Opera Alpha. Saturn, or, more precisely, Enceladus, continues to “cry” and our primary radio satellites continue to receive the message.”

Tripp splayed his fingers out from his palm and enlarged the Enceladus holoprint.

“Excuse me, Tripp?” asked a board member.

“Yes?”

“What of Space Opera Alpha?”

“We don’t know,” Tripp snapped his fingers, which called up a recorded video. “Since 2110 we’ve been at a loss in trying to decode the message. Space Opera Beta is in its tertiary phase and will launch next year.”

Tripp pressed the play button on the holovideo. A picture of his son and wife appeared on the screen.

“Three weeks ago, however, I made something of a discovery. Before you watch the video, I’d like you to bear in mind that USARIC’s select committee has green-lit the proposal I am about to put forward to you.”

Tripp lifted his palm, raising the sound.

The recorded video displayed Spooky, The Healy family’s cat, sitting on Samantha’s lap. Tripp’s voice spoke to her from behind the camera.

“Honey, I’ll play the message again.”

“Okay,” Samantha said, pressing her cheek on top of Spooky’s head. “Shh, don’t worry.”

“Meow,” Spooky licked her paw, enjoying her owner’s warmth.

“Okay, do it.”

A button click, launching the recording of Saturn Cry.

A hiss started, followed by an electric guitar chord.

Spooky turned to the monitor, trying to ascertain the source of the noise.

And then – whump .

Spooky launched out of Samantha’s arms and landed on her lap, terrified. She let out a death-defying growl.

“Keep her still, honey,” Tripp’s voice came from behind the lens.

“I’m trying, Tripp,” she grumbled, struggling to clutch the cat. “She’s really hassled, right now. She wants me to let her go—”

“—No, don’t let her go. Let the sound keep playing.”