The Second Ship Read online

  Mark walked over to a doorway into the wall opposite of that where they had entered. Standing before it, he concentrated for several moments. Nothing happened.

  “Hmm. Hey, Heather. See if you can get this one to open.”

  Heather moved up beside him and pictured the doorway open. A sequence of three-dimensional symbols floated across her vision, so real that she actually reached out to touch one of the iridescent shapes, her hand passing through the space where it appeared without feeling anything. The door remained closed.

  “That’s odd.”

  Jennifer joined them, having no more success than either of them had enjoyed. “There must be some security code that allows access to this area.”

  Mark shrugged. “Or it’s broken. Either way it doesn’t look like we’re getting in there today.”

  Heather’s head shot up. Today. What time was it anyway? The question brought a cascade of symbolic imagery into her head until she reached up and pulled off the headset.

  “Mark. What time do you have?”

  Mark glanced down at his sports watch. “Two thirty-eight.”

  Heather began striding toward the exit. “Oh my God. I promised Mom I’d be home by three. I’m already late.”

  Jennifer and Mark both followed her, returning their headsets to where they found them.

  Together they made their way out of the ship, retrieved the small model plane, including the small piece broken off the right wing, and passed out through the holographic veil that hid the cave entrance. Then, blazing a trail back through the thorn brush, they made their way up the ridge to where they had left their bikes.

  By the time they repacked their equipment and completed the ride back to their houses, four o’clock had come and gone. Agreeing amongst themselves not to divulge any of what they had discovered that day, at least until they had taken time to discuss all possible consequences, they parted.

  Heather opened her garage, lifting her bike to the twin hooks hanging from the ceiling. Then, after a brief pause to collect her thoughts, she stepped through the door. She had reason to fret. Just inside the foyer stood her mother, arms crossed, eyebrows arched, awaiting an explanation better than she expected to receive.

  “Mom, I’m so sorry. We were flying Mark’s new model airplane out on the mesa when a wind gust crashed it into the canyon. By the time we found it I was already late. I rushed back as fast as I could.”

  Her mother’s expression showed this explanation was about what she had anticipated, something less than satisfactory.

  “Heather, I know how important time with your friends is, but family time is important too. We agreed on three o’clock so we could meet your father for an afternoon matinee before dinner. Since he has to work tomorrow, he took off early to meet us. Do you think it’s fair to make him wait like that?”

  Heather’s head dropped. “No, Mom. I’m sorry.”

  Her mother sighed, then draped an arm around Heather’s shoulder, making her feel even worse. “I know you are. Let me call Dad and tell him you’ve shown up. Maybe we can make the five o’clock showing.”

  “Mom, before we go, have you got any aspirin?”

  “Sure. What’s the matter? Did you hurt yourself?” She raked her eyes over Heather’s frame with sudden intensity.

  “No, it’s nothing like that. I just have a bit of a headache that I’d like to get rid of before the movie starts.”

  “You probably haven’t been drinking enough water today. Grab a bottle from the refrigerator and meet me in the car. I have some aspirin in my purse.”

  Despite the water and the aspirin, Heather’s headache intensified throughout the movie and dinner, although she was unwilling to mention it again lest she spoil what was left of her parents' day. After dinner, Heather stumbled to her room, crawling into her bed still fully clothed.

  With pain hammering at her skull, she drifted off to a dreamland where alien species fought across the galaxy, world after world succumbing to harsh masters. And while her dreams identified no single alien race, each planetary war was preceded by a common event: the arrival of a lone cigar-shaped ship.

  9

  Heather, who had not missed a sunrise in ages, morning person extraordinaire, squinted through eyes that felt like someone had painted them closed with nail polish during the night. 10:13 a.m. The glowing digital numerals on her alarm clock winked at her, replacing the thirteen with fourteen. She moaned, rolled over, then with an effort worthy of Supergirl, swung her legs off her bed and sat up.

  Unlike some classmates, she had never raided her parents’ wine rack, but she was now certain what a hangover might feel like. Even so, the sleep had helped, and although her head still throbbed, it felt better than last night. Right now, all she wanted was to stand under a nice, hot shower and let the pulsating massaging showerhead pummel her neck and head until the hot water exhausted itself.

  Heather smacked her lips. Gag. If her breath smelled as foul as the inside of her mouth tasted, it was a case for the Center for Disease Control. Looking down, she noticed she still wore yesterday’s clothes. Her blouse looked as if she had wadded it into a ball and then steam ironed it that way. Jesus, she must have been out of it last night.

  Heather changed into her warm bathrobe and shuffled down the hall to the bathroom. By the time she emerged, hair wrapped in a towel, she felt like a new person.

  “For heaven's sake, the dead has arisen.” Her father grinned at her from the end of the hallway.

  “Morning, Dad,” she said. “I guess all that hiking after Mark’s plane yesterday must have done me in.”

  “I guess so. I was going to wake you for breakfast an hour ago, but your mother wouldn’t let me.”

  Heather laughed. She could just picture her petite mother setting her little foot down on an issue like that, not that her father would do anything that would displease his wife if he could help it. From the way he touched her whenever he passed near her, it was readily apparent that he adored her. And she adored him right back. Heather only hoped that someday she found a relationship like her mom and dad’s.

  “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll just grab a bowl of cereal when I get downstairs.”

  “Nothing doing. I have some batter set aside, and I just need to fire up the griddle for the bacon. It’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

  “Sounds great.”

  By the time Heather dressed and made her way downstairs and into the kitchen, everything was ready, the smell of the bacon making her mouth water.

  Her mother joined them at the breakfast table, though she just sipped coffee and shared in the conversation. Heather was relieved that they focused on why her dad was so busy at the lab this last week. Although he couldn’t talk specifics due to government security, he was quite excited that the first of the Rho Project technologies would soon be released to the public.

  This topic led inevitably to the growing problem of the demonstrators and curiosity seekers now crowding Los Alamos and White Rock. Fortunately, White Rock held much less appeal to these crowds than did Los Alamos.

  Heather had grown accustomed to the secrecy surrounding the home of the nation's principal nuclear weapons design facility. It amazed her that people thought they could just use their computers to Google the place for a nice satellite view. In most places you could zoom in and take a close-up look at the houses. But not here, at least not at the highest zoom level. While you could see the countryside from a high altitude view, zooming in on the Los Alamos area either showed very fuzzy imagery or pictures that were stamped with the message: “We are sorry, but we don’t have imagery at this zoom level for this region. Try zooming out for a broader look.”

  The conspiracy fanatics were already going nuts trying to get information that went beyond the official government line, something that was leading to rampant speculation about imagined nefarious Rho Project schemes. Thinking back on yesterday, Heather wondered if some of that speculation might be on the mark.

  Heather leaned back fro
m the table. “Thanks for the great breakfast, Dad. I’m going to go next door for a while.”

  “Remember you have that history assignment due Monday,” her mother called out. “Don’t put it off too long.”

  “I won’t, Mom.”

  Before she could reach up to knock on the Smythe’s front door, Mark stepped out to greet her.

  “Come on in. Dad took Mom down to Santa Fe for the day. We got out of it by using the homework excuse.”

  “The history report?”

  “Exactly.”

  In contrast to the comfortable country style of the McFarland house, the Smythe living room was decorated in an eclectic collection of artifacts ranging from Tahitian war masks to towering florescent lights that looked something like spaceships on poles. The Nuevo Flea Market look, as Mrs. Smythe called it, was the result of her irresistible urge to experience every antique shop, flea market, and auction in the Southwest.

  Heather plopped down onto the hacienda-style sofa next to Jennifer while Mark settled into his father’s leather recliner. “Tell me you guys didn’t have the same dreams I did last night,” she said.

  Mark and Jennifer glanced nervously at each other. “My guess is that we did. At least, Doc and I had almost the same one.”

  “You mean you saw ships similar to the Rho Ship landing on planet after planet and then all hell breaking loose?”

  Jennifer raised her left eyebrow. “It was always a single cigar ship landing followed by scenes of massive destruction, wars raging everywhere. It must have been part of the data dump we got from our ship.”

  Unable to sit still, Heather rose from the couch and began pacing back and forth across the living room. “And how are you guys feeling?”

  “Both of us had bad headaches last night, though they seem to be fading this morning,” said Jennifer. “It’s a good thing too. I wouldn’t want to think about starting that history report feeling like I did last night.”

  Mark shook his head. “Forget about the damn history assignment for now. We need to figure out what to do about the ship.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” said Heather. “The sensible thing would be to tell our parents and the authorities about what we found.”

  “Are you nuts?” Mark jumped out of his chair. “Or am I the only one who remembers the images from the dreams and the ship? If we turn that ship over, it will probably go to the same division that has the Rho Ship. I have a strong feeling that wouldn’t be good.”

  Jennifer nodded. “I agree. That would be a very dangerous thing to do, at least if we assume that our ship was trying to send out a warning about the Rho Ship.”

  Heather shrugged. “I only said it would be the sensible thing to do. We all seem to agree the Rho Ship is dangerous. But, we might be wrong about that. Just because we picked up a bunch of troubling images doesn’t make it a fact. Concealing our ship could be a huge mistake.”

  “Okay, it’s risky,” said Mark. “But let’s look at our options. If we report it, we’ll never get to see the ship again. I don’t like that idea, even if we’re wrong about the other thing.”

  “I don’t think we should report it either,” said Jennifer. “What’s the rush?”

  Heather stopped pacing. “That’s the same conclusion I talked myself into before I came over here. I just needed to hear what you guys had to say. If we’re wrong, we can always report the ship later.”

  Mark grinned. “Okay. That means we don’t tell anyone else, especially our moms and dads. We’ll also have to be careful that nobody follows us out to the ship.”

  Heather and Jennifer agreed. They wouldn’t have time to return to the ship until next Saturday anyway. In the meantime, they would have to be careful that they didn’t talk about it unless they were alone. No chats by phone, e-mail, or text messaging.

  As the morning slipped into afternoon and the afternoon waned toward evening, they huddled together, discussing in detail their experiences on the ship and what might happen if their fears about the Rho Ship were correct.

  Unfortunately, all they could do was hope that the Rho Project research team had effective safeguards in place. Certainly, the security would be the US government’s best. Based upon the secrecy the Rho Project maintained for sixty years, they had things firmly under control.

  Mark reached over and flipped on the light beside the recliner, setting one of the disk-shaped fluorescent lamps aglow.

  “Well, if that quote in the paper from Senator Conally is any indication, the Senate Intelligence Committee has carefully reviewed the program and found no problem with the way things are run.”

  Jennifer turned to look at him. “What quote?”

  “Oh, it’s just something I saw on page four while flipping to the sports page.”

  Jennifer grabbed the paper off the coffee table, flipping it open to page four. “Which article?”

  “Third column, twenty-third line down. The quote starts out, ‘Today I am pleased to report that an internal audit of the program, conducted by Dr. Nancy Anatole, has revealed that all proper safeguards are in place to ensure that no potentially dangerous technologies will be released.’”

  Jennifer’s jaw dropped. “You quoted that word for word.” Glancing back at the page, she said, “You got the column and line number right too. How did you do that?”

  Mark’s brow creased in concentration. “Hmm. Interesting. I didn’t notice it until just now, but I can see every page as if they were here in front of me. The image is in my mind.”

  A sudden thought crystallized in Heather’s brain. “Jennifer, hand me that paper for a second.”

  Heather flipped through the pages, taking a quick glance at each one, even the advertisements. Then she handed it back to Jennifer.

  “Jen, I want you to do what I just did, take a quick glance at each page. Don’t read it, just flip through.”

  Jennifer did as instructed then set the paper aside, already in tune with the forthcoming experiment. “Page three, second column, fifth line down. What does it say, Heather?”

  “Campus eatery touting benefits,” said Heather. “Now your turn. Page thirty-six, classifieds. What is the last entry, lower right corner?”

  “Comfortable, three-bedroom, two-bath, eighteen-hundred-and-fifty-square-foot ranch home, two hundred and fifty thousand, owner financing available.”

  Mark pumped his fist in the air. “Yes. I can see it in my mind and read it later. You know what this means? Tests just got a hell of a lot easier.”

  “It may not last,” Jennifer said. “This could be a short-term side effect of the download from the ship's computer.”

  Heather paused as she considered the implications. “I think it could be more than that. We know that most people only use ten percent of their brain. I think the reason the headbands hurt us so badly was because the computer was scanning all our neural pathways and accessing them, even neural centers we don’t normally use. I think that may have caused those neural pathways to stay open, even after we de-linked from the ship's computer. One of the side effects seems to be a true photographic memory.” She blinked. “I can’t believe how logical that just sounded.”

  “All right!” Mark shouted.

  A worried look settled on Jennifer’s face. “You don’t think it did anything to our DNA, do you?”

  “Not likely. Not with how we linked with the ship. There weren't any bodily fluids exchanged.”

  “Now there’s a moderately disgusting thought,” Mark said.

  Heather ignored the interruption. “As for other side effects, I don’t have a clue. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Glancing at the gathering darkness outside the windows, Heather rose to go. “Since we can’t tell anyone else about this, we’re just going to have to protect each other, even more than normal.”

  “And hope we don’t wake up with a third eye,” Mark called after her as she stepped out the door.

  10

  Los Alamos High School had endured di
sastrous starts by students before, but Heather doubted it had seen a worse start to junior year.

  True, they had been a bit distracted, unable to resist whispering amongst themselves. And that forced several teachers to split them up, seating them as far apart as possible. Worse, it seemed that the teachers talked to each other over lunch, forming a cabal that zeroed in on Heather and the twins like homeland security.

  Then Mark failed his first science test in record fashion, having ignored Jennifer’s admonitions that he study.

  “Why?” Mark had said, tapping his head. “I scanned the book. Got every page, right up here.”

  It had only been during the test that he realized that having the textbook scanned into his brain was no substitute for reading it. Although he’d been able to read through its pages during the test, he ran out of time with only a third of the problems finished.

  Game over. Grounded for a week. As a result, the three had to postpone their planned trip out to the ship last Saturday.

  And now this. The three of them sitting in Principal Zumwalt’s office as Ms. Gorsky leaned her large form against the principal’s desk, banging a chubby finger on their test papers so vigorously that the vibrations threatened to send the pencil jar over the edge.

  Ms. Gorsky’s beady eyes swept angrily back over Heather and the twins.

  “Cheats! That is what they are, and I, for one, want you to make an example of them. To start out the first test of the year in my class by cheating indicates a lack of character all too common in their generation. If it had only been the two girls, I may not have caught it, but when I noticed that Marcus had also quoted a paragraph from the history text exactly the same as the girls did, there could be no doubt. They were copying.”

  The principal, a big man with kindly features who embraced his thinning hair by shaving his head, leaned forward, motioning for Ms. Gorsky to move out of his line of sight to the juniors.

  “Marcus. Is that true?”

  Mark’s face flushed a bright red. “No, sir, it is not.”

  “Then how do you explain the exact quote on one of the essay questions, a quote which appears to be several sentences long?”