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| It was fifteen minutes to phase. The scientists and technicians took their designated stations at the instruments, ready to interpret the data that would be transmitted when Mars swung his face around again. The transmitter could only communicate when the red planet gave it a good line of sight to Earth. Yuri, the janitor, was taking his time sweeping. If he lingered long enough, he might be able to snap something with his phone that he could share with his son, Ivan. He was fascinated with space. “Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Zero. We are in phase,” Dr. Smythe announced, her voice signaling the start of the datastream. The room broke into a hum of activity—perhaps less excited than it had been eighteen months ago at first phase. It was routine now. The main camera feed appeared on the big monitor. Rene Debois was the first to notice it—the camera was his baby. “C’est impossible.” He stood and threw down his headset onto the floor. “Miranda, this is a thing I will not tolerate. A student has hijacked my feed!” He always got more French when he was angry. Dr. Smythe and the rest of the room turned to look. The dirt and rocks that they saw might have been similar to what they usually saw, but the two sign posts were not. “Jeff?” Dr. Smythe turned to the chief of security, Jeff Jones, for answers, but he was already at his computer, trying to hunt down answers. Yuri stared up at the screen, puzzled. “But if this is a student prank, why would they write it in Russian?” Dr. Smythe was standing in front of him in two strides. “What did you just say?” Yuri blushed, noticing that every eye was on him now. “But can’t you see? It says ‘опасность.’ That is to say danger, if I translate to English.” “Stay here.” Dr. Smythe turned to the rest of the room. “What language do you see?” A babble of languages followed, each corresponding to members of the elite international team—English, Arabic, German, French, Italian, Welsh, Spanish, Hindi—each person was apparently seeing the word in their own language, but it all meant the same: Danger. *** But what does it mean? The question reverberated around the world. Every media outlet in the world carried the picture the next day, and despite the general acceptance that it must be a hoax, there was no getting around the fact that each person who saw the sign understood it in their own native tongue. Even those who could not read could read the sign. World leaders convened in secure locations and video conference around the world to decide what to do next. Dr. Smythe found her facility was now host to a squadron of military types who were questioning her and her team at length about their personal and professional histories. The project was put on ice. The transmitter did not move while outside experts ran diagnostics of its inner workings, only to come to the same conclusion that the team had come to on the first day before they released the photo: Nothing was wrong. *** Fifteen minutes to phase. This time the world watched the countdown. “Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Zero. We are in phase,” Dr. Smythe announced, her voice shaking. All eyes were on the monitor—at the picture which appeared as soon as the datastream began. “All systems, prepare to move transmitter.” “Camera feed, up.” “Sensors, up.” “Motor, up.” Dr. Smythe breathed, once, twice, and said the words that would change everything. “Forward, on my mark. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Zero. Mark.” The world held its breath as the transmitter inched forward, parallel to the sign. “Stop. Sensors report.” “No change.” “Forward.” Now they were past the sign. Now they were crawling up a hill. Now they reached the top. Now they looked down into the oldest lake on Mars. In the room, the military presence shifted as they felt the ground shake beneath their boots. Not an earthquake kind of shake, but as though the world was humming. Dr. Smythe could feel it in her teeth. “Audio, report.” “Feedback loop. I’ll try to damp it.” On the screen, the lake was empty. “Stop. Sensors report.” “No change.” “Remain stationary for deep readings.” The hum was on the edge of hearing, now. Stronger than before. “Cut the feedback.” “I can’t. No discernible pattern. It’s in the transmission and I can’t stop it.” The team didn’t know it, but the hum shook more than their facility. All over the world, wherever the media was transmitting the live coverage, the world shook, vibrating like glass. “Dr. Smythe! Main camera.” Rene’s words weren’t necessary. Everyone could see it. The lake was moving. Impossible colors twisted and writhed in a dance of light. “What is that?” Dr. Smythe whispered, not expecting an answer. “Readings are off the charts. The closest Earth equivalent I can think of is the aurora borealis, but with much more energy.” “The datastream is overloading—too much.” The instruments were overheating. Dr. Smythe could smell frying wires. “It’s going to blow!” The hum shook the bones of the earth. “Cut the feeds!” Dr. Smythe ran for the main power switch and threw it just as the main monitor exploded, showering the room with shards of molten glass. Prompt 2 the week of August 9 ** Image ID #2048593 Unavailable ** |
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