Chapter 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 from 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. Just like a phased array radar directs a beam by synchronizing radar emissions, it’s possible for the neurons in our brains to function in a more synchronized way. 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. That may have caused those neural pathways to stay synced, even after we de-linked from the ship's computer. One of the side effects seems to be a true photographic memory.”
“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.