The Space Between

Chapter 1

June 14, 1968
NASA Manned Spacecraft Center
Houston, TX

In a large room with theatre-style levels, a team of scientists, astrophysicists, and engineers sat in rows behind their blinking computer control consoles. Each wore headsets as they watched data scrolling on their screens. They were wearing a similar uniform, short-sleeved button-down shirts and black slacks. A floor-to-ceiling screen at the front of the room displayed a radar signal. Its thin, green arm swept in circles. The men sat drinking coffee, knocking the ash of their cigarettes into orange plastic ashtrays while monitoring the little green blips that shone with every slow and steady rotation.

Dr. Walter Reiden sat behind his desk at the back of the room, overlooking the rows before him. A phone light blinked next to him. He lifted the receiver and punched the button.

"Reiden... Well, hello, Peter. It's been a while...

What?... Those are current readings? Are you sure? No. Paloma would have to confirm something like that... No-no, I'm sure it's fine, Peter. Sounds like a bounced signal. Yes, that'd be something, wouldn't it?"

In the front row, a young man in black-framed glasses leaned forward. Intently he studied the numbers appearing on his screen. He quickly glanced back and forth from the radar display to the computer screen. His brow furrowed in confusion and concern. That's not right... that's impossible. He hammered away on his keyboard then punched a row of red and white blinking buttons and adjusted a small black dial on the console. He waited and checked the numbers again. He covered his mouth in a slight gasp. Jotting on a notepad, he copied the numbers off the screen, ripped his headset off, and jumped up.

"Dr. Reiden," he called out as he ran up the steps to the back of the room, waving the paper.

The stocky, gray-haired man with a crew cut turned from behind his desk. He cupped his hand over the mouthpiece of his phone.

"What is it, Thompson?"

"It's the Icarus asteroid sir, there's an... an anomaly. Look at this," he slapped the paper down in front of him.

Reiden read it and stopped. He slowly looked back up at the young man.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I triple-checked and ran a bypass reading. It's all accurate."

Reiden slowly removed his hand from the receiver.

"Peter...You... I gotta let you go." He slowly replaced the phone in its cradle.

"Get Smith on the phone. Now." Sweat beads appeared on his forehead.

Thompson ran out of the room. Reiden stared at the radar as others started gathering around him.

"What's going on?" One of them asked.

"None of your concern, everything is fine. Please, go back to your stations."

The group dispersed back to their own computers, giving questioning looks at each other. Reiden crumpled the paper and stuffed it into his pocket. A red light blinked next to a telephone receiver in front of him. He pushed the button and picked it up.

"Reiden... Yes. That's right. Just one. Standorff. Yes. No sir. I understand. Goodbye." He replaced the receiver.

"Thompson," he leaned in and whispered, "this never happened. Clean up that data, whatever it takes. Do you understand?"

His heart raced as he swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."

****

The lake water was glassy and calm, and the sun reflected off the pristine surface. Summer had arrived in the upper Los Angeles Basin, the days were getting longer, and the nights were growing warmer. The mountainous landscape was covered in the green of early summer. David Massey and his friends rode their bicycles up the rocky path on a mountain that overlooked the crystal blue lake. The trail meandered through the trees and around boulders, it was slow going, but they were in no hurry. They took in the beautiful scenery and occasional squirrel or chipmunk darting across the path. They took breaks, sitting under a tree, drinking from their canteens and cooling down. The bikes had taken them most of the way, but the terrain had become too uneven for the last hundred yards. They walked the bikes until they found a suitable place and made camp in a grassy clearing. The clearing, backed by towering redwoods and dense underbrush, led to a tall cliff. It was the first weekend since school was out, they were eager to get away to camp, even if it was just for the night. A little trip was just what they needed to reset and decompress from the school year. David carried his father's old drab green canvas backpack with food, a telescope, and a bedroll. As the sun sank into the lake's horizon, the boys prepared for dinner. They gathered softball-sized rocks and placed them in a circle, made a small fire to cook their frankfurters, then roasted marshmallows for s'mores.