Mirages

“I really have something this time.” Robert’s eyes remained fixed on the monitors in near disbelief. “Dr. Phelps - Kevin, it’s me. No, this time is different.” The readouts confirmed what seemed so impossible, yet was inevitable. Robert had always known it. “Who am I? This is Robert.” The signal was weak but incontrovertible. Robert’s heart raced in anticipation. “Dr. Robert Graves.” He’d always known it was only a matter of time before he found what he’d been searching for all these years. “No, no, this isn’t a joke. Don’t hang up. Wait…please!” Half of him wondered; did he not recognize me? The other half feared that yes, indeed he did. Damn, nothing had changed. Here was the greatest discovery of all time being ignored for lack of interest. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. One person was keenly interested.

Robert had been working the same theory for nearly four decades. Some called it a hunch; those less kind called it Alice in Wonderland. Regardless, he was determined to prove himself right. All those years, where did the time go? It seemed like not so much time had passed since the last time he was convinced he’d made the discovery of a lifetime. Not much had changed - he’d updated his equipment, and he kept better notes. He certainly didn’t want to repeat the disaster of last time.

It was a warm summer evening and, as like every other evening, he was waiting patiently as he always did, for some indication, some confirmation. He’d sit for hours staring at the oscilloscope, hoping for the telltale sign of something unusual, artificial, alien. His wife Kathy - always so understanding and supportive, would come by once in a while and ask if he needed anything or wanted anything. “No, no, I’m fine thanks,” he would say. Sometimes he’d turn around and find a sandwich on a plate for him, and not just some thrown-together-I-can’t-be-bothered thing. Kathy would take the time to pile good cuts of meat, his favorite cheese, thin-sliced tomato, and just a thin smear of mayo onto crusty bread, hand cut. She’d put three, sometimes four, olives on the side, and a pickle spear.

Sometimes he wondered if he was too dedicated to his cause. Most everyone they knew already had children or soon would. Now was not the time, he told himself. He - they, were young, and what was the hurry anyway? When the work was done, then he could devote himself to being a father, a dad. Surely Kathy understood? She didn’t complain, didn’t seem to mind. She certainly gave no indication, didn’t say anything about it. And if she was happy, he was happy. No distractions.

Then suddenly, a spike appeared on the scope. It looked the right shape, in the right place. Robert bit his bottom lip, started scanning the equipment looking for anything out of the ordinary. All indications were normal. He took a deep breath, opened his notebook, and began checking and double-checking the readouts. They were as they should be. He began to tremble. “Kathy, would you come in here for a moment?”

A few moments later, Kathy entered the room, pale, and with a questioning look on her face. “Wh-what is it Robert?”

“I love you,” Robert said looking into her eyes.

She leaned forward as if she was going to wrap her arms around him, but he turned, picked up the phone, and began to dial. Within moments, he was focused on business again. “Yeah, Kevin? Robert. Yeah, I think I’ve got something.” He explained his procedure, his readings, what dish he was using, where he was looking - all the details the agency would need to confirm his findings. “Yeah, tomorrow, seven sharp. I’ll be there, of course.”

The meeting was set. In a matter of hours he would be the most famous person on the face of the planet. He would go down in history, and he’d be talked about for decades, even centuries from now. Better yet, he’d become immortal, with monuments and memorials named for him all throughout the world. Maybe that was pushing it. Time to come back to earth, Dr. Graves!

Robert chuckled at the thoughts of grandeur. He’d be happy just to have his readings confirmed. He’d be able to enjoy going to work, to look his colleagues in the eye and be seen as an equal. That would mean more to him than all the glory in the world.

Seven o’clock sharp and he was ready to face anyone and anything. He had stayed up only a little, as he wanted to be well rested to face what was to come. His heart pounded with anticipation, but he wasn’t nervous. He had run the numbers, dotted the I’s, crossed the t’s, and was well prepared for anything. He burst confidently into the meeting room, but instead of press or a full audience of fellow scientists, there was only Dr. Phelps, Dr. Mayweather - head of the program, and a man he didn’t recognize.

Not quite what he expected, but he wasn’t about to let anything dampen his spirit. “Good morning gentlemen,” Robert said with a smile.

The others’ expressions did not change. Perhaps they were annoyed that it wasn’t one of them to make the discovery of a lifetime.

“Congratulations, Dr. Graves. You found a spy satellite.” Dr. Mayweather got right to the point.
“A wh-what?”

“French, to be exact. Launched just a few weeks ago,” Mayweather added.
“That’s not possible. I checked all the data bases and…”

“I’m sorry, Bob, but it’s all here. We’ve gone over everything.” Dr. Phelps seemed exhausted, but was that from chewing on Robert’s claim, or choking on it?

There was no need to ask; the agency’s position was perfectly clear, and Robert had blown it. Oddly enough, they didn’t ask for his resignation, nor was it encouraged from him. He wasn’t demoted or even swept sideways into a different department like just so much dirt. Everything remained as it was.

Robert continued his work at the agency despite the laughing behind his back. It wasn’t as obvious as that, really, but he could hear it nonetheless - every time he came eye to eye with a colleagues or shook hands with any number of visiting specialists, he could tell the greatest discovery mankind was likely to make was fresh on their minds.

Kathy stuck with him, too. It was another ten years before Robert Jr. was born. Billy came two years after that, and then Jessica two more years after that. In a way, he made modest progress, if not exactly toward his goal, but by this time any progress was seen by him as a giant leap forward, and it took only a small amount of thought to figure out children would be a good idea sooner rather than later.

Perhaps Kathy hoped having a family would make all the difference in the world, that he would somehow change, but he didn’t. Instead of becoming the devoted dad, Robert isolated himself even more. He had hit the age when it seemed time sped up and would soon run out. Every day he convinced himself the answer lay just beyond his reach, if only he could stretch his mind open just that much further, everything would come into crystal clarity, and he’d be able to look back and wonder why he hadn’t seen it all before now.

Even when the call came in that there had been an accident and he’d never see his family alive again, there was a pang of second thought, a glimmer that perhaps this was fate and that the bright side would be he’d have the rest of his life to dedicate to his work. And then he felt sick at himself for having such a thought. No, he wasn’t a monster, nor would he allow himself to become one. He wasn’t some thing that served only a single purpose like a toaster or doorstop. He was a human being.

The funeral was typical; with lots of flowers he didn’t buy bulking up the ones he did. There were crying relatives he hadn’t seen in years, or maybe he had and couldn’t remember, it made no difference. They were all but strangers to him. Rather surreal, really, he thought, to have so many people pulled together by a common thread that seemed to have little to do with him. Few even spoke to him, barely acknowledging his existence with a sad look or hands clasped as if suggesting they were praying. Praying for what, his family? They’re dead, gone, and now buried, so what’s the point? Even when he saw them for the last time, laying peacefully and all done up - he tried to convince himself that these were his children and his wife, and when he leaned over and kissed them and said goodbye, he was surprised he felt nothing. These were simply shells. It was their lives that made them who they were, not their bodies. As others paid their respects in what some might consider a morbid voyeurism of death, he smiled - maybe not visibly, but certainly inside. His family was elsewhere, not here.

Days passed into weeks, and he accomplished nothing with his time. Perhaps this was God’s way of punishing him for even broaching the notion of a bright side to death. Would he ever be able to focus on his work again? He soon realized he could keep an eye on all the monitors just as well with a few shots of Scotch as without, and he pretended the routine he fell into was somehow normal by making sure he stocked only the finest bottles. He furthered the illusion by having a wide variety, thus he could sample several in a given evening and somehow call it culture or suaveness or finesse.

He had survived being tossed aside by the agency. He had survived losing his family. And he had survived the long years of ridicule; some of it deserved, he knew, but not all, like the Columbia incident.
“You’re insane, Bob. You really are. To suggest that aliens in flying saucers have been buzzing our shuttle flights and taking pot shots at them with ray guns. Come on, man, get a grip.” Dr. Phelps wasn’t mincing words.

“You’re making it sound insane, but that’s okay, I have the analysis here.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re aware of your analysis,” Dr. Phelps said.

“Have you actually looked at the evidence?”

“There is no evidence.”

“What do you call the burn-through?”

Dr. Phelps shook his head. “It was a fluke, and you know damn well we’ve already studied that inside out, upside down. We have a very good understanding of what happened and why it won’t happen in the future.”

“But that’s just it - I’m telling you they are out there, lining up for Columbia. The data is perfectly clear for anyone willing to read it.”

“Look, Bob, obviously you’ve been under a tremendous amount of stress. I tell you what. If something happens to Columbia during her flight, we’ll put you on Capital Hill and back you all the way. Hell, we’ll put you in the U.N. with our full support. And you can take whatever swipe at us you feel you must to prove your point. But, if Columbia returns safely, please promise me you’ll take a couple of weeks off from your, err, research and get some much needed rest. Fair enough?” Dr. Phelps held out his hand.

Robert took the hand offered, and shook it in agreement. Perhaps Dr. Phelps was right; perhaps he had been working too hard and was just chasing shadows.

Almost a month later, after five delays, STS-61-C launched in the New Year without a hitch. Oh there were the usual excuses about the weather or some minor technical glitch in this system or that, but Robert was certain he knew the real reason for the delays. He watched the sky every night - with his eyes and instruments, looking for some sign of danger from above. On Columbia’s fourth day in orbit, he spotted something, some anomaly he thought could have been a threat. “Are you sure they scanned the region? Well, maybe it’s using some sort of cloaking shield to hide behind now? H-hello? Helloooo?” The flight director was a fool, Robert thought. He continued scanning for the anomaly, but it was gone.

Columbia arrived home safe and sound that January 18, 1986, touching Earth in the early morning hours without incident. Robert expected the phone to ring with an “I told you so”, but it didn’t. Perhaps they appreciated his concern in an unspoken way. After all, they had delayed the original launch five times, and it had to be because of his warnings. He had done his best, and Columbia was home. He reviewed the latest data and saw the sky was quiet. All the previous indications had disappeared; all activity had ceased. He called Dr. Phelps to apologize and, as promised, said he was going to take a break, a two-week getaway to Florida with his family. He’d visit his brother on the Space Coast, maybe even take in a launch close up, weather permitting. Danny had arranged VIP passes for the whole family, and Challenger was on the pad ready to fly. Afterwards they’d do a bar-b-q or something in the warm Florida winter sun, go swimming and drink cocktails out by the pool. Most of all he would have a chance to relax.

The Florida sun might have been bright, clean, and crisp, but it was anything but warm. Swimming? Maybe those used to the arctic would feel cozy - after they chipped the thin layer of ice away, but for Robert even looking at the cold, blue water gave him chills. Even the kids didn’t seem too interested in playing in the pool. The next morning just before they were to head for the Cape, Danny told him about the heater, that he’d switched it on, and that the water would probably be real nice for when they got back. Robert chuckled - who’d have thought of a heater in Florida? This day had started out like just a normal day, with a sprinkling of irony. If they were to see a launch, though, it would have to be today since they were flying home tomorrow. As Robert climbed into the passenger side of the Suburban, he glimpsed the sky and noted how clear and refreshing it seemed. “Beautiful day for a launch,” he said, pulling his warm coat around him closer.

Seventy-three seconds into the flight, his worst fears erupted in a fireball.

“RTLS! RTLS!” Danny screamed.

Robert knew there would be no return to launch site.

"Flight controllers here looking very carefully at the situation. Obviously a major malfunction. . . ." came over the public address system.

Robert took the remark personally. How could he have been so right and yet so wrong all at once? He should have been more insistent. He should have pounded fists on a desk or something or something else to make his point even more clear.

The investigation went on for months, and all the while Robert argued his case, but the agency rebuked him at every turn, flat out refusing to entertain any notion that the “accident” was anything other than what their investigation pointed to.

Robert knew better then, and he knew better now.

Tonight, on the fifteenth anniversary of his family’s passing, Robert perched in front of the latest state of the art technological tools available to private citizens, plus some more elaborate tools he was able to acquire through different channels. He had financed everything himself, thinking he was oh so smart all those years ago not to let anything keep him from his job. He didn’t mind being passed over for promotion, or taking the crap jobs no one else wanted, or putting up with what he put up with over the years. The ends justified the means - he always held that he would play whatever cards were dealt him. Tonight felt different to any other for some reason, as if a culmination of effort was about to explode in a sudden release of intense satisfaction, the best part of which he was alone and wouldn’t have to share the thrill with anyone. He then thought of his family. Would Kathy be proud of what he felt was almost within his grasp? Would his children have been proud? A tear fell down his cheek - he wasn’t being selfish when he felt happy about not sharing. He glanced around the room and stopped on a portrait on a shelf. He smiled; remembering the exact moment the picture was taken. They’d gone to the cabin in the mountains, one of the few times he had left his equipment completely unattended. Robert Jr. held a fishing rod in his hands, with a modest-sized trout dangling from the end - his first. Billy proudly held up two crayfish he caught barehanded. Jessica - sweet Jessica, a smile as big as a quarter moon, her hair as wild as her spirit, held up the snake, a six-foot long diamondback rattler they’d come upon along a forest trail. The boys had been too busy to notice it, but not her. With the stealth of a cat, she had grabbed a large-enough stick, bashed the snake over the head, and was chasing her brothers around with it, scaring them half to death. If only he had brought the video camera. But no, it was needed back at home for his project. They had to settle on the portrait.

Robert picked up the picture and stared at it. So many years had passed, and yet he was reminded - reassured really, that he wasn’t the monster he thought he might be becoming that fateful night he had such horrible thoughts about the bright side of his family dying. He began crying, grieving, and he realized this was the first time he could remember doing so.

The signal he’d been expecting all this time came, but not the way he had originally thought. There was no spike on an oscilloscope, no spike on a fixed frequency originating from some distant point of light in space. Instead, a transmission unlike anything he’d previously known poured forth from the multispectral analyzer - this was a message, a real message and not just some carrier wave he’d been looking for. But where was it coming from? Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so quick to finish that bottle of Scotch. No, there wasn’t that much left in it, he remembered.

Checking the instruments suggested the impossible - the signal originated from very close by and was getting closer. He logged into other receiver sites around the globe and honed in on the source. Calculations put it as being - oh my God, he thought - he could probably go outside, look up and see the - whatever it was. He checked the wide-field camera monitor and repositioned it to point north by northeast. He then activated the motion discriminator - if there was something moving in the sky, he would soon know. His impatience was soon rewarded.

Robert couldn’t believe what he was seeing - surely it couldn’t be real. He hurried outside with binoculars in hand and began scanning the sky. Four o’clock in the morning with the moon long gone it didn’t take but a few moments to visually acquire his target. He tried to study it but the shaking of his hands wouldn’t allow him to get clear focus. He went back inside and tapped into the agency tracking system and fed the resulting data into his computerized telescope. It slewed into position, dutifully acquired the target, and faithfully began tracking it. He then activated the DVR, recording whatever image came through the telescope camera.

It soon dawned on Robert that the target wasn’t some passing galactic tourist on his way to more interesting places. This - this whatever it was - was going to land, and if the tracking data was right, it was going to land relatively close by, maybe within a hundred miles or so. Robert paused a moment - surely it wouldn’t be as easy as that, and yet all the indications suggested that indeed, it was. The movement became less and less, as if the target was initiating some kind of hover maneuver. Yes, that must be it, he thought.

The object descended below instrumentation’s ability to track, below his ability to see. Yet he had gathered enough data he was confident he’d be able to find it - assuming it had landed and not gone invisible as he theorized had happened back in ’86. He checked the map and put the landing site out about fifteen miles to the east. Robert grabbed his PDA, binoculars, a video camera, and some other bits of equipment and headed for the car. He could only guess at what, exactly, he as looking for, but hoped fate would finally deal him a winning hand and bring him to where he needed to be. He’d have a clue in less than half an hour.

It was just after five-fifteen in the morning when he pulled off the road and parked. The darkness seemed eerily quiet and came as a mixed blessing. On the one hand, he’d have the cover of darkness, and on the other he’d have the darkness to contend with. He clicked the PDA and brought up the GPS tracking. It seemed to be working fine. He checked the night scope and other equipment - everything was working and fully charged. He was set.

He walked up to the fence separating him from the State park, pressed a button on his remote to lock the car, and then, using the night scope, scanned the terrain, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing. Well, he hadn’t expected it to really be that easy. No challenge, no fun.

He eased through the cattle fence and headed in an east-northeast direction. It would take him probably the better part of an hour to reach his starting point, as far as he could figure. That was assuming he didn’t stumble upon any surprises like snakes, scorpions, Park rangers. He stopped every ten minutes or so to catch a breath and look around through the night scope. Not a damned thing, but at least he was making progress. About a half hour later the ground became steeper, and just a short walk further he was clearly at an elevation overlooking a large extent of the park. Disappointingly, the vantage point only served to confirm that all around below was a waste of time he could avoid - there was nothing there for him. He’d have to climb.

Two and a half hours of effort took its toll on him. The sun was well above the horizon now, beating down and making the rocks warm to the touch. In his excitement he’d forgotten the most basic rule of the desert - don’t go out without water. He’d brought none, and was paying the price. He knew the temperature was already closing in on a hundred, easy, but he had to go on. He was right, he had to be right.

His advance was reduced to little more than a crawl, but still he pressed onwards. The answer was just over this one last hill, he told himself for the eighth or ninth time. Slowly he climbed, on hands and knees, putting one hand forward and forcing the rest of him to follow. Cuts, bruises, dehydration - none of that deterred him from his goal. With his remaining strength he pulled himself up the last couple of feet, then collapsed to collect his thoughts. He didn’t relax long - something caught his attention, a noise, or was it just a feeling? He wiped the sweat from his brow, hunched up against the rock, and strained his eyes to focus ahead. What the hell? He thought. He mustered his strength, steadied himself, and put the binoculars to his eyes.

There were three of them, from what he could tell, and they were about the size of children. Two of them seemed preoccupied with something, the third seemed to be oblivious, as if playing tag or hide-n-seek with an imaginary friend, running around this way and that, sometimes in between the other two who didn’t seem to mind in the least. As he watched, the alien sitting to the left suddenly stopped working with whatever it was he had been working with, raised his head, and then looked over his way. Could he have sensed him, even from this distance? I am so stupid, he thought. Robert fumbled for the video camera, clicked the mode button to Cam, and pressed record. A few seconds later the drive had spooled up and the camera was recording. He eagerly pointed the camera at the aliens and focused. Only now, instead of the three typical aliens with gray skin and bug eyes, there were three children. The one on the left was still looking his way, and he began to curse himself for allowing himself to get dehydrated to the point of hallucinating. Just some kids probably out camping with their parents, he thought. Yet as he watched the one watching him, he thought he saw the mouth move, thought he made out “Hey Mister,” or something close to that.

He had to pull the camcorder away from his face and wipe his eyes. He was a good hundred yards from the children, and it seemed very unlikely the one could really see him from that far away. He pointed the camcorder and zoomed in all the way. The one kid was still looking over in his direction, and again he thought he saw the kid mouth the words “Hey Mister.” When the kid began waving him arm in invitation, there was no mistaking the meaning - the kid had seen him and, for some reason, was asking him to come over.

Robert slid down the loose gravel, stumbled to his feet, and made his way toward the children. As he drew closer he couldn’t help but feel a sense of familiarity. The two boys and little girl ranged in age from around ten down to about five, his best guess. It struck him that they were so matter of fact, taking his approach as if it were something they were used to. Most kids would either shy away or run up and be in the way, but not these kids. The older boy, the one who had beckoned him over stared without emotion, watchful. The other boy remained fixed on whatever he was working with - it looked like he was putting something together, small metallic-like pieces snapping together to become larger ones like some strange building block toy.

“Hey Mister, whatcha doing way out here?” the older boy said.

“Wh-what? Me? Oh, just looking, that’s all,” Robert replied still fixed on the second boy working away. “What’s that you’re working on, son?”

The second boy looked back and said, “Nothing.”

“Oh, I see.” Robert looked around and didn’t see any sign of a camp. No tent, no fire, nothing but the three kids.

“You look lost, Mister. Are you lost?” the first boy asked.

“Not lost, really. But I could do with some water - do you have any?”

The three kids looked at each other as if they had never heard anyone ask for water before.

“To drink?” Robert added.

“Of course we have water. Who’d be dumb enough to come out in the desert without some?” The little girl said nonchalantly. She then retrieved a metallic thermos-like bottle from a bag he hadn’t noticed before now and gave it to him.

He took the bottle, unscrewed the top, and drank it all without pausing. “Thank you kindly,” he said, wiping his mouth when he’d finished. “You’ll never know just how good that water tasted.”

The kids again looked at each other.

“Are your parents around? I’d like to thank them for raising such good kids.”

“Our mom will be back shortly. You can talk to her then, if that’s okay.”

“Sure, sure. No rush really.”

“You know we’re not supposed to talk to strangers,” said the second boy.

“He ain’t no stranger. He’s lost, looking for something, and needed help,” said the little girl.
Robert looked at her closely, and asked, “what’s your name?”

“Oh, I can’t tell you that just now. Not until our mom comes back and says it’s okay.”

“Alright, well I guess that’s fair. Can I tell you my name then?”

“Sure you can,” said the second boy.

“Okay, here goes. I’m Robert. Doctor Robert Graves.”

“Nice to meet you, Doctor Robert Graves.”

“Oh, you can just call me Robert, if you like.”

An hour went by, or was it two, or three, before he realized much time had passed at all. For being so young, he felt charged that they could engage him in regular conversation. Kids usually were so focused on television or movies or video games, but these kids seemed very different to what he would have expected. As the time went by he felt rejuvenated, as if the weight of bitterness that had aged him beyond his years had been lifted. He was laughing and joking, and to his surprise, enjoying the company of children. His work, his life’s dream, was furthest from his mind. So wrapped up in the enjoyment, he no longer felt the desert heat, the insatiable thirst, nor hunger even though he knew it was well past lunch time and he hadn’t eaten for several hours. “Tell me more,” he said prodding for another story, as the last seemed to reach a logical conclusion.

By the time he thought to check his watch, it was past two thirty.

“Oh, here comes mommy now,” said the little girl, her voice now strangely familiar.

Robert focused on the little girl, then on the other two children, his mind afire with realization. He turned his head round to see whom the little girl was referring to, and squinted for a moment, then opened his eyes wide in shock. “Kathy?”