December 4, 2018. The Warehouse. 08:15 Local Time.
The coffee in my mug was hot, but the news on my screen—and the voice in my head—were chilling. I was reading a report on SpaceNews.com: China launches Chang'e 4 mission to the lunar far side.
"They launched," I muttered, rubbing my temples. "Archi, did you see this? They are coming to our doorstep."
"I am tracking the telemetry," Archi replied. "The payload is en route. They will land the Yutu-2 rover within 50 kilometers of our primary reactor site. And more importantly: within scanning distance of the magnetic launch scars we left behind."
"Scars?"
"We disturbed the regolith. To a rover with ground-penetrating radar, it looks like an artificial anomaly. We need to hide it. I need to be closer to manage the nanite camouflage in real-time. The 1.2-second latency is a tactical risk."
"So what are you suggesting?"
"Bring the Nomad home. Park it in a High Earth Orbit. Use the new Phase-Shift Lattice to remain invisible. From there, I can direct the lunar concealment with zero lag."
"Bring a 400-meter ship back to Earth orbit? Are you insane?"
"It is the only logical option. And Surgrim... we have another problem. Closer to home."
I froze. "What now? Did the tax office call?"
"No. It is Mereel. My internal sensors recorded an event yesterday evening after you left the room. He entered. The monitor was active. He saw the Nomad feed."
My stomach dropped. "He saw it? How much?"
"Enough. He saw the hull. He saw the distance marker: 44 AU. He attempted to interact with the system, and I locked it. But his biometric readings—heart rate, pupil dilation—indicated extreme shock followed by cognitive dissonance. He knows, Surgrim. Or at least, he knows you are not recycling washing machines."
"Great," I whispered, burying my face in my hands. "So I have the Chinese government on one side and my best friend on the other. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"I was calculating the probability of him confronting you. It is currently at 48%. He is approaching the office door now. His heart rate is elevated. Act normal."
"Act normal? I have a spaceship returning from the edge of the solar system and an admin who knows I'm lying. Define 'normal'!"
Knock. Knock.
The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet container.
The Hallway.
Mereel stood outside the metal door. His hand was still raised from knocking. He looked like a ghost. He hadn't slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that screen. 44 AU. Hull Integrity: 100%.
He had pressed his ear against the cold metal just seconds before. He had heard Surgrim's voice, muffled but frantic: "Bring a 400-meter ship back to Earth orbit? Are you insane?"
Mereel's heart hammered against his ribs. It's real, his mind screamed. The ship he saw yesterday. It's huge. And he's bringing it here.
He took a deep breath. He couldn't just burst in and scream "Aliens!". That's how you get fired—or committed. He needed to test the waters. He needed to see if Surgrim would crack.
"Surgrim? You in there?"
Inside, the shuffling of papers stopped instantly. "Yeah! Come in! Door's open!"
Mereel opened the door. Surgrim was sitting at his desk, staring intensely at a blank Excel spreadsheet. He looked flushed. Too flushed. "Hey, Mereel," Surgrim said, his voice an octave too high. "Good morning. Early start?"
"Yeah," Mereel said, walking in and dropping his bag. He didn't look at the screens. He looked at Surgrim. "Couldn't sleep. Thinking about... server optimization. And that 'glitch' yesterday."
Surgrim flinched. Just a micro-twitch of the eye, but Mereel caught it. "Glitch?" Surgrim asked, forcing a laugh. "Oh, the screen lock? Yeah, Archi—uh, the archiving software—can be aggressive with security."
"Right. Aggressive security," Mereel walked to the coffee machine. His back was to Surgrim, but the tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. "So," Mereel said casually as the machine whirred. "Read the news this morning? China launched that moon mission. Chang'e 4."
He turned around, mug in hand, locking eyes with Surgrim. "Pretty cool, right? Going to the dark side."
Surgrim didn't blink. He was holding his pen so hard his knuckles were white. "Yeah," Surgrim said. "Super cool. Space is... getting crowded."
"Sure is," Mereel took a slow sip, never breaking eye contact. "Hope they don't find anything... unexpected up there. You know, like unauthorized debris. Or 'recycling' projects."
The silence that followed was excruciating. The hum of the servers seemed to fade away. Surgrim knew that Mereel knew. Mereel knew that Surgrim knew that he knew.
"His cortisol levels are spiking," Archi whispered in Surgrim's ear. "He is testing you. Do not fold."
"Space is big, Mereel," Surgrim said finally, his voice steady but cold. "The odds of them finding anything are... astronomically low. Unless they know where to look."
Mereel held the gaze for another second. Then he smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "If you say so, boss."
He put his mug down. "I'll be in the server room. Gotta check those 'passive heatsinks' again. I have a feeling they're going to be running hot today."
"Okay," Surgrim exhaled, almost collapsing in his chair. "Let me know if... anything melts."
Mereel walked out. He didn't slam the door. He closed it with a soft, deliberate click.
Surgrim stared at the closed door. "Archi?"
"Yes?"
"Bring the ship home. Fast. Before my admin figures out how to track it."