“It’s important I understand who you remember associating with. Tell me about the people you interact with at the control center.”
“I wouldn’t call it interacting. I have a chair in the control center and monitor the computer systems during flights, but for the most part, I sit and listen.”
“Have you ever had any interaction with Dreamland Control at Groom Lake?”
“Never. When we operate, they’re in a stand-down mode to minimize the number of people watching the sky. My personal interactions are typically limited to Copernicus. I correspond with others via computer, and sometimes phone lines, usually with contacts at SPACECOM. Other than that, I’m alone, even in the control center. I have a booth and my back is always to the mission commanders.”
Trace motioned for her to wait while he finished scribbling another note.
Reading his question, Rebecca asked, “Why do you communicate with SPACECOM?”
“They help me in planning the entry and exit windows so we can fly undetected.”
Liebowitz had just independently confirmed for Trace something Desmond had been claiming about SPACECOM for years. He looked to Jimmy who nodded, as it was confirmation for him too.
“What about Ben Skyles?” Rebecca said. “Do you know him?”
“No.”
“What about Sidereus Nuncius?” she asked, using Skyles’ codename.
“I know Sidereus.”
“Is he a slim, athletic man? Dark hair, in his thirties?”
“Never seen his face. We talk over the radio.”
“Do you know what he does?”
With a hint of admiration, maybe envy, Liebowitz said, “Sidereus flies a hoot. He’s an astronaut … and on many missions he walks on the moon.”
“Tell me what you know about the moon, and why Sidereus is being deployed there.”
“Are you sure I should be talking about this?”
“This is the best way to assess your susceptibility to the memory gaps we’ve discovered. It may be an unusual request, but this is an unusual situation.”
“Moon rocks,” Liebowitz stated. “They’re bringing back loads of moon rock in the hoots.”
“Tell me the significance of the moon rocks.”
“The moon is littered with an element called helium-3, which is rare on Earth; we have helium-4. So we bring back the moon rocks and extract the helium-3 element.”
Liebowitz’s audience listened with stares of surprise and wonderment. Could the US be running a secret space program from the Papoose Valley?
Rebecca didn’t want to keep Liebowitz in the controlled state much longer. Every additional second was a ticking tempt at fate. She didn’t wait for Trace. “Tell me about helium-3.”
“Helium is the second most abundant element in the universe after hydrogen, and is generated by stars, like our sun, which fuse hydrogen atoms together to create helium-4 — two protons and two neutrons. However, about one in ten thousand comes out missing a neutron and you have helium-3. The strength of our atmosphere prevents most of the lighter helium-3 atoms from reaching Earth, but not on the moon.”
“And what is the helium-3 used for?”
“Nothing. We’re just stockpiling it.”
“Then tell me why we would go through such extreme measures to stockpile helium-3.”
“Because of its potential. Nuclear power plants fuse atoms together and the byproduct is energy, but the process also creates radioactive waste. With helium-3, however, if fused with deuterium, there’s no waste. Just clean energy. And there’s enough helium-3 on the moon to power the Earth for 10,000 years.”
“Why do we stockpile it instead of use it?”
“The process isn’t perfected yet, but it will be. The challenge is that helium-3 is equally effective in a warhead. Except there’s no long term effects — no nuclear wasteland after the mushroom cloud. We could bomb the Arabs today and take possession of their oil fields tomorrow. The problem is, some other country can bomb us and build a house on our purple mountains majesty.”
“How do you feel about keeping something like this secret?” Rebecca asked.
“I feel the same as Copernicus and everyone else involved with this program does. The technology is in safe hands with us. We don’t plan on building a bomb, but if someone else does, we’ll build a bigger one. It’ll be the Cold War all over.”
“How do you know another country doesn’t have similar programs?”
“They do. It’s not as big a secret as you might imagine. All the signs exist that others are aware. Half a dozen countries are building shuttles for lunar landings. What they don’t know is that the US — our program — has claimed ownership of the moon. They try and bring back helium-3 and we’ve got hoots that can stop them. I’m proud to be in this program. In a conscious state I don’t have the personal gratification of knowing how important my work is, but in this state … I’m a patriot … serving my country … and there’s nothing wrong with my mind, Lady.”
Liebowitz had opened their eyes not only to a secret underground facility, but a conglomerate of activities and technological secrets they were just beginning to understand. They wanted to learn about the technology associated with the lights in the sky, and discovered the hoots were but a blade of grass on another conspiratorial grassy knoll.
Despite wanting to stop the questioning and remove Liebowitz from the controlled state, Rebecca allowed Trace to pass more questions to here. They all wanted a better understanding of the helium-3 operation, so they accepted the risk and pushed a little further with their questions.
CHAPTER 38
Occasionally in summer months Mother Nature cranked her wind machine in reverse and eastern winds, warmed by the Mojave Desert, chapped lips, burned sinuses and tore branches from trees in what Californians called a Santa Ana.
A rustling tree and shaking window pain above Blake’s head woke him. Sheer darkness told him it was still the middle of night. An old alarm clock — the kind with three hands and a motor that buzzed — sat on the floor next to his futon. Its light was out and the motor had ceased its continual buzz at three-thirty-something. Rising, Blake stepped into a pair of boxers he had dropped beside the futon.
In the living room, the digital clock on the VCR was out too. Walking outside the apartment to investigate the power outage, Blake basked in the tranquility of the late night, enjoying the warm winds splashing against his bare chest and jostling his hair.
Glancing upward, he noticed something unusuaclass="underline" stars. He had never seen so many stars in the city. Most were usually washed out by lights and smog. For a few minutes he stared, mesmerized by the milky lights in the sky. He recalled figures from an astronomy class: the known universe contained forty billion galaxies. Forty billion. Each with countless stars. Some stars in the sky were in fact entire galaxies, so distant from Earth they appeared to Blake as a single speck of light.
Something moved in the shadows across the street. While studying the stars he had failed to notice a man seated on a motorcycle. He wondered how long he had been there, then wondered what he was doing there that late. Probably enjoying the rare moment like himself, he figured. Blake raised a hand, being a friendly neighbor, and the man returned the gesture.
Back inside his room, Blake dropped his boxers in their usual spot next to the futon and climbed under his sheet. Staring at the stars had put him in a philosophical state. He pondered his life, his purpose, and where he was going. He hoped things with the professor would work out.
The power returned after Blake fell back to sleep. A light just outside his bedroom window brightened the walkway along the side of the building. Without waking Blake, some light fell through his blinds into the room. A shadow was also cast through the blinds, the shadow of the man Blake had seen on the motorcycle.