Chapter 1 - Time Stent

From Time Stent - Chapter 1





Dr. Elliott Grant reflected sourly on the ways of political life in the Capitol. When he had taken the post of Senior Science Advisor three years earlier he would not have believed the demands on his time when serving at the will of the President. And, he could not have imagined the toll these demands of time would take on his health and his marriage. From too many late evenings eating fast food takeout at his desk, his once trim and healthy physique had slowly degenerated into that of an out-of-shape bureaucrat with high blood pressure and an extra twenty pounds saddled around his middle. Tonight, he sat ensconced alone at the end of a crowded bar barely noticing the noisy happy-hour and early dinner crowd inside one of the many trendy Capitol restaurants.

His splitting headache had been slowly building in intensity for an hour. He blamed job and home stress. With one hand, he massaged his pounding temples. And with the other hand he idly swirled the golden brown liquor he had been nursing. Neither action seemed to be taking the edge off his pain.

Halfway through his fourth glass of adult refreshment his cell phone vibrated in his coat pocket. Wearily he fished it out and stared at the screen reading the caller ID. It was the President’s Office, of course. Since he and his wife had finally separated weeks earlier, hardly anyone else called this private cell number.

He looked at his half empty glass and then at the cell phone. He regretted ordering this last drink. Taking a deep breath, he answered.

“Elliott Grant.”

“Dr. Grant, this is the President’s Office,” a female voice replied. “Sir, the Capitol Police called. They are urgently trying to reach you. Your wife has been involved in a traffic accident, and she has been taken to Federal Hospital.”

A lump formed in Dr. Grant’s throat and the warm fog the liquor had induced partially cleared. “Is she badly injured?”

“The Capitol Police didn’t provide details; however, they asked that you immediately go to the hospital’s emergency room.”

“Thank you. I’ll go at once.”

The cab ride to Federal Hospital was a total blur to Grant. He was startled when the cab stopped at the Emergency Room entrance. He peeled off the necessary currency to pay for the fare, passed it to the driver, and hurried inside.

Moments later Grant stood outside an emergency trauma room peering through the door’s window at a team of physicians and nurses that were frantically and methodically attending to a female figure lying motionless on a bed. He could tell from their urgent actions that the woman had a serious medical condition. Abruptly the trauma room filled with the shrill sounds of sensor alarms. The urgent actions, if possible, went faster than before.

A sweat broke out on Grant’s forehead. Although he and his wife had grown more distant in the past few years, his memories of better times surfaced and a wave of emotion washed over him. He felt weak in his knees and lightheaded at the same time. Just as abruptly the shrill alarms stopped. The trauma team stopped their ministrations and began angrily stripping off their soiled bio safety gowns and protective gloves tossing them into waiting waste receptacles.

A frustrated tall man in blue scrubs shoved the door open and nearly bowled Grant over. His quick reflexes grabbed Grant as he fell backwards.

“I’m so sorry!” the tall man blurted. “Did I hurt you? Are you OK?”

Grant couldn’t respond. He looked through the open door at the body of his wife. Someone was draping a sheet over her inert body. All of the remaining color drained from Grant’s face as his knees finally gave way. The tall man tightened his grip and held Grant up.

“Help! I need some help here,” the tall man shouted. Almost at once someone pushed a wheelchair behind Grant and several sets of arms helped him to sit.

“Are you hurt?” the tall man questioned Grant in concern as he flashed a small flashlight into Grant’s eyes to test their responsiveness.

The question slowly resonated in Grant’s consciousness and he finally shook his head ‘no’ as his awareness of where he was came back. He slowly pointed towards the trauma room. “That’s my wife,” he croaked.

The tall man realized that Grant was in shock. “I’m so very sorry about...er...I apologize, sir, I don’t even know your wife’s name.”

“Emily. Her name is Emily. My name is Elliott,” he stammered. “Elliott Grant.”

“Mr. Grant, I want you to know we did everything we could. We simply ran out of time to fix all of her injuries.”

“What happened to Emily?”

“The paramedics said she was hit by a car in a crosswalk downtown. I don’t know anything about what caused the accident itself. I’m sure there is a policeman around here somewhere that can tell you more. Can I get you anything? Would you like some water?”

Grant weakly shook his head yes and a cup was placed in his hand by someone. He gulped it down and nodded for more.

“How badly was Emily hurt?”

“I honestly don’t know the full extent of her internal injuries. We were addressing the obvious trauma symptoms first as fast as we could. I’m pretty sure she’s been unconscious since the accident and I don’t think she ever felt any pain, if that’s worrying you. We just ran out of time. I’m sorry for your loss Mr. Grant.”

Grant turned away from Emily’s body and looked directly at the tall doctor kneeling beside his wheelchair for the first time. Grant could see that the man was physically spent from his efforts trying to save his wife. Grant extended his hand. “Thank you for trying. I know you did your best. Everyone on your team worked very hard. I know. I watched.”

The tall doctor accepted his proffered hand and shook it firmly. “I appreciate your kindness. I truly wish the outcome had been different. Would you like to be with your wife now?”

“Can I?”

“Certainly.” The tall doctor pushed his wheelchair into the trauma room and gently pulled the sheet back reveling Emily’s face. There was a small blood splatter on her cheek and the doctor gently wiped it away with the sheet.

Emily Grant looked like she was sleeping. Elliott sought her hand and pulled it out from under the sheet. Her bloody hand was already growing cold. Grant broke down sobbing uncontrollably. The perceived significant differences they had fought about in recent months now seemed insignificant and trivial. He grieved bitterly over time needlessly lost. If he could only find a way to turn back time, he would do things differently, he vowed.

* * *

“Elliott, are you sure you’re ready to get back to work? It’s only been a few weeks since Emily’s funeral,” Jackson Clarke sincerely asked.

         “Your concern is appreciated, Mr. President. Since Emily’s death, I’ve become increasingly aware how fragile time is. I foolishly wasted precious time with Emily, and I regret many personal choices I made. I vowed in her memory not to waste time but to move forward paying more attention to life.

“I have a new appreciation for the importance of time. We have so many important things left to do to complete your administration’s science agenda. I don’t want to look back at the end of your Presidency and regret not making the best use of the time we have. I need to get back to work for you, Mr. President.

“Well, I think you should take more time off Elliott. I know from personal experience that it is a tough thing to lose someone you love. But, it’s your decision. Listen, if you encounter a rocky patch, and you find you need a few days here or there, you have my approval in advance. Just let me know.”

“Thank you Mr. President. I think work is exactly the tonic I need.”

* * *

Entering his office for the first time in weeks, Grant shook his head in disbelief seeing his desk piled high with mail and the thick stacks of project updates and agency reports arranged neatly on the adjacent credenza.

Two plants with their pots wrapped in dark green foil and adorned with the white ribbons typical of funeral arrangements were sitting on the window ledge behind the credenza. Grant plucked the delivery envelopes from plastic placards protruding from each plant’s foliage and slid out both note cards. These were condolence messages from members of his staff. He tossed the cards into the waste basket. Since the funeral, he had grown weary of everybody being polite to him, and he was equally weary of being polite in return. It was time to get back to work and leave that dreary emotion behind.

Every night the previous two weeks, he had tormented dreams of running a futile race down countless city blocks in an effort to reach Emily and stop her from entering a downtown crosswalk.

Last night, a forgotten memory surfaced that changed and altered his traumatic dream. He found a new path – one that could save time – a shortcut. And, when he arrived at the crosswalk in time to stop Emily, he successfully pulled her back from the path of a speeding car. He awoke crying tears of joy. There was a path to save his beloved Emily. His new singular plan of action had begun crystallizing after his dream.

Grant pushed the mail pile to one side clearing space on his desk. Rifling through a file drawer in his desk, he extracted a thick file that was pertinent to his plan – his glimmer of hope. Grant eagerly spread the file contents out. He reviewed his notes and documents with a different attitude than he had before. His perceptions about this specific government-sponsored science project had been forever altered.

Grant recalled vividly a fateful meeting three years earlier. He closed his eyes and calculated his probability of success.

* * *

Three Years Earlier



“Dr. Grant, that’s quite an incredible accusation,” said Jackson Clarke. This moment represented the rare exception when Clarke, the newly sworn-in President, had been at a loss for words. Out of character, he loosened his red and blue striped tie and unbuttoned the top button of his starched white shirt.

The hastily convened closed-door meeting had been called by the President at the urging of Dr. Grant, the President’s newly appointed Senior Science Advisor and a member of the President’s transition team to the Federal Budget Office. Grant, sitting on the President’s left, grinned with the smug expression of one who had just exposed a dirty little political secret. Grant, a former University Science Department head, Capitol ‘outsider,’ and political virgin, reveled in the attention.

Four high-level executive space program administrators flanked three stoic and stone-faced Generals in neatly pressed dark blue formal dress uniforms. Three senior-ranking Legislators sat on the other side of the Generals. All, but the Generals, sat with mouths agape, equally stunned.

“Dr. Grant you’re telling me that our Government just successfully completed a clandestine lunar mission?” the President fumed. “I suppose you have proof? Who authorized this mission? I just spent two terms in our Federal Legislature and I don’t recall a lunar mission ever being in the space budget, nor did I receive a briefing on this matter – and I believe I would have remembered a discussion about a new - and expensive – lunar mission! Why am I just learning about this today?”

The Chairman of the Generals, General Thomas McMaster, answered the President in a commanding voice and a partially raised hand. ““Mr. President, Dr. Grant does not have the proper security clearance to discuss this topic. Nor does he understand the full scope and context of the project. Few in this room do.

“I had planned to discuss and debrief this topic and other sensitive subjects during our scheduled formal debriefing sessions next week; but, Dr. Grant pressed this meeting prematurely for his unknown reasons.” McMaster turned and stared unblinking into Grant’s eyes until Grant blinked first and quickly looked away. McMaster noted with a measure of satisfaction that Grant was now sweating and that his smug look had completely faded.

McMaster turned his attention back to the President. “Yesterday, you took the oath of office as our Civilian Commander-in-Chief. Today, you have a ‘need-to-know’ about this and other programs; and, a need-to-know about their implications to our Federal Security. Do you want to excuse Dr. Grant and any others before I review the classified materials?  You optionally can grant them access by Executive Order.”

President Clarke’s mind raced. The meeting had taken an abrupt twist -again.

After a decision moment, Clarke answered. “Since Dr. Grant made me aware of this matter, I suppose it would only be fitting if he is kept in the loop. This could be a valuable learning lesson on how our government works,” Clarke said.

“Yes sir. As you wish.” McMaster nodded to the General sitting on his right who opened a manila folder with red security status tape rimming its edges. He extracted a piece of paper and slid it across the conference table to the President.

“This confidentiality agreement needs to be signed by everyone in this room and it will go into the program’s file as part of our documented security paper trail. This agreement affirms that the information I am about to reveal is classified at the absolute highest level and that any disclosure of this information is subject to harsh penalties as prescribed by the Federal Secrets Act. Further, your signature is your consent that the Federal Government has the continuing and full authority to use whatever means are necessary to keep these materials secret including sanctions, imprisonment, and even the threat of death, if deemed necessary.”

McMaster faced each man at the table individually. The color had drained from almost everyone’s face.

“General McMaster, this is highly unusual,” Clarke stated after he nervously cleared his throat. “I’ve received many high-level classified briefings and I’ve never been subjected to anything like this. And, I am now the President and I am cleared for everything.”

“No Sir, I’m sure you haven’t received this treatment before. Though you office and position may be cleared for nearly everything, there are exceptions and this is one of them. This project is a very special case and it requires very special treatment. I am aware of only four projects in the entire history of our Federation with this level of secret classification.

“This is rare, I agree. However, it is my sworn duty to enforce the secrets statues and their full consequences. If anyone has a problem with their name being included on this agreement, they should leave the room now. That includes you Mr. President.”

This was the first time Dr. Grant had never been threatened with possible death and he sat speechless. The cocky and sure demeanor when he had entered the President’s Executive Conference Room had been replaced with one of anxiety and uncertainty. He could not think of a graceful way to exit the room without forfeiting his clout within the new Administration.

Grant watched as the President extracted a fountain pen and signed his name to the agreement with a flourish. Clarke passed the agreement and pen to Dr. Grant and watched closely for signs of hesitation or weakness.

With a barely concealed sigh of resignation, Dr. Grant picked up the pen and signed his name. He then passed the pen and agreement across the table to the Space Administration executives as if it were a hot potato.

After everyone had signed, McMaster placed the fully executed agreement back into its manila folder and slid the expensive fountain pen to the President.

The President took the proffered pen and returned it to his inside coat pocket. “I’m curious about the other four projects you referenced, General McMaster. Is this classification still in effect?”

“Two are no longer classified at this level due to passage of time, Mr. President. I can tell that you that those two date back to when the World was at War. I am allowed to say that the first project regarded the massive and secret preparations for a military invasion on another continent. The other regarded the creation of certain atomic weapons. As for the two remaining projects, let’s leave that conversation for another day Mr. President.”

* * *

McMaster paused gathering his thoughts. “Yes, I can confirm there was a lunar mission. However, this was not a Space Administration program mission. They are off the hook on this one. Both the Space Administration and the Federal Budget Office were kept out of the loop on this project from the beginning because of Federal Security concerns, which I can elaborate on later, if needed.

“Sir, this classified mission was led by the Air Force Space Wing Command. This mission was many years in the making and it has always had full support from our legislative branch of government and the Office of the President.”

McMaster paused again and studied the faces across the table making sure they understood the ramifications of his statement. “Sir, when you were a Legislator, you had been briefed that certain special-op projects engaged by the military were never listed as line items in the budget, correct?” Clarke nodded yes in response.

“This is one of those special-op projects. Members of both the Military and Technology Legislative Committees were confidentially briefed during the planning and funding stages. Every committee member validated their support in writing for this project. The military branches adhered to the full letter of our Federal oversight laws and we have supporting documentation.

“For reasons that will become apparent in a moment, most of the approving legislators are not with us today because they are either dead, or they long ago retired and left government service.

“This project began when you and I, Mr. President, were still in elementary school. This project was approved and was classified then as an ‘ultra-sensitive, eyes-only, need-to-know top-secret program.’ The second phase of this project’s planned multiple phases was finally concluded last week. It was forty years in the planning, construction, and execution. There are more phases yet to come,” McMaster said.

“Alright, let’s begin. Perhaps it would be simpler for everyone to understand if I showed the catalyst that started this project.” McMaster extracted a portable data device from a pocket and plugged it into a computer data port. He keyed a few password strokes to access the contents of the portable data drive. Moments later, iconic images, representing electronic file folders, were displayed like a menu on the large high definition screen mounted on a wall.

“The genesis of this program is traced to an April event 40 years ago. Do any of you remember anything significant that happened in April 40 years ago?” McMaster asked.

“I personally think I was playing T-ball in the first grade and I learned about its significance much later,” McMaster said.

One of the senior Space Administration program administrators, Dr. James Randall, leaned forward in his chair. “Well, I remember that month as one of our finest hours. We brought one of our ill-fated Apollo lunar missions home successfully.”

McMaster nodded in satisfaction. “I’m not surprised you remembered that fact about your agency, Dr. Randall. Anyone else?” he paused, looking from face to face.

“Actually, Dr. Randall is right on the money.” McMaster stood and gestured to the screen. “This represents a collection of photo images captured by one of the Apollo mission crew forty years ago.

“You may recall from your high school history class that this Apollo mission experienced an oxygen tank explosion while in route. Unable to fire rockets to return, the Apollo command module used lunar gravity to slingshot back to earth on a free-return trajectory. They made a historic safe landing.

“At that time, publically everyone expressed severe disappointment that the crew of that Apollo mission was not able to complete their lunar mission as planned. History has written their lunar mission was a failure. Actually, nothing could be further from the truth.

“Here’s the set-up. There have been over 100 lunar missions in the past 40-years. Every mission has always looked down studying the lunar surface and has never looked out – away from the surface. And would they? The lunar surface was the primary focus.

“The damaged Apollo command module was not able to control its flight orientation and it was constantly in a slow roll on one axis, sort of like a cement mixer turning, only turning very slowly.  On the far lunar side, for part of the transit voyage, the view was not looking down at the far side of the lunar surface; but, instead was looking out, away from the surface. This is the irony of the mission. If the craft had not been damaged and oriented accidentally in this direction, then we still might be in the dark.”

McMaster opened the first electronic file. The screen faded from black to a field of dazzling starlight.

“This is an image taken looking out and away from the far lunar side. Nothing too exciting at first glance is there? Let me direct your attention to the small flare of light on the right of the screen that resembles an elongated diamond. The Apollo crew later testified in a confidential signed debriefing statement that at first they thought the flare of light was an optical distortion caused by the camera lens. Sometimes light refracts in camera lenses and produces odd-looking flare patterns.” McMaster clicked a key and a second image appeared.

“In this image, the command module has now traveled hundreds of miles in just a few moments time. They captured the small flare of light again. This time, the image of the flair was larger – here on the right side of the photo. The crew commander stated that he realized then that the flare must have been the result of light reflecting off of something in nearby space. He wrote that his first instinct was that it must be a damaged piece of the command module flying in tandem with them. He wanted to document what the errant piece might be; so, he zoomed his camera lens in for a closer look. This is what he found and this is what started this entire project.”

Gasps erupted from the Space administrators. They immediately knew the object in the image could not be space debris from an Apollo command module. It was far too large.

President Clarke stood up and walked to the wall-mounted screen to get a closer look. The object had a curved, half-round shape on one side and a flat side on the other. Against the stark black of space, the object had a dull and tarnished bronze-tinted patina which resembled a full slice of a ruby-red grapefruit cut in half. The surface of the object seemed worn smooth of any definitive features.

“What is that?” asked Clarke.

“That is the question that we’ve grappled with for over forty years Mr. President. This is not debris from an Apollo command module or any other mission to the Moon by any country. We didn’t have any answers until last week when it was retrieved.”

The President’s head snapped around as if he had been slapped. “The mission was to bring this thing to earth?”

“Yes sir,” McMaster answered.

“The Apollo command module flew in range of that object only once before it traveled back to Earth. This was the crew’s last image. However, as part of this program’s special mandate, we’ve piggy-backed some of its secret mission profile onto other lunar missions since the Apollo flights. For example, do you recall when the Space Administration deliberately crashed a lunar satellite probe, and, from that experiment, determined water was present?”

“I don’t remember the specifics of the mission; but, I do remember that water was detected,” Clarke replied nodding.

“Accompanying the satellite probe that crashed into the lunar surface was the LRO, the Lunar Reconnaissance Orbiter. This satellite had many sophisticated instruments that measured the plume of debris churned up by the probe’s impact, which is how the Space Administration confirmed water was present.

“From time to time, the Air Force Space Wing Command has ‘borrowed’ use of the LRO’s camera and reoriented the craft’s instruments to look up instead of down. Here is one of the more recent images that the LRO captured.”

The next photo showed a far sharper view of the star field and a thin crescent sliver of the lunar surface at the bottom of the frame. The optical resolution was better focused and much clearer than the Apollo images. The President searched the image intently; but, nothing jumped out immediately to his untrained eye.

“I’m sorry, I don’t see anything,” Clarke stated.

McMaster pointed to the center of the screen and made the motion of a circle with his finger indicating an area of interest. “Focus on this area. Does that help?”

The President leaned in and studied the image. He could see nothing out of the ordinary. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing,” he said.

McMaster gestured for the next image and while the next image was of the same orientation, something was different. “This is the same view taken with an ultraviolet light filter which captures reflective heat signatures better.”

The President looked again and did a double-take. There was not just one detectable half-moon shaped object. There were four identical objects almost symmetrically spaced apart.

“Based on this orientation, we believe there may have originally been six objects that were equally spaced about half a mile apart in a hex-shaped pattern.” McMaster motioned again and a six-sided image of a hexagon, with red lines connecting the hex points, was superimposed over the remaining four objects. The objects were almost perfectly aligned. “Two of the objects are missing from the suggested formation. They may have drifted off or they may have been knocked away at some point by an asteroid or some other event; but, we’re speculating on that point.”

Dr. James Randall, the senior Space administrator, joined the two men unasked at the high resolution monitor and asked the key questions on everyone’s mind. “Who put those there and when?”

McMaster folded his arms and faced the two men. “Our file said those were almost exactly the same words that the President used forty years ago; and, those words, gentlemen, is what set this entire project in motion – to find the answers.”

McMasters ticked off a series of questions in rapid fire. “Who placed these objects in orbit? When were they placed there? Why were they placed there? What is their purpose? Until last week we didn’t have any answers. Now, we have a few answers; but, we also have more questions.”

“Alright, what do you know?” asked the President.

“Sir, I think most of what we know will become self-evident in a moment,” said General McMaster as he returned to this seat and took control of the computer.

“First, let me tell you about the recovery process. We’re pretty proud of it. The Air Force Space Wing Command operations center at Vandenberg Air Force Base launched a Black Star shuttle from a mobile launch platform ship in the middle of the Pacific three weeks ago. This new shuttle features our latest generation of stealth technology.”

“Pardon me, General,” Dr. Grant interrupted in a condescending tone. “Why does the Air Force Space Wing Command operate and need stealth shuttles? I thought space shuttles were a thing of the past because of their expense.”

“The primary mission of the Black Star shuttle is to service our many reconnaissance satellites. This capability has allowed us to refurbish and upgrade our satellites rather than letting them fail and fall back to earth. It has proven to be a tremendous way to save money, which I’m sure you can appreciate Dr. Grant.

“This capability improves and lengthens the life of our surveillance assets. We used Space Administration shuttles for decades for this purpose until we built our own shuttles after the Space Administration shuttle program concluded. Being able to do this refurbishment task without anyone watching has been a significant tactical advantage. Our shuttle project had been approved by previous administrations with no reservations.”

“To continue, the mission crew and shuttle craft performed flawlessly. The operational aspect of the lunar voyage was outstanding. Our first mission surprise came when we closely approached the first object. Not only did the targets have familiar-looking grappling holds for our shuttle’s robotic capture arm; but, the target objects fit perfectly in the cargo bay holding area, almost as if they had been made to custom fit there by design. Fortunately, this made securing the objects much easier than expected for the return flight.”

“Once the shuttle returned to earth, we transported the recovered objects to a safe and secure location for inspection and quarantine.” McMaster noted. “In our first preliminary examination of the object, we encountered a second surprise.”

The next image showed a magnified view of the object’s surface, which appeared to have been buffed and worn nearly smooth with occasional pits and scaring as if it had been subjected to a tremendous erosive force that had sanded and erased all significant details away. If the surface had been painted at one time, it was impossible to tell.

“Look at this area here. See this faint groove? Beside this groove is what looks like a dimple-like impression on the left. We have ascertained this is a fastener used during construction. And, that fastener, gentlemen, we believe is a MIL601.”

Legislator Willis spoke up befuddled. “MIL601? What’s that?”

“An MIL601 is a standard military-grade pan head machine screw. It is the common fastener we use in constructing satellites and building our military aircraft today,” McMaster stated.

The President opened his mouth as if to say something; but, he changed his mind before he started and closed his mouth instead. After a moment more he finally asked. “Ok, General, there must be a twist to this story. Things must not be as they first seem. So, how long has this object been in a lunar orbit?”

McMaster actually grinned. “That is an excellent question, Mr. President. We can’t pinpoint the exact length of time to the day; but, we have deduced a reasonable estimate.

“Let me tell you what we found. We performed a metal analysis and found an aluminum-alloy casing that was mostly void inside except for a thick, rock-hard crusted layer on the side closest to the lunar surface. We carefully cut open the object and we performed multiple tests on that crust layer. We found sophisticated chemical compounds and trace mineral elements, including chlorine, silicon, and gold.”

“And, then gentlemen, we found the solid evidence we needed for dating the object. We found beryllium-10 and boron isotopes, which can be accurately dated by radioactive half-life technology. The Beryllium-10 isotope has a known measurable half-life of 1.36 million years. Using standard half-life dating calculations, we reasonably think the beryllium we found has been in space about 65 million years, give or take a millennium.”

The President shook his head as if trying to focus his thinking. “Let me see if I understand you correctly. On one hand, you say that little dimple on the screen maybe a military fastener commonly used today; and, on the other hand, you say the beryllium inside the object may have been there for 65 million years? How can that be possible? This technology didn’t exist 65 million years ago!”

Dr. Randall, the Space Administration administrator, spoke up as he shrugged his shoulders. “The only logical answer is that at some point in our future, we will develop the capability to go backwards in time. Mankind placed those objects in lunar orbit.”

Dr. Grant couldn’t contain himself any longer. “You can’t be serious! That’s ridiculous! Time travel isn’t possible! That’s science fiction stuff! There must be a mistake or some other logical explanation.”

“Actually, we can’t think of any other plausible explanation, Dr. Grant,” McMaster noted.

“Space is an interesting place to store things. There is nothing but cosmic dust and cosmic wind to disturb an object in geosynchronous orbit on the lunar far side. The objects were even shielded from the pull of earth’s gravity. Objects in lunar orbit heat up when in sunlight to over 200 degrees and cool down to -455 in the sun’s shadow. We theorize that the prolonged heating and cooling over millennia caused the interior component ‘guts’ to become brittle and eventually crack or flake apart. Combined with a weak lunar gravity field over millions of years, we believe the materials gradually broke down until eventually they reverted back into mostly elementary components. Over time these materials slowly congealed inside the object’s frame to form a rock-like crust on the side closest to a lunar surface. This rock-like material acted like a type of hardened cement holding the object’s original exterior shape intact. As for the beryllium, it can be harnessed to provide nuclear power for communication satellites today.

“Let me direct your attention to another view from the interior. When we subjected this dusty square found in the void part of the object to closer observation by an electron microscope, it revealed an even more critical clue,” McMaster stated.

Legislator Willis spoke up. “What did you find?”

“Sir, we found a maker’s mark. This was the manufacturer’s fabrication information plate, which had been engraved and stamped with construction information and dates. Under microscopic examination, this plate revealed that construction of this object will be completed by a company called Network & Space Systems eighteen years into our future,” McMaster said.

McMaster sat down and turned off the computer and returned the portable data device to his pocket. “Mr. President, this is all we know so far. The insides of all four recovered objects reveal the same pertinent data. We have no idea what these objects were constructed to do or why.

“As of today, no known private or public company exists with the name Network & Space Systems. No military branch has programs that resemble these objects in development, nor does the Space Administration have lunar mission profiles in development.

“This is one of those incredibly rare moments when we know empirically both what will happen in the future and what did happen in the past - to the same physical object. But, there is still a lot we don’t know.”

Dr. Grant leaned forward in confusion. “I don’t understand. What does this all mean?”

Willis answered. “Why, no one can say what it means for certain Dr. Grant. Not yet, anyway. But, I’ll enlighten you with what it means to me from a seasoned political perspective. There are lots of intelligent inferences that can be made counting backwards from a future construction date eighteen years into our future.

“The physical design, construction and testing of a custom-made satellite probably takes ten to twelve years to get through budget cycles. Lab development and prototypes probably take five to six years.

“Add up that time! This means that out there,” he gestured out the window, “possibly even today, someone may be first envisioning and designing these very objects to perform a yet unknown purpose,” Willis said.

The President nodded gravely. “We can’t wait years to find out. We need to proactively find that person now. This has become a top priority for this administration.”