DOUG DONNANExecutive Editor/OM-GEN+
'LYING ON THE MOON'
by
DOUG DONNAN
High Energy Astrophysics Science Archive Research Center
[1 week before the National Press Club
Conference]
“I think you’re nuts! That’s what I
think,” Doctor
Poole proclaimed as he swept
a fat hand over the pink dome
that was his bald head. “You
prance into the symposium
with that insane, cockamamie
story and you’ll be
laughed right out of the
place. No stars in the background,
different shadow projections
and secret filming stages out
in the middle of some barren
desert,” he continued in a fit
of frustration as he paced
all about and around the dimly
lit interior of the
observatory control room. He hesitated
and then turned to face the
Associated Press investigative
reporter Conrad Finch who
was trying to follow him with
cold blue eyes as the diminutive,
white smocked Dr. Poole
performed his wandering
parade.
“You say the astronauts from all those
moon missions
refuse to talk about their
historic visits to the Moon. I mean…
why?” he threw up his
arms like some great flapping bird.
“It’s simply preposterous
Conrad. You mean to stand there
and tell me that NASA, the
United States government and
everyone else involved with
all those Apollo missions made
the whole damn thing up?
They lied to all of us? You’re
telling me that we never
went to or landed on the moon?”
“I know it seems unbelievable Trent, but
the proof is
in the pudding,” Finch
replied as he now flung out his
arms in
kind. “I’ve got some documentation from the
archives…some
unbelievable letters and photos that have
never been
seen before…by outsiders!”
“Where
in the hell is all this stuff…evidence if you
will, of
yours?” Poole asked tersely. “I’d like to have a
look at it
or is that confidential? Perhaps it’s all the
stuff of
some soon-to-be blockbuster book you’re writing?”
Finch
put his bony index finger up to his lips in a
gesture
for silence. He swept a pensive look around the
room and
then back down at the rotund Doctor Poole. As he
took a pad
of paper from a nearby work table, he motioned
for Poole
to join him. The wary Finch began to scribble
down some
furtive details with a ballpoint pen that he
slid out
of his shirt pocket:
_______________________________
o o o
We can’t go back to the Moon—we’ve never been there!
I think I have some hard proof—
I’ll show you—but not
here—meet me out by my car in
the parking garage—it’s a
blue Honda Accord.
Somebody isn’t real happy with me and all of this stuff
I’m getting into. I think they’re targeting me!!!
I have some of the so called Moon rocks out in my trunk—
I want to take one or two of them down to your lab here
and scan them.I’ve got my doubts about them…
but I’ll need your help!
________________________________________________
Poole read the note and then cocked
his head slightly.
His mouth now puckered into a
perfect hole much like the
small opening in a backyard
birdhouse. Finch crumpled up
the message and stuffed it
into his pants pocket.
“Moon Rocks?” Poole almost shouted. “Where
in the—”
Finch reached out and covered the little
astrophysicists
mouth with his hand. “Sssshh…trust
me on this. I’ll
go out first. You follow
along in five minutes. Okay?”
Poole garbled his agreement into Finch’s
fingers.
* *
*
He nervously raised his head up and took a
quick look
around the dimly lit concrete
parking area, then back down
into the gaping trunk of
Finch’s car. “Where in the hell
did you get these Finch?”
Poole asked almost in shock.
Finch held up one of the larger stones
there in the
pin-light of the shallow
trunk well. He quickly responded
to Poole’s obvious
apprehension. “Come on, let’s get out of
this place…I don’t like the
vibes I’m getting out here in
the dark,” he whispered as he
pushed two of the grainy gray
rocks into a small satchel.
He handed it to the trembling
astrophysicist.
“Oh terrific,” Poole whispered back in
mocking response.
“Now you’re a psychic too!”
“Come on,” Finch said as he lightly closed
the trunk.
“Let’s take these inside and
check them over, closely on
your state-of-the-art high
magnification segment scanner.”
“How do you know about the HMS?” Poole
asked in dis-
belief. “It’s highly secured
and we don’t let—”
“Evening gentlemen,” a voice broke in from
the other
side of the car. “It’s rather
late to be cavorting around
out here in the dark of
night. This is private property.
Are you all affiliated with
the research center?”
“Cavorting?” Poole snapped back in an
uneasy reflexive
yelp. “I my redoubtable young
man happen to be Doctor Trent
W. Poole. I am the chief
resident astrophysicist here at
HEASARC and this gentleman is
my good friend from the
Associated Press Mr. Conr—”
“You have papers?” the dark figure cut him
off again.
“Papers?” Finch chided as he straightened
up and
squinted into the dark at the
man. His lantern jaw was set
and his mouth appeared to be
more of a sinister slit or
gash than anything else. His
looming presence there in the
shadows ominously announced…not
to be fooled with.
“Identification,” he countered coldly as
he stepped
around along side them there
at the rear of the car. “Well,
well, what have we here?” he
said as he scanned Poole’s
little tote bag with a quick
draw of a little flashlight he
was carrying and then quickly
looked over at Finch as the
trunk lid popped open
suddenly.
PHLUNKK!
“He’s out cold! Nice work Poole old bean.
You finally
found a use for those damn
rocks,” Finch exclaimed as he
clapped the puffing
astrophysicist on the back. “Let’s roll
him into the trunk. We’ll
deal with him later.”
“Oh sweet Jesus,” Poole sighed deeply as
he slung
the bag over his shoulder.
“What next?”
“Let’s go get those little guys under your
new super
duper scope and see what
they’re made of,” Finch replied
as he shut the trunk again.
“That’s what’s next.”
So with Poole leading the way they made
off across
the lot heading for the
research and diagnostic building.
* *
*
“It’s just down this corridor and
to the right,”
Poole gasped as though he had
just run the Boston Marathon.
“I have a priority pass card
right here,” he wheezed as he
pulled a black plastic card
from his shirt pocket.
“Here we go,” Finch called out as they
turned the far
corner.
________________________
RESEARCH & DIAGNOSTICS 88
____________________
As they stood there in front of the
large gray metal door
Poole dragged his card
through the slot of the electronic
lock box and then keyed in
his ID code. “Papers…indeed!”
he said under his heaving
breath. He looked over at Finch
who was studying the click
and whir of the little overhead
surveillance camera.
“Those damn cameras are everywhere,” Poole
said as he
shouldered open the door.
They scurried inside and whirled
about foolishly in
the dark until Poole finally
located the light switch.
“The HMS is just over there,”
he shouted as he pointed off
into the corner of the
immense white-tiled room. “It’s
quite a piece of equipment,”
he announced with pride.
“We put these stones under
her piercing eyes and she’ll
tell us everything we want to
know…and then some.”
“Come on then,” Finch replied as he
grabbed the bag
from Poole, “Let’s get
started. I got a feelin’ that that
strange man in black back in
the garage was just one of
many who want to get their
hands on these crazy rocks.”
“Okay—okay,” Poole said as he rolled his
eyes. “But
this had all better be worth
it because even I’m not supposed
to have access to the HMS
without…
But Finch was gone, dodging around
this table of computers
and that bench of robotic
machinery as he went.
* *
*
Poole had put the first rock through its
paces under
the HMS and although its
shape and texture did seem rather
peculiar at first, the
readings did scan and print out just
as expected; aluminum,
titanium, magnesium and very slight
traces of iron ore. Poole
pushed his wire rim reading
glasses up into the broad
beam of his forehead and looked
up at an apprehensive Conrad
Finch. “I don’t know what you
expect to find here Finch,”
he sighed as he held out the
long tickertape-like HMS
print strip. “It all looks pretty
legit.”
“Here,” Finch snapped back as he held out
the other
Moon rock, “try this one.”
Poole swiveled around in the wheeling work
chair and
accepted the unusually light
second stone. He studied it
in his hand for a second and
then looked back up at Finch.
“You sure this one is from the Moon
batch?” he asked.
“Quite sure,” Finch replied. “In fact,
it’s almost a
perfect example of the whole
bunch.”
“Hmmm,” Poole mused as he placed
the rock on the HMS
feeding assembly belt. The
machine issued a series of soft
clicks and hisses and then
accepted the dark object into
it’s interior. And just as it
slid down the conveyor belt
an eruption of pounding and
kicking came from way back at
the laboratory entrance door.
“What the hell is that?” Poole yelped as
he jumped to
his feet.
“Sounds like we’ve got company,”
Finch answered as
he craned a look back at the
rattling gray door. “Can
they get in?”
If that’s who I think it is, some more of
those
sinister… parking lot
attendants and some of our crack
security guards, they won’t
be using cardkeys and codes
to get in here! We’ve
probably still got some time though.
That door is solid.”
The ruckus outside the lab grew ever
louder as the
HMS tongued out its next
strip of analytical hard copy.
Poole studied it as it fed
out. The results seemed about
the same as the first rock;
patches of iron, with large
deposits of aluminum,
magnesium, and titanium. He
handed it to Finch.
“Can’t this contraption of yours just zoom
in on this
damn thing and tell us what
it…sees?” he asked as he threw
out his arms in frustration.
“We’ve got all those elements
right here on Earth. Get this
big dog to sniff up close.
I want to know what it sees.”
“Yes, yes,” Poole said with his
fear and irritation
growing by the second. “All
we have to do is merge the
electron scanner with the
laser video feed and then—
“Just do it dammit!” Finch yelled.
After Poole made the necessary adjustments
to the HMS
it began to tic out a stream
of a perfectly boring gray
lines. One after the other
did the readings offer them nothing
out of the ordinary and then,
just at the very end, just before
the door was about to blow
it’s hinges.
“Oh my God!” Poole called out in shock as
if he had
just seen a ghost. Finch leaned
down and squinted a look.
“There’s your proof old bean,” he almost
shouted as
he slapped the astrophysicist
on the back. “Now that’s one
giant ‘lie’ for mankind!”
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