Lost Contact (The Bridge Sequence Book One), Nathan Hystad [primary phonics books .TXT] 📗

“I know… but that was kind of the point. My parents always wanted me to do something big with my life, and to them that meant becoming a lawyer, or maybe a journalist for one of the big guys. After high school, instead of going to post-secondary straightaway, I left on a whim, not telling them where I was going. I ended up in Europe and spent the next nine months moving from one city to the next, visiting their museums, seeing exhibits, drinking wine, and eating like a queen.” She smirked, the action so natural on her.

“Sounds like you brought Daddy’s credit card,” I said, and she stiffened.

“My stepfather is a good man. He paid for me to do it, under the stipulation I’d come home to Manhattan and enroll at Columbia like he had. Seemed like a good deal. After witnessing so many wonderful things in Europe, art history made sense to me. He took it as an insult initially, but we’re good. It was a long time ago.”

“Did you ever use it?” I asked.

“The degree? Nah. But I can tell you the difference between Monet’s brushstrokes in the Garden at Sainte-Andresse and in Water Lilies. I ended up with a guy that owned a mechanic shop on Long Island, and worked on city truck engines for a year before deciding that joining the Air Force was a good way to see the world.”

She was full of surprises. “I assume that’s where you learned to fly?”

“Yep. Spent a few years pulling soldiers from danger, but left and decided to work for a tour company in Hawaii. Flew the same route off Maui for three years, and as beautiful as it is, you can only make that trip so many times without it losing the luster.”

“That’s when you started this rich-kid company?”

“Social media made it possible, and once I had some socialite in Greece sharing the experience with the rest of her friends, it took off.”

I glanced at the TV and saw three blurry shapes in a dark backdrop. “Is that…”

“You guys have to see this!” Marcus’ voice carried loudly across the bar, and everyone turned to watch as my friend dashed past the hostess and landed at the bar beside Veronica. His laptop was open, and he pressed play on a paused video.

“We can make out three objects presently, and scientists are predicting there might be more. It seems as though the mysterious shapes are attached to one another and are separating as they travel across our solar system. Some are claiming it’s the end of days, others are hailing this as a miracle, but the scientific community is still urging everyone to be calm until more details can be determined,” the serious newscaster said. A banner rolled along the bottom of the screen: Doomsday or Deliverance?

“Three of them,” I whispered. “Where are they?”

Marcus tapped the mouse, and another screen opened with their predicted trajectory. They were slender and dark, like slivers of rock barreling past Pluto and onward. There were dates along the line heading for Earth, and it showed them nearing Uranus’ orbit. “If they continue at this pace, we can expect arrival within three months.”

“Three months. That’s not a lot of time.” I took a long pull from my glass and waved the bartender over, getting another round, and one for Marcus.

“And that’s if they don’t change speed again,” Marcus reminded me. He pressed play, and the broadcast cut to a woman questioning an elderly lady on the street in Chicago.

“This is our punishment. We’ve filled this world with war and greed. Guns and hatred, and we’re being judged for it,” the interviewee spat out.

“You think this is God’s will?” The journalist jabbed the microphone at the frantic lady.

“I don’t know about all that, but I for one welcome whoever is coming for us.” The screen flicked, and it showed the same interviewer talking to a man in a suit.

“What do you think of the Objects?” The Objects. That was the title given by the media. It was as good a moniker as any, I supposed.

“What are you talking about?” The guy held his coffee in one hand, a leather satchel draped over his shoulder.

“The mysterious asteroids heading for Earth,” she informed him.

“I don’t know what you’re saying. I’m more into the Cubs and my work. I’ll let the nerds watch the meteors or whatever.” He walked off, whistling for a taxi.

“As you can see, Bob, there are a variety of reactions to the news of these Objects, but I have a feeling that as word spreads, things will change shortly.”

The image returned to Bob at the anchor desk, and he looked afraid. “Yasmine, I think you’re correct. There are already talks of protests and marches in New York, Paris, London, Moscow, and right here in Chicago this weekend.”

Marcus closed the laptop, and I realized the bartender had already exchanged my empty glass for a full one. I took a sip.

“This is messed up,” Marcus said. “What if the Believers are right?”

I had a hard time accepting that. “The governments must know what they’re doing.”

“You’ve seen evidence to the contrary over the years, haven’t you?”

“Maybe Hunter has a contact in the—”

“In the what?” The billionaire had sneaked up behind us so quietly, no one even noticed. “Military? Homeland? Attorney’s office? Take your pick, I know someone, but what would you have me do? Walk in and tell them aliens are coming, and I might have the only lead on how we can prevent our utter destruction?”

I almost dropped my beer but recovered. “Wait. What did you just say?”

He pulled at a stool to my left, and I slid over, making room. “Why else are we doing this, Rex?”

“I thought you wanted to find this Bridge.”

“The whole purpose is to make contact. It always has been,” Hunter said.

“With whom?” Veronica asked.

“We don’t know, but Hardy had countless theories. He anticipated that we’d been visited by otherworldly beings thousands of years ago.