Phobian Dreams

By Efrain Palermo

It’s the year 2065 and an image transmitted from a satellite in orbit around Mars’ moon Phobos appears to have the words “HELP ME” stomped out on the surface. Neither NASA nor any other space program have sent a manned mission to Mars...whose boot prints are they, and how did they get there? So begins the tale of a dreamer, the government that tried to shut him down, and an adventure that spans across interplanetary space and poses questions about mankind’s role in our solar system.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Efrain Palermo
• Release date: Oct 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370340958

Efrain Palermo

Efrain Palermo is an inventor, author and writer. He was born in Brooklyn, New York on April 26, 1954 to Puerto Rican parents. Fascinated by space and science from an early age, he has pursued those interests throughout his life. When the Mars rover missions began their study of Mars, he became interested in the images stored in NASA’s archives and, after extensive research of those photos, he discovered a correlation between the dark streaks of Mars and water on its surface. He then co-authored a paper on the ‘seeps’ of Mars and presented it to the Mars Society Convention at Stanford University in 2001. In September of 2015, NASA announced ‘their’ discovery of flowing water in the streaks of Mars, which correlated with Palermo’s paper from fourteen years earlier. Mr. Palermo also popularized an unusual rock formation he discovered when he studied a close-up image of Phobos taken by the Mars Global Surveyor satellite. The formation became known as the monolith of Phobos, which Efrain later discussed on the Discovery Channel’s television show “NASA’s Unexplained Files” (“Life in Hell,” 2015, Season 2, Episode 1.) Efrain Palermo lives in Portland, Oregon. This is his second novel and he is currently working on the sequel to his first novel Alien Cartel, as well as completing the invention of a magnetic drive system he developed from his attempt to win the Sikorsky Human Powered Helicopter competition.

Book preview

Phobian Dreams

Efrain Palermo

Dedicated to the Mireyas of the world

Published by Exoplanetary Press • Copyright © 2016 by Efrain Palermo

Cover design by Efrain Palermo

All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious, and any

resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,

recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of Efrain Palermo.

All Rights Reserved. ISBN-13: 978-1533397652

Awaken maiden from Ares’ embrace

caught in the gravity of his love

asleep in a Phobian dream.

- Unknown author

Table of Contents

Foreword

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Afterword

Biography

Foreword

Writing this novel was like getting pregnant with an oops baby. I was in the middle of a long haul editing Tides of Retribution (the sequel to my first book Alien Cartel) so for a bit of creative fun I entered a short short story competition.

I figured I’d write a couple of pages, scratch the creative itch and get back to wrapping up Tides of Retribution. However, as soon as I outlined the story it jumped outside the parameters for the competition and it began to eat up pages like a hungry goat. I had no choice; I put aside the sequel and dove into Phobian Dreams. My handful of fans became annoyed with me when I went off on a tangent instead of wrapping up the next book in the Alien Cartel series. I was also lured by the competition’s prize - a free trip to Puerto Rico! Alas, I gave up the chance to win a vacation to my homeland when my word count exceeded the maximum requirement.

This story took me on an unexpected and wild journey. Writing it took me on a much-needed creative vacation and I hope that it will transport your imagination as well.

Efrain Palermo

Chapter One

The tight wad of aluminum foil took an arc a three-point shooter would have envied and hit the lab tech square on his head, waking him from a sound sleep.

What the fuck Phil…that hurt! Alireza rubbed his head and felt for a bump.

Well, if you would stop screwing up my work I’d let you sleep longer. Phil tried to scowl but his eyebrows became lost behind his thick-rimmed glasses.

Dude, I know I’m a day behind submitting the up-line report…that’s why I was taking a nap, Alireza replied with indignant sarcasm.

Man, I’m not talking about that. Phil swiveled in his chair, leaned back and picked up a set of photographs from his desk.

I’m talking about this! He flipped up the first photo. The full color glossy showed a close-up of the surface of Mars’ moon Phobos. He shuffled the next picture from the Phobos Reconnaissance Surveyor, a zoomed-in section of the previous picture. Alireza barely made out a disturbance in the center of the featureless landscape in the image. Detritus from aeons of micrometeorite impacts blanketed everything in dead snow. Phil put that pic down and held up the last one. The expanded image showed some pixelation, but the marks were unmistakable. On the powdery regolith someone had stomped out the words…H-E-L-P M-E and below it the boot prints trailed off to another set of letters: C-M-P.

I had nothing to do with that! Alireza’s seriousness made it clear that if it were a prank, he was not in on it. Their room lay buried deep in the basement of radio telescope number nine of the Deep Space Network. Alireza and Phil were undergraduates from the University of Arizona due to graduate next summer in 2065. They had put in two weeks of a three-week shift at the Canberra, Australia observatory, but the monotony bored them to distraction. The over-sized radio telescope downloaded data directly from the Phobos Reconnaissance Surveyor satellite, stored it and then passed it on to the JPL/PRS Unit at Arizona. Phil and Alireza’s job was quality control. They randomly picked every hundredth image out of the data stream and inspected them for image aberration and cosmic damage. To work there, they had to sign a twenty-year non-disclosure agreement. The excitement about possibly seeing things they were not supposed to talk about faded away under Phobos’ endless monochromatic regolith and rocks—until now.

The last time you played this trick it almost cost me my job. Once, to break the tedium of their tasks, Alireza had faked an image with a UFO half buried in Phobos’ Stickney Crater. Phil had taken the bait and was just about to call it in on the ‘hot-line’ before Alireza coughed up the joke.

Stop fucking with me man.

Phil, think about it. I snuck that altered picture into your review stack when you weren’t looking, Ali took a slight pause, when did you print this one out?

About five minutes ago. Phil contained the realization that this might be an actual incident.

"Well it wasn’t moi, I was busy drooling five minutes ago."

Okay, let’s relax and run protocol. Phil swiveled back to his desk and Alireza joined him. The manual, Protocol for Reporting Image Artifacts went over any scenario which compromised a camera’s recording. The range covered everything from cosmic radiation to space dust. Anomalies outside of those parameters required separate forms and a direct call to the Planetary Image Center so they could catalogue it for further study. The anomaly procedure also reiterated the non-disclosure agreement in small print at the bottom.

I’m not calling this one in, Phil. It’s one thing if we found a UFO crashed on Phobos, it’s another to find the words ‘Help Me’ stomped in the surface by a stranded Robinson Crusoe. They’re not going to believe we had nothing to do with this.

Ali, we went through the manual step by step. We ruled out background radiation, and the images taken before and after did not have recurring artifacts, so lens contamination is out. The frequency signature on the incoming signal indicates it originated from the Phobos satellite and is not a side-signal. Phil went through the procedures to rule out any external interference. The photo appeared to be an unaltered image of the surface. However, there were no humans on Phobos or Mars…the furthest humans had gone into space was the moon. NASA’s grandiose plan to land men on Mars got derailed when the first robotic supply ship malfunctioned en route to Mars. Billions of dollars and a decade of work became lost in the blackness of space. The fear that a manned mission would meet a similar fate dried up funding and NASA scrapped the program. An alien space craft on Phobos would have been more believable than somebody’s footprints.

All right, how about we flip for it? Alireza hoped that at least he would have a fifty-fifty chance to avoid making that call.

Okay, deal. Phil felt for a coin and found a quarter in his pocket, he cupped it in his hand and shook it, your call.

Heads. Alireza said.

Phil put the coin between his thumb and forefinger, flicked it in the air, caught it and slapped it to the back of his other hand. He exposed the coin and called out the result.

Heads.

Fuck! Alireza grabbed the paperwork and went over to the report desk where the hot line had sat unused until now. While the call patched through he felt something momentous was going to come out of all this but he wasn’t sure if it would be good or bad. The phone rang twice and after the third ring a metallic click came on the line and a computer generated voice said to please leave a message. Relieved he did not have to talk to anyone, Alireza gave a brief description of the mysterious image and gave its coordinates.

Two hours later the red phone rang. Alireza gave Phil a look that clearly said he was not going to pick it up. With a roll of his eyes Phil answered the call.

Hello this is Phil Singleton.

Hi Phil, this is MaKenzie Jones, Director of Satellite Operations at Johnson Space Center. How are you guys doing up there today? Her voice was professionally soothing and melodic.

Ahh, we’re fine thank you.

That was quite the image you found. It’s obviously a hoax and it took us a few hours to get to the bottom of it.

We figured that’s what it was, but we had nothing to do with it, Phil said defensively.

Oh no, we knew you were not involved. We found the source and it did not originate from your location in Australia. It traced back to a Chinese hacker group. They uploaded the doctored image to the Phobos satellite and directed the onboard computer to resend the photo as part of its data feed. We are still tracking their whereabouts and narrowed it down to an area in Beijing’s Zhongguancun district. However, we don’t know how they got through NASA’s firewalls and until we do we are going to take satellite number nine offline. It will take a couple of weeks to modify the uplink software so we are temporarily suspending operations at your center. An assessment team will be arriving tomorrow with your tickets to come back to the States.

That’s okay, we only had seven days until our stint was up anyway. Phil gave a silent fist salute to Alireza who sat closer and tried to listen in.

Thank you for your service. Our office will write a commendation and send it to your dean. Goodbye.

Goodbye. Phil let out a silent whew and hung up the phone.

Holy shit! Phil relayed the news to Alireza …and we get to go home early, he finished with a smirk.

Bullshit. Alireza did not share Phil’s enthusiasm, Something is not right about this. Let me see that image again. Alireza input the set of numbers embedded in the lower right hand corner of the photograph into a prompt on the desktop screen. A page opened up filled with tight rows of data and numbers.

Look, each pic we get from the satellite is embedded with data such as the time, cosmic conditions, location of the satellite in relation to Phobos, Mars the sun and so on. In order for someone to fake this they would need all of that real-time data. Alireza shook his head unbelievably as he spoke.

Yeah true, but what if they sent the image up as a virus file which inserted itself into the metadata code. Hackers are pretty sophisticated you know, Phil said reasonably.

Yeah, maybe, but it would still leave a trail. Alireza was lost in thought momentarily. Okay, hey we have a day before they kick us out, let’s see if an earlier satellite pass caught an image of that area, if nothing’s there then they are one hell of a hacker, if not…?

Let’s go for it. Phil swiveled the chair to his desk, turned on the screen and tapped in a coordinate search. It did not take long to find a match.

Hey, the computer found an earlier image taken of the same area. Alireza scooted over to get a closer look while Phil opened the image on a larger screen. The photo, though taken from a different angle earlier in its orbit, clearly showed a set of footprints. However this time only the letters H and E were visible. This was not a onetime event and someone—or something—was busy on the surface of Phobos. They did not have to voice it, in an instant they knew that NASA had deliberately lied to them; the maintenance problem was a convenient way to get them out of there.

What you want to do man? Alireza asked in a hushed tone; he already felt paranoid.

We’ve got to record this, Phil whispered back and scrambled over to his desk. He found a thumb drive and inserted it into the console computer, then downloaded the images before he continued.

Okay, let’s look earlier. Phil entered the search string and an unexpected message filled the screen—PRS Satellite Offline for Maintenance.

Shit, they shut it down before I could get any more.

This is getting scary Phil, if they find out we recorded and took something out of this office we can go to prison for a long time. The non-disclosure agreement was couched in elegant legalese but between the lines the threat was clear.

Ali, as long as we don’t tell anyone else or disclose the pictures we’ll be fine. There’s something strange going on and I want to check it out further. Are you in?

Hell yeah, Alireza said without hesitation.

Cool, as far as they know we had nothing to do with it. If we’re careful and go along with their act we’ll be okay.

All right, let’s pack up and get out of here. Alireza was caught up in the mystery as he boxed his office belongings.

The next day a courier came to their hotel room with plane tickets scheduled for departure in only three hours. Relieved they did not have to be questioned by the assessment team, they checked out of their room, grabbed a taxi and boarded the long flight back home without incident.

Chapter Two

Phil tried to take an afternoon nap, but the hot Arizona sun forced its way between the curtains and made it a challenge. It had been two days since they returned from Australia, but he still felt jet-lagged. He laid in bed fully clothed and covered his head until he built a dark cave with blankets and pillows. Just as his eyes fluttered in anticipation of much needed REM sleep, his phone rang.

Damn it! Phil tried to ignore it but it would not go away. His phone used the same ring tone for all his calls but this ring sounded urgent. He came out from under the covers and grabbed the phone from the bedside table.

Hello? He answered grumpily.

Hello, is this Mr. Phil Singleton? The authoritarian tone brought him to attention. His phone buzzed as another call came in. The caller ID screen showed a picture of Alireza, Phil put him on hold and replied to the first caller, Yes…this is he. How can I help you?

My name is Robert Jones, and I’m in charge of the assessment team for the Canberra space telescope. We have a situation with the Phobos Reconnaissance Surveyor and I would like to do a short interview with you and Alireza today. I’m staying in a hotel by the airport. It’s about two o’clock now…could you and Alireza meet me at my hotel by say three o’clock? The polite tone left no room to deny the summons.

Um, sure I don’t have any classes this afternoon. Phil wrote down the hotel and room number, ended the call and picked up Alireza’s line.

We’re screwed! Alireza had received the same summons just minutes earlier.

Ali, there’s no way they could have found out we made a copy. Relax, it’s probably just a maintenance interview. Meet me at my dorm, we can take my car. Phil masked his worry and tried to stay calm.

The light pastel colored walls of the Hampton Inn Tucson-Airport looked cheery, surrounded by palm trees against the backdrop of a clear, blue sky. However, the building took on the feeling of a prison as they walked into the lobby. The colorful Indian motifs on the carpet did nothing to dispel their gloom as they neared the hotel room the caller had given them. Phil knocked and someone opened the door before his second knock. The man behind the door wore a white long-sleeved shirt, neatly pressed and punctuated by a tie that was a close match for the hotel’s carpet.

Hi, come in please. My name is Robert Jones, NASA Satellite Assessment Team, and that is Josh Biggfield from JPL Operations. The man on the couch stood up to greet them. He was casually dressed in jeans and a buttoned short-sleeved shirt that had seen better days.

What is this about? Alireza said impatiently.

Have a seat. Robert indicated the suite’s round dining table. Before we start, do you mind signing these non-disclosure agreements? He handed out the forms and after they were signed he put them away in a thick folder. Excellent, I’ll let Mr. Biggfield take it from here. The JPL man sat back on the couch, turned on a recorder and placed it on the table.

I want to emphasize that what I’m about to say does not leave this room. Josh Biggfield gave the men a stern look and continued after their acknowledgement. We’ve lost contact with The Phobos Reconnaissance Surveyor and we are questioning anyone with recent satellite interaction.

What do you mean, lost contact? Phil said, relieved this was not about the stolen file.

"At 0045 yesterday morning we began receiving corrupted signals from the PRS transponder. At 0100 the downlink abruptly