After spending over an hour in the hot sun, the team began to amass back inside the control room, although this time they had company, as they were joined by the soldiers brought by Tippen. While they would yet again be made to sit and wait, they were more than happy to have a/c and water. Their paradise was short lived as they soon realized they had traded the heat and humidity, for an increasingly claustrophobic room filling with the stench of body odor. As the extra man power began to file in, any idea of personal space would have to be sacrificed. Those who returned to their assigned desks had to either move to accommodate the increased bodies, or sit and suffer as elbows and gear belts pushed against them. Bits of metal jabbed violently into their backs, paper and pencils were swiped to the floor, officers were shoved into their desk to the point of having to suck in their gut just to let someone by. Some people shuffled from one corner to the another or tried to find a secluded spot where they could have some leg room. Most gave up trying to keep their desks and migrated to the wall, hoping that they wouldn't be forced out into the hallway. As the movement slowly died down, conversations held outside were picked back up.

As the room was abuzz with varied talking, slowly their talking shifted from work and life to the mystery surrounding Thompson and the shuttle. As they had watched Thompson leave to the shuttle and return with cryptic orders, there was a renewed interest in the subject of the fourth astronaut. At first, it was easy for the team to try to ignore what was going on by shifting their focus from the Apollo-22 to their personal lives. But eventually, the shuttle and its crew became too big an issue to push out of mind. Even more so, the Colonels attempt at controlling the situation while having a General present who refused to explain any important information made it obvious that something was very, very wrong. From their perspective, the Colonel had gone from proclaiming the presence of someone new onboard the ship, to keeping nearly every detail to himself and Tippen. Such a drastic shift of an equally un-drastic man brought to the surface questions of what he saw at the shuttle, and what exactly he plans to do.

"I think it's the Russians. I mean, it's gotta be, right?" Said one of the wallflowers. His statement was made to three others standing with him by the emergency exit.

Comms Officer Hawley was the first to say something. "What makes you say that?" She stood closest and was curious of what wonderful new revelation he'd uncovered.

The man turned to her. "Think about it. They're upset they lost the space race the first time, so they send one of theirs disguised as one of ours to freak us out. And while we're all panicking, they've given themselves more time to work on their rockets to beat ours." He spoke with a foolish amount of confidence.

Hawley looked down at the floor to stifle her frustration. "I don't know about that Ben. I think this is more important than a hundred year old grudge."

He continued. "You say that. But I have a friend who works comm systems for the Air Force, you know following aircraft, eavesdropping up on transmissions. High level work. He told me that they get signals from all over the place. And that sometimes, they get a Russian signal. And wouldn't you know it, they picked one up not long after we launched the Angel." At this, like flies to sugar, he had the attention of those around him. "He studied some Russian so that when something like this happened, he'd be able to know what they're saying. He couldn't quite get all of it, he told me that what could understand was that they're watching us."

"So what?" Said Hawley with slight disgust. "They have their own space program, and it's normal for all sides to keep tabs on launches and orbits. That doesn't mean anything." As Hawley spoke, Ben picked at the skin of his fingers until they started to bleed, small flecks of blood clung to his black mustache as he chewed away the nail down to the bed, peeling it back opening up the raw red skin. He was afraid, more than he'd ever let on, but it was the only thing he felt swirling in his head.

"I know that, but this was more than just 'keeping tabs.' " He said, nervously sticking his hands in his pockets. "They were following along what we were doing in exact detail, and they were watching us. They might as well have been part of the program. Now why would they wanna do that, unless they wanted to keep one of their own cosmonauts safe. Who's to say the Cold War ever really ended?" Hawley and the others all had looks of disbelief mixed with intrigue. While Ben's explanation was nothing short of ridiculous, it was still an explanation. For some, that was enough. That no matter how conspiratorial, there was comfort in certainty of the uncertain. Those who had gathered around Ben hid their fear behind their curiosity. They all so desperately wanted this to be a human issue, with a human resolution. But desperation rarely settles perfectly.

Meanwhile, out in the hallway, Clarke waited as Tippen and Thompson made their way to the control room. The hall was one of many areas that had been neglected in the recent years. Chipped tile lined the floor to meet plaster walls stained a faint yellow with the decades old cigarette smoke from a more careless time. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered. As the two men approached, Clarke walked up to Thompson. "Sir, can I tell you something?" He seemed distressed.

"What is it?" Thompson said piteously.

"Sir..." His heart raced as he carefully considered what he was about to say, and if he should say it at all. "I think this is all complete bullshit."

Thompson raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"Look. You keep saying there's an extra person in the shuttle but the more I think about it, the more I remember working with four astronauts."

"Clarke." Thompson said, he wanted him to stop before he said anything they would both regret.

He interrupted Thompson. "Colonel, if an invader were to make their way onto the Angel, then why wasn't there any alerts? The ship is made to read any and all life signatures in the slim chance that we encounter extra-terrestrial organisms, but there was nothing. More than that, how come I think about all four of them and remember the day we chose them?"

Thompson bit his lip to ground himself. "I don't know." He said.

"And that's what I'm getting at." Clarke pointed at the Colonel. "You've given 20 long years of your life to this station! Longer than anybody who came before you, and in all that time you've never once made this big a mistake. We have astronauts inside a broken ship and mountains of paperwork to finish! And instead of letting everyone do their job, you have us all running around like chickens with their heads cut off, worried about some imposter! I don't think there is an extra. I think you're just being paranoid. I mean, those years were bound to catch up at some point. Sir, I think you should take a step back." Tippen watched both men carefully. To him, these two barked like dogs, he waited to see who would bite first.

"And, what, let you take over? My mental state is none of your concern officer. Neither are my years, as you so helpfully put it. But even if it were, this if far beyond me or my diagnosis. I am allowed this position because by being hyperaware, I'm always on guard and I'm always prepared for the worst case scenario. This is that worst case scenario. Because of my paranoia, I've prevented who knows how many failures and made sure we're still allowed to keep sending people up."

"You've also caused dozens of people to quit their dream job. In the hundred plus years the Center's been up, no other director has had a higher turn around rate than you." Clarke said, years of frustration bubbling out. "You've costed millions of dollars in delays, and you have us working hours that go so far into the night, some of us barely see our families! Do you know how many people have gotten therapy because of your endless need to double, triple, and quadruple check everything?"

Thompson scoffed. "So some people have to talk about their feelings, big deal! This is rocket science! We're send people to the moon in multi billion dollar machines, it's not supposed to be an easy job!" Thompsons voice grew louder. "Now more than ever, checking everything over and over is what we need. This is something no one before us has experienced! And we have to act with extreme caution. I can't explain why you think you remember them, but I know that when this mission started, it was with three astronauts. And now that it's landed, there's four! It's a total impossibility that is far and above anything mankind has encountered, and I will not allow you or anyone else to jeopardize my team based on what you think!" Thompsons voice echoed through the hallway.

Clarke pleaded with his superior. "Maybe that's the problem sir! Maybe you should start listening to people instead of acting like you're the smartest person in the world!"

"I'll start listening when you start telling me things worth listening to, and when you finally stop acting like a child when things don't go your way." Thompson pushed past Clarke and continued down the hall.

As they walked on, Clarke decided to bite. "Is that the same thing you told your wife?" Clarke said this without thinking. The moment the words left his mouth, he was instantly swallowed up with regret.

Thompson stopped and turned around. "What did you just say?" He said in disbelief. He started walking towards Clarke.

The officer looked at the floor. "Wait. That's not what I--"

Thompson held up a finger at the officer to shut him up. "Fuck you Clarke." Thompson spoke with hellfire. The Colonel turned around and walked away with clenched fists. He didn't want to be in this hallway any longer. The lights above were giving him a headache, at least that's what he told himself.

"Yes... sir." Clarke grit his teeth. This was one of many times Clarke acted without thinking of consequences. He hated being forced to back down so quickly, but accepted it in shame. As Thompson walked on, Clarke suddenly remembered the display kept on screen.

"The monitor." He said. Thompson and Tippen turned around to face him.

"What?" Thompson said, turning around.

"At all times, the monitor on the wall shows a live feed of the vitals and status of everyone on board the Angel. If there were only supposed to be three like you said, then it wouldn't show the extra person right?"

Thompson felt a pit in his stomach. He had thought back to the screen and when it had changed. "It wouldn't be much help."

Clarke ignored his commander and began walking faster, he quickly brushed past Thompson and the General to the control room. The sound of his footsteps carried down the hall.

Clarke approached the door and yanked it open. The sound of dozens of voices talking over each other had overwhelmed the sounds of machinery. The droning of computers was drowned out as the soldiers and technicians ran through a litany of ways to solve the "shuttle problem" as they called it. It was here when Thompson and Tippen had joined the officer inside. At the moment of their entry, all talk had stopped as if the air was sucked out of the room, and everyone turned to face the trio. The putrescent smell of sour sweat mixing with runny deodorant stung Thompsons nostrils. Clarke looked over to the wall to see the great screen and its display. It was still tuned to the shuttles pathing. Thompson pushed past Clarke to reach his desk. Clarke hurriedly joined him with Tippen being only a few steps behind. No one said a word as the three men walked over to Thompsons monitor. The only sound to be heard was the chittering of inhuman machines.

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"Switch to the vitals. Then we can finally put this to rest." Clarke said as Thompson sat down in front of his monitor. As if he had any authority.

"Fine. But you better watch your tone. I'm still your superior officer." Thompson couldn't stall any longer. He hesitantly pushed a sequence of keys, hanging his finger over the final button push, and changed the screen. The Colonel cast a frustrated look at Clarke, who was focused on the display and wanting to be proven right. Up to now, Thompson had withheld what he saw as he left the room, he knew he couldn't keep it a secret for long, but he had hoped it would have lasted longer than this.

The bright display showed what Thompson had feared, the total impossibility. There on the wall, bright and clear, were the vital signs and status of four astronauts. It displayed heart rate, body temperature, and a multitude of other descriptive bodily functions. Next to each of these highly specific monitors were pictures of their respective owners. All four were smiling, happy, and perfectly normal.

Clarke let go of his trapped breath. A faint smile crept across his lips, but he held it down. "There see? Four astronauts. Wilkes, Simmons, Langois, and Robins!" He pointed to each one to further emphasize his point. Clarke turned to face the Colonel, and was finally met with the burning gaze Thompson stared into him. Clarke took a small step back, he was as unfamiliar with this expression as a tiger was to a tank.

As the faces hung onscreen, the room opened into questioning as the line between mystery and understanding became hazier. The sound of confusion carried over to Thompson and he had to meet it accordingly. People all around were asking what happened, what this means, and why they can't quite figure out who doesn't belong. Near the third desk, someone asked why Thompson didn't tell anyone. This only furthered the rabble. Some started to think that this was an exercise that had gone too far or that maybe someone higher up is doing this to test in case of an emergency, and somewhere they missed the memo. All these questions were posed to either Thompson or each other. The effects of this hung over The Colonel. Tippen, satisfied with this revelation, stayed back. He couldn't intervene, not yet at least. He found it better, and certainly more damning, to let Thompson struggle to keep this under control and explain this phenomenon. The General thought that if he tried now to to take over, he would be met with too strong a resistance by those still fervently loyal to Thompson. Tippen decided to himself that in this, he should work with subtleties.

Thompson shouted to break through the crowds volume. "ATTENTION! Can I have your attention PLEASE!" The noise fell to a manageable level as they all stared at Thompson.

Someone from the crowd shouted out. "Colonel, with all due respect. What the fuck?" Nods of approval and shouts of reinforcement went around the room.

Someone else joined them. "Why didn't you tell us this?"

Thompson continued, keeping a loud but calm voice. "I know this is confusing, I know that, even more so, you're afraid of what's going to happen. I'm sorry I kept this from you, but at the time, it seemed appropriate. I didn't want to cause any panic."

Next to Thompson, Clarke threw his hands up in disbelief and walked away from the desk. Giving him no attention, Thompson spoke further, and gave them the truth. "Right as I left the room to join you all, I saw the screen change from a crew of three to four. And even more frightening, I felt what a lot of you all are also feeling." Thompson cleared his throat. "For reasons I cannot explain, I do not remember entirely who was part of the original crew." Looks of recognition and realization spread among the mob. Thompson grabbed their attention again. "That being said! We are smarter than this. We will not devolve into fear and hysterics. I promise you all, we are going to figure this out. Me, Clarke, and the General are going to conduct debriefing interviews with each crew member, and while we do, we are going to comb over ehat we have on file and see who doesnt belong." The analysts seemed to be satisfied with this. For the moment it seemed. Their trust in the colonel had be shaken down to the foundation, to the point that from this point onward, Thompsons words would be placed under careful scrutiny.

A voice from the far end of The Trench asked, "What happens when we find out who it is?" Thompson looked to see who asked this. He saw, sitting at a table, Edwards had nothing but concern in his eyes.

The Colonel pushed up his glasses. "That is something we'll have to discuss later. For now, I want you all to remain calm, and let us handle this. Okay?" He reassured.

Edwards perked up. "Being nervous doesn't make us more efficient!" He said loudly.

A small smile twitched at the corner of Thompsons mouth. "Exactly Mr. Edwards. Very well put."

Edwards felt his heart rate go down. He turned around and tried to distract himself with a few games of Solitaire.

As Thompson looked over everyone, he twisted his neck to massage out a small pinch that had been flaring up. He couldn't get it out, and resigned himself to the pain. Checking his watch, the hands read 12:35, it had been almost 2 hours since the shuttle landed, yet the idea of finishing the day seemed a cloudy dream. Outside, the sun reached its orbital apex, and the light it so harshly cast through the windows had traveled parallel with it. The iridescent glow of the sun had been cut off, and bold shadows were only to be combated by garish fluorescent light.

Clarke pulled up a seat next to Thompson. "So what? Does your invader have access to our computers now? Or did it sneak in here and add itself without anyone noticing?" He asked sarcastically.

Thompson sighed. "I tried telling you in the hallway what happened, but you wouldn't listen. And now look," The Colonel nodded to the restless crowd, "because you wouldn't stop and think for a moment you almost caused a panic."

"They were gonna panic no matter what! At least now they know everything."

Thompson looked at Clarke. "That wasn't your call to make Clarke! Of course they were going to panic, I was trying to keep it to a minimum and within my circumstances. My mother used to say 'better a century in purgatory than a second in Hell'. And after what youve done, youve dammed them all." Thompson fought to keep his voice from rising. "They're all going to be on their toes, which makes this all that much harder to keep under control, because from now on, everything we say is going to be questioned." Thompson looked back to the screen. To say he was tired would be an understatement.

Clarke disagreed with the Colonel, but kept it to himself, and tried to shift focus. "All this just to prove your invaders existence? How can you be so sure that's what it is? You saw it yourself! Four astronauts onboard, and yet you stick to three."

Thompson reclined in his chair, the soft cushion supporting his neck to ease the pain. "Like I was trying to tell you. Before I joined you all outside, I saw the monitor change. I looked away only for a second. In that small window the display went from reading three people to four. As if it was there the entire time."

"How convenient." Clarke said. Thompsons answers burned in his mind. He felt they were too perfectly apt and that Thompson only wanted a yes man. Clarke had a need to prove all this was the work of someone who had grown too long in the tooth. Together they stood on the top level of the room. Like Plato and Diogenes, they were an unstoppable force and an immovable object. Before the end of the day, the distinction between fool and scholar was to be similarly blurred. Only this one would have much more drastic effects.

The Colonel sat down ready to engage with the shuttle and its crew. Thompson grabbed his headset and reached to switch on the comms but stopped halfway. He pulled his hand back from the keyboard. "Clarke." He turned to the Officer, "I need you to go down to records and pull all the files we have on the crew. If there's truly three or for, then we'd only have the corresponding files right? What we have physically might be the only thing we can rely on." He muttered the last bit to himself. Mostly as a hope rather than a statement.

"Yes sir." Clarke got up from his seat and pushed through the crowd to leave the room, much to the surrounding people's questioning. When he was clear of the room, Thompson opened a small drawer under his desk and pulled out a small orange bottle of pills. He carefully shook out 2 white tablets and took them with water. The little discs scraped his dry throat as they were washed down. Thompson coughed slightly.

Tippen watched the Colonel. "What are those for?" He asked.

"Something my shrink wants me to take." Thompson stared intently at the four faces. Not wanting to look away, he held up his wristwatch in front of his face to check the time, he flicked his eyes back and forth in micromovements between the clock and the screen.

Tippen pressed him. "You're in therapy? Is that allowed, someone of your position?"

Thompson lowered his arm and took another swig of water. "It's mandatory." He dismissively waved his hand. "Higher ups want to make sure I'm all there. More inconvenient than anything."

"Don't like therapy?" Said the General stepping closer. He was eager to find any cracks in Thompson.

The Colonel looked up at Tippen from the corner of his eye for a moment. "I don't like wasting my time." He replied as he began tapping a steady rhythm with his pen.

At the far end of the room, the Retrofire Officer stood by the end of the desk closest to the wall screen. "This is a bunch a bullshit." He said. "We're not paid to stand around and do nothing." He crossed his arms to hide his pit stains.

Next to him, one of the Comms Officers said, "What does it matter? Procedure is procedure and we get paid, it's not like we have a union rep or anything. As far as I'm concerned I'm just glad to be out the chair for a bit." He tried unsuccessfully to pop his back.

"Yeah I guess." Said the Officer, he scratched the side of his red beard. "Hey Marshall, What do you think they're talking about over there?" He gestured his head to Thompson and the General.

Marshall looked over his shoulder at the two old men. "Don't know" He turned back around and cracked his fingers individually. "But if it isn't about sending us home or getting this over with, I don't care." He said impassively. Marshall was part of the group that agreed with Clarke. That this whole situation was the result of an old man who overthinks. "Maybe the Colonels finally stepping up and getting rid of the grunts." He looked back towards Tippen. "I tell ya, that General bothers me."

"Bothers you how?" The RF Officer leaned a little closer, antsy to hear what he had to say.

"C'mon Franco, you've seen how he talks. Guy thinks that his rank makes him everyone's boss. Damn good thing Thompson isn't so easily pushed around. Clarke on the other hand..." Marshall stole a chair and leaned backwards over it.

Franco stuck his hands in his pockets and fiddled with his key fob. "Maybe he's jealous. I mean... who hasn't wanted to be an astronaut at least once in their life."

Marshall gave up on his impromptu yoga pose. "Maybe." He looked back at Franco, the light of the screen cascading through his remaining tufts of hair. "Or maybe the General knows more than he lets on."

Franco stifled a laugh. "You're starting to sound like Thompson." He couldn't hold back a sly grin.

"Shut up." Marshall said annoyed. He left to refill his water leaving Franco alone to continue watching Thompson and Tippen.

Thompson impatiently checked his watch again. "Clarke should've been back by now. The hell's taking him so long?"

Tippen loomed over the Colonel like a hawk in an attempt to make him uncomfortable. "I notice there's a lot you let Officer Clarke get away with. Can't say it's something I'd do."

"Your men have guns, mine have pens. Clarke's good at his job, that's all I need. Anymore questions General?" He said with an acidic tone.

Tippen backed up slightly from the desk. "Didn't mean to offend Colonel. I'm just saying that if you let someone off the hook too many times, they're not going to give you the respect of your rank and position."

"Hmm." Thompson paid no attention to his critique. Right as he went to check his watch for a third time, Clarke came through the doors with a fervent haste. He made his way to Thompsons desk, nearly tripping on the stairs as he came up. He carried with him Hell.

"Where are they?" He nearly shouted. Clarke had a look between accusation and worry.

"Calm down, where are what?" Thompson tried his best to keep looking at the screen, but Clarkes demeanor demanded his attention.

"The files Colonel. I looked through every available box we had and I couldn't find anything, so I checked the nearby offices and still, nothing."

Thompson stood up. "That's not possible we just put them in records yesterday."

Clarke shrugged. "Well they're not in records." He looked the Colonel up and down. "Did you have someone else take them?"

"What for Clarke?" Thompson rubbed his face, and passed his hands over his head, resting them on the back of his neck. "If we don't have any of their files, were gonna have to do this differently." The Colonel thought for a moment. He turned back towards the crowd and looked around. He called out, "Edwards and Hawley can you both come up here please?" He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a notebook and some pencils. As they approached, he tore out a few sheets of paper and handed them to the two along with pencils. "Pull up a chair next to me." He ordered.

Edwards grabbed a nearby chair and wheeled it up to the desk on the right side of Thompson. As Hawley went to do the same she asked to the Colonel, "What are we doing?"

Thompson placed the notebook on the desk and searched for another pencil, pushing aside a picture taken the day of the launch, but he couldn't find anything. Frustrated he closed the drawer and grabbed a pen from his shirt pocket. "We are going to do the mission debriefings from here." He looked at both of them, faint light from the monitors reflected off their glasses, hiding their eyes. "While I ask them questions, you, me, and Edwards will write down every detail they say. After each 'interview' we're going to go over what they say and see if they match the others." Thompson looked back at the screen, at the faces. "And whoever's off, that's the one. That's our invader."

Thompson put on his headset and looked at Tippen, giving him a nod before reaching for the comms. Holding his hand over the switch, he glanced at Clarke, but he didn't look long enough to gauge a reaction. He clicked it on, and a pop was heard as the speakers connected in tandem with the microphone, beginning a chain of events that would permanently alter NASA, and call into question everything Thompson knew and held dear.