Thompson had always been interested in history. While he never expressed any interest in becoming any sort of expert or scholar of humanities past, he was still intrigued by the evolution from huts to towns to kingdoms. He always felt that history was like a road at nighttime, that the future always had a path, even if you couldn't see it in the deep dark. Each significant landmark or development of humanity was a streetlamp, illuminating the path just enough to see ahead, and making the past a breadcrumb trail of lights, leading all the way back to beginning. Thompson often wondered what landmarks he would see in his lifetime. Like most people, he wanted to see how far forward the road goes, how far humanity will travel. But his lifestyle wasn't one of involvement, he very much preferred to be a passenger. Yet, by sitting at his monitor and speaking to the Apollo-22, Thompson had become involved, and he was staring deep into the night.

Thompson looked at his watch; fifteen minutes had passed since he had re-entered the building in what felt like a bubble outside of time. His watch was the only thing that gave him assurance of the outside world. Time was a tool like any other; patience made cracks in the dam, canyons from streams, and the mightiest trees from saplings. Even the greatest deceivers had their lies unwoven by time; all it took was patience. "Apollo-22, do you read? This is Colonel Thompson. I repeat, Apollo-22. This is Colonel Thompson." Thompson sat with anticipation that was matched only by the silence that smothered the room. The speakers popped on with response.

"Mission Control this is Apollo-22 'The Angel', we hear you loud and clear. Any update on our situation Colonel?" The disembodied voice belonged to Wilkes; he spoke with a cadence unburdened with the stresses or anxieties that plagued the pencil pushers.

Thompson answered back. "No major developments Commander. As of now we are to continue on with the post mission debriefings, held over comm systems while we discuss safety measures." Thompson stayed hunched over his desk, hand clutched tight onto his headset. Next to him, Edwards and Hawley scribbled away at their transcripts of the communications.

"Understood Colonel. How long can we expect to stay in here?" Wilkes asked.

Thompson wasted no time in saying, "Lets focus on the questions for now, Commander."

There was brief pause, then a pop. "Understood. How do we wanna start?"

Thompson sat for a moment. "We'll do them one at a time. We'll start with you first, followed by Langois, then Simmons and Robins last. The cockpit camera still works, we'll use that for now." In the middle of writing a sentence, Edwards' forceful penmanship crumbled his pencil tip. He quickly grabbed a new one. His hands slightly quivered as he continued to write.

"Yes sir. This one survived the landing then?" Said Wilkes. Clarke, meanwhile, stood idle by Thompson, arms crossed and clicking a pen in one hand. Tippen only watched.

Thompson said back, "Yes. While the others were damaged, camera 1 and camera 4 are both still operational. When we start, we'll turn them back on." Thompson turned to Hawley and Edwards. "Are you ready?" They both nodded. He hit a sequence on his keyboard. His spiderlike fingers hitting every key without moving his hand. "Connecting Camera 1 feed with Mission Control." He gave a thumbs up to the two seated next to him, they did the same. Thompson looked to Clarke; part of him wanted to include the officer, he knew his uses, but Clarkes actions today held priority. Clarke refused to meet his gaze.

The screen on the wall went pupil dark as it connected to the opened eyes of the camera feed. An image of a man filled the screen, he was in an orange space suit sitting in the cockpit of the Apollo-22 command module. Thompson and the others immediately recognized Wilkes, his red hair had fluffed up from rubbing against the edges of the helmet. Beside him, another astronaut sat by one of the many control panels, looking with great interest at the diodes, switches, and flickering lights. With the flashing lights and shifting numbers, the ship was speaking in its own language. A dialect that few could understand and even fewer could speak. Those who spent entire lifetimes learning the dead tongues of the ancient world would be at a total impasse to speak the language of modernity that was the Apollo-22; it was a language only meant for those who travel the stars.

Thompson carefully watched the two astronauts. He hadn't yet told them they connected the cameras. He waited to see if, through body language, they would do something alien. Maybe they would move in an inhuman way, or breathe differently. As much as Thompson would have watched for hours to see if this could prove anything, he could not waste anymore time. He radioed in. "Camera 1 is up and running Commander Wilkes, could you be so kind as to give us a wave?" Wilkes raised his hand and waved it back and forth in front of the lens. "Can you see me Colonel?" He asked. Thompson replied, "Yes we do Commander. We have also decided it should be best if these interviews are done individually. Could you please have Langois leave the cockpit?"

"Yes sir." Said Wilkes. He turned to his co-pilot and asked them to leave. Langois got up from her seat, and as she walked away from the console, she shot an almost knowing glance at the camera. Thompson caught the slight frame of suspicion but after they left, Wilkes turned back to the camera, cutting off Thompson before he could question any further. "Ok, ready when you are Colonel."

Thompson adjusted himself, in his mind, what was most important was to be casual and to not raise any suspicion of the crew. "Beginning. Please state your name, rank, and occupation."

"Aaron T. Wilkes, Lieutenant junior grade, Commander pilot of the Apollo-22, codename 'Angel.' "

"What was the purpose of your mission?"

Wilkes sat with his hands interlocked in his lap. "To pilot the NASA shuttle, Apollo-22, to Earth's moon for the purpose of research and habitability for potential future military bases."

"Good." Thompson muttered to himself. "Describe the flight from launch to lunar landing."

Wilkes spoke clearly and carefully. "The Apollo-22 launched May 15th at approximately 9:45 am, it was a Saturday. The initial launch went very smoothly. After lift off, the ships auto-pilot took control and enacted a roll program to reduce stress on the wings. Roughly two minutes post lift off, the two external boosters detached, and the shuttles primary boosters took over propulsion. Once reaching nominal height, the external fuel tank was subsequently detached to launch us further up. Once in orbit, me and Pilot Langois took manual control and we used the Earth's rotation and gravity to slingshot our vessel on an estimated six day journey to the moon."

Thompson let a few more seconds pass to let Hawley and Edwards to catch up. He continued. "Were there any malfunctions on or in the craft that could have possibly jeopardized the integrity of the ship or endangered the crew?"

Wilkes twisted his thumbs around each other. "No sir, it was smooth sailing. Although I would like to start a petition for some better in-flight entertainment." Wilkes let out a small chuckle to try and lighten the dour mood.

Thompson spoke into the mic. "Please try to keep your answers professional Commander."

"Yes sir. Sorry sir." Wilkes sheepishly said.

Thompson shifted in his seat. "Describe the mission undertaken by you and your crew upon reaching the Moon."

Wilkes sat up to match Thompson's posture. "We made good time. Upon reaching the Moon after 5 days and 14 hours of travel. I and Pilot Langois proceeded to deploy maneuvering techniques to establish our orbit above the lunar surface. After we had achieved nominal orbital speed, Me, Langois, and Simmons then took the lunar pod down to the moons surface alongside a rover vehicle. While Robins, as the Orbital Module pilot, stayed on the primary shuttle to keep communication with both us and the Center."

While he spoke, Hawley was able to match pace with the Commander while Edwards trailed a few seconds behind.

Wilkes continued. "Once we had landed on the lunar surface. The three of us began our expedition."

Thompson, in his curiosity, did what he could to think of anything he said that was incorrect. He found nothing. Maybe Wilkes was clean, maybe he wasn't. It was too early to say. Thompson wasn't willing to let Wilkes sit with much. His strategy partially involved asking the questions at a rapid fire pace to keep the astronauts on edge, that it'd be harder for them to keep up any disguises. "Commander, could you proceed in telling the results of the expedition found by you and your team?"

Wilkes tried to scratch his nose but absentmindedly bumped the glass, he adjusted the neck of the suit. "During our time on the moon, we were able to procure multiple samples of lunar rock which we hope will be suitable for further study." Wilkes paused to clear his throat. "In addition we continued to the zones marked for possible foundation for a lunar base but two of the zones were found undesirable."

"Why were they undesirable?" Asked Thompson, already knowing the answer.

"The ground was too soft and there were many variables that, to us, would prove to be detrimental should a base be constructed and we do not recommend construction. The last zone, however, had provided a decent enough ground that would be able to support our desired base. The ground is level, and the depth of lunar sand is shallow enough to be cleared."

"Do you believe these results to be accurate?"

"Yes Colonel. The area was promising and I believe that it is as effective a location we can find."

The Colonel adjusted his line of questioning. "While you and the crew were surveying the land, did you happen to encounter or notice anything out of the ordinary?" Thompson hoped it wasn't too obvious.

Wilkes' expression remained unchanged as he recollected his thoughts. "No sir, I do not believe so. Although, as we reported to you, we did at one point receive a foreign signal."

The crews encounter with a signal had been documented as any other detail of the mission had been. Seemingly unassuming. And while Thompson was already aware of the signal and its source, he needed to make a baseline story to match with the others come their turn. Thompson pressed for details. "Describe the signal for us please Commander."

Wilkes drew a short breath, eye glancing slightly up and to the left. "It was the second day of our expedition, Me and Simmons were out scouting the second marked zone." He focused his eyes back to the camera. "As we were testing the grounds stability, we picked up some static on the comms. At first we thought it was interference from residual energy off a stray solar flare or maybe some other cosmic source. But as we traveled closer to the eastern hemisphere of the moons surface, the static changed from a hiss to more of a droning sound." Wilkes shifted in his seat. "Simmons and I decided to investigate further, we got back into the rover and drove east roughly twelve miles until the signal became clearer."

"Describe what you found." Thompson said.

"We managed to narrow down the source and found an old Soviet lander. From the looks of it, it had been there a few years. The panels were sun bleached and one of the legs was torn off, likely from space debris or a meteorite. There were scattered boot prints all around, A few trails led to and from the lander in very strange patterns." Wilkes paused, as if trying to remember what he saw was a herculean task. After a few seconds, he shrugged and continued. "It was old so I figured it was from some Russian sample expedition. Either way, Simmons wanted to radio it in but I decided to see if there was anything of value inside."

Yet another act of insubordination that called for Thompson to handle. The Colonel replied, "Don't forget Commander, you're still due for reprimand for contaminating a foreign site without clearance."

Wilkes tried to soften the act, evoking the image of a child trying to explain a broken vase to an angry parent. "It was stupid I know, but I figured if we called it in, then we'd waste too much time trying to sort out details, and that on the off chance there was something worthwhile in there, then we couldn't risk losing it. The blame is entirely on me."

"An issue for later. Proceed with your findings." Thompson wanted to remain on topic.

"As we got closer to the ship, Simmons was able to decipher the signal. It seemed to be a warning transmission, sent to be picked up by any passing module or astronaut. But what for, we couldn't find out. As for the ship itself, the door seal was broken, and the port window was shattered. Stranger still was that there was no glass inside the pod and what remained of the silica glass was bent outward from the frame, almost like it was shattered from the inside." Wilkes said. He kept up his bravado, but the Colonel and the others saw through this guise. He was worried.

"What do you think this implies?" Asked Thompson, further pressuring the commander.

Wilkes let his eyes wander around the cockpit, he was thinking of an explanation that would satisfy him and NASA alike. "I think... I think that maybe the cosmonauts inside had some malfunction of their lander, and they were so desperate to escape that they brute forced their way out. Maybe, as Occam's Razor would assume, they just left the lander behind and some stray piece of rock hit a bullseye on the window. We didn't find anything other than the lander. No suits, no tech, nothing. As for the lander itself, it was still intact but there wasn't anything useful for us in there, so we returned to our base, sent a report, and continued with our mission."

Edwards and Hawley wrote on. Hawley, in her hawk-eye focus, was practically forcing herself to blink. Edwards on the other hand had to keep wiping sweat from his palms, a patch of moisture had built up on his pant leg, it wouldn't be long until he ran out of dry space. Thompson almost stopped the interrogation to give them a break, but that would cost precious seconds.

The Colonel looked back at the monitor. "We received your initial report from the day of the finding. We sent a message over to our friends in Russia. Asked which lander of theirs was left behind and if they could forward any details on the mission and its crew but..." Thompson stopped. His words cut off just at the end as if someone pulled his voice from his throat. He looked to Clarke, who had a look of concern painted on his face. Hammer to glass, Wilkes' voice broke through the silence.

"Colonel?" He said. "What did they say?"

Thompson cleared his throat, swallowing all hesitation. "The Russian Space Program relayed to us just yesterday that they had no landers present on the moon, and that they have no record of a mission taking place in the area you described."

Wilke's had a look of disbelief, which quickly turned to one of confusion. "That's not possible. I was there, I saw it!" The commanders words were cutoff by the ring of a feedback loop, its wine glass resonance lasted less than half a second but it was enough to cause the entire room to recoil. Thompson dug in his ear with a wrinkled pinky, trying to scrape out any remnants of the noise. He proceeded with his questions.

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"Commander please keep calm. I do not doubt what you saw, but I am, however, wondering if there's something they're not telling us. If I had to guess, I'd say that maybe it was an older model from the first Space Race."

"What about the signal? You said you had sent a file over for them to translate. Did they say anything?"

"It's the same as the lander. They claim it isn't theirs."

Wilkes spoke into the mic with a half-baked idea. "You think maybe some of their records were lost in the transfer from physical to digital?"

"No, I don't think so. Even if the files couldn't be scanned, they'd still have multiple copies of the mission statements and they'd have recordings at least. Could be possible they're withholding information, but for what reason, I don't know." Thompson thought to himself about the Russian program. The unwritten universal rule shared between space programs is that of neutrality, that findings should be shared and the exploration of space goes beyond borders. They are loyal not to themselves, but to development for all mankind. He questioned what could be so important to the Russians that they would break this mutual understanding, knowing the hinderance it causes. These thoughts entangled themselves in Thompsons mind, but he had other matter to discuss. "For now, lets focus on the debriefing please Commander."

"Yes sir." Said Wilkes, resigning himself to a response only personality.

Thompson looked to the officers, at them scribbling away on the clipboards. Seeing how Hawley sat ready for the next question and answer, Edwards was still writing. He spoke to the mic. "Could you give me a few moments Commander?" and removed the headset. Thompson reminded himself that he need to use all tools at his disposal. He became aware that Clarke, in all his frustrations, was one who knew efficiency. Seeing how Edwards struggled to keep up with Hawley and the Colonel, he decided the seconds lost were worth it. "Edwards." He said.

The officer peeked his head around Hawley to look at the Colonel. "Yes sir?"

"I notice you seem to be struggling a bit with the transcription. I have a new task in mind for you."

The officer tried to explain himself the Colonel. "Sorry sir. I guess typing is more what I'm used to."

Thompson waived this off. "It's nothing to worry about, you don't need to explain anything. If you would please, I need you to go down to records and search for the files on the Angel and her crew."

Clarke interjected. "I already looked for them. I told you I didn't find anything."

Thompson turned to Clarke. "Yes, but a new pair of eyes is always helpful. He might find something you missed. Didn't your mom ever magically find something for you? Same rule applies."

Hawley spoke up. "Whose gonna take over for Edwards? You made it fairly clear you wanted two people for this, sir."

"Yes I did, which is why I want Clarke to take over where Edwards left off." Thompson looked to the officer. "Do you think you could handle that officer?"

Clarke hid his surprise. Not being one to pass on an opportunity to prove himself, he accepted. "Yes sir."

Edwards got up from his chair and passed the seat to Clarke. As Clarke approached, he patted Edwards on the shoulder to reassure him. "It's okay, you did good, don't stress yourself. Good luck with the files." He said this with all sincerity.

Edwards passed Hawley who gave him a thumbs up. As he walked by Tippen, the General stared crudely into the officer, his eyes burned with disdain for the incompetent. Edwards instinctively recoiled, and walked on.

Thompson opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a small key ring. He handed them to Edwards. "These are for the filing cabinets in the back. Don't take too long." Edwards took them and stuffed them into his pocket, the dangling keys catching on the outer edge of his pants as they were jammed inside.

"I'll be back soon. Hopefully we can all get home today." With that, he descended the stairs and walked out the door.

Thompson turned to Clarke and Hawley. "Ready?" He said, putting his headset back on.

"Sorry about that Commander, needed to reassign some people. Are you ready to proceed?"

"Yes sir."

"Continuing. These next few are basic mental checks. Did you at any point feel incapable of completing the mission?"

"No sir." Wilkes sat still in his chair.

"Did you ever have any thoughts of violence towards yourself or the crew?"

"No sir."

"Did you at any point feel targeted or threatened by your crewmates?"

"No sir."

"Did you at any point feel as if you were being watched, not including interior cameras?"

"No sir"

"Do you believe that you are capable of undertaking another mission?"

"Yes sir."

Did you ever encounter anything you felt was out of the ordinary while on the moon or in transit to and from the moon?" Thompson paid very close attention to what answer he would give.

"No sir."

Tippen lightly placed his fingers on the Colonels shoulder, just enough to get his attention. Speaking for the first time since Clarke's return, he said "Ask if he ever heard any knocking."

Thompson was confused. "What? Why?"

Tippen said nothing and resumed his silence, watching carefully.

Not fully understanding what the General was getting, Thompson nonetheless asked, "Did you at any point ever hear knocking?"

At hearing this, Wilkes shifted slightly in his seat, adjusting himself. "No sir. I don't believe I did."

Thompson was quick to notice his body language, but moved on.

"Final question commander, then we'll move onto Langois. Would you be willing to participate in any future missions for NASA as either a crew member onboard a shuttle or as a mission adviser should you be asked?" Thompson slowly tapped four fingers in succession. A simple interrogation with simple answers. Since he first asked a question, Thompsons heart rate never dropped. It consistently stayed beating a rapid rhythm that felt like it was a few more erratic pumps away from going into cardiac arrest. And Thompson kept himself statue still through it all.

Wilkes responded. "Yes sir I would. I believe I am fit and capable of undergoing future missions."

Thompson lifted his hand off the desk and noticed a slight tremor. He clenched his fist to control it. "Thank you for your time Commander Wilkes. When we are ready, and once we get the shuttle figured out, we'll have you out of there in no time. We thank you for your service completed for NASA. If you would please send Pilot Langois up." Wilkes signed off with another, "Yes sir," and left the cockpit, stretching for a few seconds before vanishing from view. Soon after, he was replaced with the stockier frame of Langois.

She said. "Mission Control, this is Pilot Danielle Langois reporting for post-mission debriefing. Ready when you are."

"Thank you Langois, we'll be with you in just a second." Thompson clicked off the speakers and muted his mic. He looked to Hawley and Clarke. "You get all that?" He asked.

"Yes sir." They said in unison. They passed their papers to him like students waiting for a grade. Both had kept up a strong pace, and their transcripts were written fully. Thompson looked carefully over their notes, keeping track of details that, while small, he felt were important. He noticed the change in handwriting on the second paper from Edwards' bold hand to Clarkes small wording. Satisfied, he returned the paper and and handed them additional sheets for the next interrogation.

Hawley was first to speak to the Colonel. "You saw that right?"

"I did." Said Thompson.

"Are we gonna do something about it?"

"No. Not yet."

"Can I ask why? He was obviously uncomfortable when you asked about knocking. Why not press him? He's either lying or hiding something." Hawley accused confidently.

Thompson looked to her and Clarke. "We can't jump to conclusions. He moved in his seat, we can't persecute someone for adjusting themself."

Clarke backed Hawley up. "But if we keep the pressure up then we might get him to crack."

"We also need to form our baseline, something to compare the others with. And we can't be too aggressive, that'll tip them off. Maybe they'll be more casual, maybe they'll be just as offput by us asking about knocking. Or better yet, one of them will tell us what Wilkes wouldn't, and if they do have a shared experience of encountering something odd, then we've found our impostor."

Clarke added to this. "If there's an impostor. That's also banking off the idea that there's anything to tell."

Thompson felt himself fighting urge to engage Clarke. "Either way, there's not enough to make a solid case yet. It's too early to make any calls. We're just gonna have to wait." Hawley and Clarke turned to face forward, they began comparing notes. Thompson, however, began to wonder how Tippen knew to ask such a specific question, and if he knew what the commanders reaction would be. He felt trapped. That he was a fish surrounded on all sides by a net that hadn't yet closed all the way. All he could think to wonder, was who the dreaded fisherman was. He looked to Tippen before looking back to the two officers. "Could you excuse me one moment?" He said.

Standing up, he turned to Tippen. "General can I talk to you in private?" Together they walked towards the door leading to the hallway, away from where they could be heard. The few eyes around had watched curiously, wondering what were Thompson's plans for the General as the two exited the room.

Keeping his voice low, Thompson attempted to wring information from the stone that was Tippen. "Why did you have me ask about knocking?"

Tippen shrugged. "You're asking them about strange encounters, maybe there was something they didn't report. Anything could've happened up there."

"Okay, but how did you know he'd react to it?"

"Don't know why you think I did. It's just a question Colonel. I don't know anymore than you do." He said.

"I don't believe you." The Colonel eyed the man with caution. "What aren't telling us General?"

"There's a lot I'm not telling you. But nothing you need to know. It is my duty to make sure you do this succinctly and without panic, while operating on a strictly need to know basis. Anything more is above your paygrade."

Thompson cut him off. "Oh bullshit. I am the head of NASA under the United States Government, and it is my duty to make sure this station operates on all cylinders. Countless levels of information and crunched numbers are constantly flowing from here, pinging back and forth across dozens of satellites, all so we can talk to people on the other side of the world. Miles and miles of code is written out in painful detail day after day just to make sure that the ISS doesn't crash into the ocean and not a single digit can be out of place or the whole damn thing falls apart! And when we strap someone to a rocket, they are counting on us to make sure they can make it to the moon and back. Thousands of years of never ending human innovation and technological advancements have led us here, and all of it comes down to me and how I lead these people. Not you! So cut the shit, and tell me what your hiding!" Thompson was almost screaming. He had been around too long to just let someone talk in circles for the sake 'safety'. Years of military work and bureaucracy had conditioned him to cut through witty remarks, and hardened him to any legalese. When someone like Tippen came along, someone who spoke in vague sentences like a fortune teller, he didn't want to waste anymore time than he had.

Tippen sat stone faced, not a single twitch of a facial muscle to hint at any form of expression. He considered, for a moment, the times he had met men like Thompson, walking bundles of anxieties and nerves hidden behind walls of false confidence. How he often found it best to keep these men made of loose wiring snug in their corners of the world. To do otherwise is to poke a wasp nest. He then thought of how Thompson was already on the cusp of coming undone, one final push and the tree falls, taking the nest with it.

Tippen had grown tired of this man. "Fine. December, '79. The Apollo-18 returns to Earth, and the US government decides to terminate any and all further plans to go to the Moon. Do you know why they never continued?" He asked.

"The cost. It was too expensive, wasn't anything worth the trouble." Thompson said.

Tippen snickered. "Yes, that's what they told the public. But we're the richest country in the world, we had could have funded ten more missions easily and the good taxpayers wouldn't have even noticed. No, the real reason was much worse. When the crew of the Apollo-15 returned to Earth, the ground crew did a routine footage scan. Watching back the launches and mission tapes, basic stuff. Trying to see if there was anything they missed. And on one of the tapes from the rover cameras, someone noticed something. They saw, just slightly in the background, that something was moving. At first they thought it was space debris, maybe a stray rock had popped up from the wheels. But then it showed up again, a small glint of white trailing after the rover, And if you weren't paying attention, you'd have lost it in the sea of dust. But we noticed, and whatever it was, it was moving fast. Even worse, it was following them."

At this point Thompson was drawn in wide eyed by this revelation, his expression matched that of a child being told the truth about Santa.

The General, noticing the Colonel's locked attention, went on. "What ever it was seemed to have lost them after a few miles. But on future launches, part of the mission statement, shared between only the director and the crew, was to keep an eye out for any possible organic non-terrestrial life. The astronauts thought it was just some weird precaution, so they never looked too hard. But the possibility still hung in the air."

"Wait, you said the footage was from the Apollo-15, but the last mission was the Apollo-18."

"It was, and what the astronauts saw up there is what stopped any future landings. The mission went smoothly all things considered, they didn't see anything unusual and they weren't followed. But right as they were tying things up and getting ready to depart, the shuttles commander, Vargas, heard a knock at the door. At first he though it was the pilot Bauer, but when he went to look, Bauer was also inside, staring at whatever it was outside the module. When Vargas looked, he saw a man in a US astronaut suit banging on the door. It was a three man mission and their third was in lunar orbit. Vargas said that whoever it was in the suit was begging to be let in. Going on and on about how he was their friend, and he started bringing up old memories from training. It almost worked, but the thing outside the door slipped up. Their suit had Bauer's name on it. The two kept the door sealed. Vargas and Bauer had to do their entire relaunch routine with that thing screaming outside on the door. It never stopped hitting the walls of the module, and it never stopped yelling to be let in. But when they launched to be picked up, Vargas looked out the window to see if they were still down there, and you know what he saw? Nothing. No suit, no man, not even footprints. Like it had never existed."

Thompson was in shock, he stared at the floor with eyes unfocused. His words weakly fell out of his mouth. "You're lying." he tried his best to deny it. "You're lying." He repeated.

"To what end?" Asked the General.

Thompson looked back up. "I don't know. To make me lose it? To try and wrestle this from my hands so you can do whatever it is you do. I don't know but you're lying."

Tippen tried to come down to Thompsons level. "I wish I was, I really do. But that's what we're dealing with. And now you know. You happy?"

Thompsons shock soured into anger. "Why wasn't I told about this? In the years I've been here why was this never even mentioned?"

"After the 18 returned, the crew gave their accounts of the mission and the encounter. Bauer denied ever seeing anything, and Vargas damn near went insane. He mentioned once about how he felt like something was pulling him to open the door, like he was under a spell, and he had to fight his basic instincts. He also mentioned that when the fake Bauer started talking about things they've done, he said he could remember doing them. But the feeling went away when they left the Moon's surface. The whole thing was about to be spilled to journalists and the public but a bunch of suits higher up had the records classified to the highest level and all recordings of their interviews wiped. More than anything they wanted this to be buried. So much so that they canned lunar missions and made sure only a select few people were allowed to know." Tippen spoke with such little compassion for the astronauts, it was hard to think that the man had any empathy at all. He could have just as easily been talking about the weather in all its banality.

"So this was kept from the directors? The public I understand, but us?" Thompson wondered if any of the trust he held for his superiors was worth any effort. "Why on Earth would they do that?"

"They figured they wouldn't be able to keep a secret. That someone might be too altruistic and spill the beans so to speak."

"It's a director's job to do what's best they could have handled it."

"For someone like you, that's incredibly naive to think. You of all people should know the consequences if something that ever got out."

Thompson looked to the sky as if to ask for answers from a higher power or some ultimate revelation. But he was met with cold silence and a sore neck. There was no answer, no grand scheme, just him, the general, and what's next. He rubbed the top of his shoulder, trying to work out knots to no avail. His thoughts weighed heavy on his mind. Until now it was easy to assume that no matter what, he could do what's best because his superiors had his back, that they trusted him. But now, faced with something beyond anything else, something that those same superiors would rather bury and hide in a dark corner rather than try to understand it. He didn't know what to do next. This was a feeling Thompson had hoped he had left behind the day he was assigned to the directorship of NASA. Now that the sense of loss of command had arrived suddenly and without warning. His pride became a crumbling castle. And he was afraid.

Thompson looked back to Tippen, who had patiently let the Colonel suffer. "Lets go back inside. Before they start to assume."

"After you Colonel." Said Tippen.

The two men entered the room. Clarke was first to greet them. "All clear Colonel?" He said, not even looking at Tippen.

"Yes. Thank you Clarke." Together they returned to Thompsons desk. Ascending the stairs one after the other, their shoes stepping in tandem like soldiers marching to war.

Thompson sat down, adjusted his seat, and put his headset back on. The foam earpads squished with cold sweat as they form fitted to his ears. Next to Thompson, Hawley put away a calculator and rolled her pencil in anticipation. Next to her, Clarke took his seat and tapped his pencil on the desk three times, a personal routine for good luck. He thumbed the corner of his paper, giving a nod to Thompson in readiness.

Thompson looked to Tippen, who had returned to his stance behind the desk. The Colonel was still unsure what to make of the man. He felt a sense of hidden motive but for what exactly, he doesn't know. Putting suspicion aside, he looked back to the screen watching as Langois sat patiently in the cockpit of the Angel. He thought of how much this mission meant to her specifically. He hoped that if anyone was a mimicry, that she of all would be true human.

He closed his eyes tight to clear his head and wash away the guilt of connections. He opened his eyes slowly, looking to Hawley and Clarke. "Should we wait for Edwards before we begin?"

They looked at Thompson in confusion.

Thompson thought they didn't hear him. "Edwards. Should we wait for him to get back?"

Their expressions only deepened. Hawley spoke first. "Who's Edwards?"