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Part 1 – Chapter 1

David stood in the elevator booth and looked at the changing numbers – “7, 6, 5”. He had just given the keys to the owner of the apartment, and he was very anxious. He wanted to feel like all the doors were now open in front of him, but even the elevator doors wouldn’t let him out. When he received the money for the bed he had sold this morning, he felt only dread. The only thought running through his head was “No, no, don’t do that. What am I going to do now?” Of course, he had a plan. He agreed with his father that he would stay with him for the time and decide what he would do next. The elevator doors opened.

David sold everything he had. What was left was a backpack and the things that fit into it: a cell phone and charger, documents, and credit cards. Of clothes and shoes: his favorite Crocs, two shorts, jeans, three T-shirts and one sweater. Socks? They were holey, so he threw them away. He threw out a lot of other things, too. Some he was tired of, others seemed like reminders of someone else’s life. It’s both easy and scary when all your luggage fits in a bag behind your back and in your jeans pockets. He took the train to Stretford, where his father lived and where he had lived his childhood and youth. But still he felt this unquenchable anxiety.

For all the things he had accumulated over the previous years, he had made a lot of money. The TV and the X-box were not the most expensive items. It was the junk that brought him the most money. For example, the night stand he’d carried around for the past six years in all his rented apartments brought in 80 pounds. A collection of Olympic badges, which were covered in a layer of dust, brought in more than a hundred. The man who bought them said it was a very good investment.

David was on his way to his father’s house and had a premonition that he would have to answer the question he had been asking himself, “What’s next?”

*

“What’s next?” child interrogated the teacher while standing at the blackboard.

The sun shone softly through the windows of Miss Deborah Glandfield’s history class at Westover Magnet School. It was a sunny day at Stamford. All the children shifted their gaze from the speaker to the teacher.

“Yes, go on,” she encouraged him, nodding her head. “What happened next?”

“Then,” the boy opened his eyes wide, “first governor of Plymouth Colony proposed a celebration,” and fell silent again.

“Why?” the teacher wondered, raising her eyebrows.

“Well,” the boy looked at the class. “They wanted to thank the earth and God for surviving.”

The teacher smiled and added:

“And they also wanted to thank the Indians who were open to outsiders and taught them how to survive on the land. Yes?” the teacher winked.

Debby stood by her desk and looked at the boy at the blackboard, completely immersed in his report. He was embarrassed to stand in front of the whole class and the portraits of America’s founding fathers. Debby tried to encourage him. She was proud that he was overcoming himself.

“Well, that, too, of course,” the boy smiled.

*

“Of course. I’ll add this information and show it to you for confirmation,” going through the papers, said Jean-Pierre. “Tomorrow morning we can send everything to Interpol and the others.”

He stood next to his patron’s desk and looked carefully at the notes on the sheets. He was completely focused on not forgetting edits. The man tucked the documents into a folder and headed to the door of the French external security directorate chief’s office. It was raining outside the window on Boulevard Mortier, and it was late evening.

“Thank you, Jean-Pierre,” the patron said with approval, looking at the concentration of his assistant.

*

“Well, thank you!” Yulia grudgingly said to herself as she read the email, sitting in the subway car. “Another business trip! Could just write an instruction, call. Don't they have better things to do: not to launch rockets to the Moon and Mars, they just bullshit me with these telescopes around the world. And it would be nice if they sent me somewhere to rest, but there and back again. Plus, ‘there’ in this case means to the middle of nowhere.”

She began typing “Moscow–Kathmandu distance” into her browser’s search bar.

“I want to live, I want sea and sun and lots of money. I’m sick of it!” she raised her head and looked angrily at the tired people sitting next to her. “And not to go to Nepal to set up an automatic space monitoring system based on infrared and magnetic analysis, with support for dynamic orientation correction,” Yulia thought, mimicking the text of the letter.

She looked at her smartphone screen, it said “4,886 kilometers.”

“M-m-m,” Yulia moaned, “I want something real.”

She opened the email from HR again. Her business trip would last five days, and the tickets were already booked.

“Well, okay,” she shook her head and closed the mail.

Part 1 – Chapter 2

“Hi, it’s me,” the young man shouted from the threshold, closing the door behind him.

“Hi, David,” a woman’s voice said from the kitchen, “Dad’s still at work, come on in.”

David’s father and stepmother live in a small house in Stratford, near Manchester. The father works at the soccer stadium and the stepmother is a part-time bookkeeper.

David left his backpack in the living room and went into the kitchen. A pleasant smell wafted in from there. Joan was making a vegetable stew and roasting two large pieces of meat. Surely both pieces were destined for only one person – David’s father.

“Joan, hello,” David said as he entered the kitchen.

The stepmother turned to the doorway and smiled very warmly. She wiped her hands with the kitchen towel and hugged David tightly. She knows how to hug in a special way. David calls it a ‘proud hug’ – a little longer than a welcoming hug and a little warmer than a friendly one.

“How pretty you are,” she covered her eyes.

Joan stroked David’s shoulder, looked sympathetically at his thin face and over his frail body.

“Dad said you’ve moved out of the apartment. Will you move your things here for now? I cleared out the closet in your room. How are you? You quit your job, too? And that girl?” she paused, but she seemed to have a dozen other things to say.

She spluttered her hands in the air, which meant in her language "asks me for my tactlessness," and went to the stove.

“Stuff in the living room. I have only a backpack,” David smiled.

“Whoa! Fire or psychological breakdown?” stirring the stew, the stepmother asked.

“Psychological fire,” David laughed and sat down at the table.

Joan poured the lemonade and the conversation flowed as if six months before they had not seen each other had never happened. She began to talk about her work, to ask how things were going in London, and many other things. So they talked for about an hour. David sat on a chair and watched Joan walk around the kitchen, adding spices to the dishes and stirring them.

There wasn’t much space in the kitchen, but to David it was an important place from his childhood, and there were many stories associated with every corner of it. He looked at the pantry shelf where the cookies were always kept and remembered how he couldn’t reach them even with a chair. Now it was easy for him.

“Hi, Da-vid,” his father shouted out the window, stretching his son’s name.

He waved at him and made his way into the house. He walked into the kitchen with David’s backpack, holding it in his outstretched hand like something dirty and bad smelling.

“Some bum left all his belongings in our living room,” he laughed and set the backpack on the floor.

Father, or as the rest of the world calls him, Spencer Conel always joked a little harshly, but everyone at home was used to judging a joke without relativity to themselves. So David and Joan smiled.

Spencer hugged his skinny son in compare to him:

“Okay, the hug was warm enough, I’ll cancel the evening salute to your arrival.”

Joan escorted him out to change and began to put food on plates. And yes, both steaks were meant for one person. They sat down to dinner.

“What next, son?” Spencer finally decided to ask, sawing his piece of meat. “Will you stay with us for a while? Maybe I’ll find out at work…”

“Spence,” Joan looked at him meaningfully, “when you come home from work tired, do I ask you what you’re doing?”

“That’s all right, Joan,” David smiled. “Yes, Dad, I’ll stay with you for a couple of weeks, and then I’ll go somewhere to rest. I think I need someplace windier to clear my head.”

Joan was glad David was joking.

“You know, David,” said father thoughtfully, “don’t listen to anybody. In the end, you can’t blame anyone.”

The table was quiet and peaceful. Like six months ago and always before.

Part 1 – Chapter 3

Miss Deborah Glandfield sat in her teacher’s seat, looking out at the empty classroom. She had the feeling that it was empty inside her and that the classroom was full of things: funny memories of children, portraits and quotes of famous Americans. She shifted her eyes to the portrait of Abraham Lincoln and the pieces of paper pinned beneath it. For two weeks now, pupils had been bringing the 16th president’s quotes to class at her request and sticking them on the wadepaper below his portrait.

“The best thing about the future is that it comes one day at a time,” read the most prominent quote.

Miss Glandfield called herself ‘Miss Glandfield’ only when she imagined herself next to the children at school or in her imagined audience with the great men of the past. “Mr. Washington, this is Miss Glandfield. The one who selflessly teaches history to the children at Westover Magnet School,” Debby imagined. And Mr. President looked at her approvingly, letting everyone around her know that she was making a real important deal.

She looked at her watch, rose from her chair, and went to the principal’s office. The boys, who had been watching her from the hallway through the window the whole time she had been looking around her classroom sadly, jumped out of chairs and ran away.

Debby went to the principal’s office and heard only a few words instead of the long tirade she had expected.

“Debby,” he smiled briefly, “have a nice rest. I’ve signed all papers; they’re in the office.”

Debby felt that everything was working out just fine, but she couldn’t be happy. She hadn’t counted on this outcome.

“Thank you, Sam,” she nodded.

But he was already dialing someone’s number on the phone, and just held up his thumb in approval. Debby went out into the reception area and walked over to the receptionist’s desk. The secretary asked her to sign the papers.

“Have a good rest, Debby,” the girl said.

“Thank you,” Debby replied confused and mechanically.

Then she looked intently at the girl’s smiling face and thought, “And why do I always think something bad is going to happen?” She smiled back, her blue eyes sparkled, and she walked out of the principal’s office.

In a couple of minutes Miss Glandfield was already sitting in her office, waiting for the next class, writing the good news about a vacation to her friend in Japan. Debby had known Sango for ten years, since college. They had been best friends during that time. Debby had been in Tokyo twice to visit Sango, but this time was supposed to be special. Sango is getting married. The future Mrs. Hatoyama visited Debby three times after college. In total, only five visits in ten years, but their friendship was strong. They constantly wrote to each other and shared everything on their hearts.

In her letters, Debby always called her friend Carol. They both loved the play on words and meanings. Sango means coral in Japanese. It turned out that Sango had two names, one for Japan and one for the United States. This tradition began in college.

Debby typed the words on the keyboard:

“Carol, hi!

My boss let me fly out for two weeks to see you. I’m very happy about that. Although, you know, it’s like I didn’t expect it to work out. So I could go to you in the middle of the academic year.

I checked the tickets. I’ll change planes in Paris, go to the Louvre, bring you something from there.

P.S. What is the usual gift in Japan when the loved ones get married?

P.S.S. See you on Friday).”

Part 1 – Chapter 4

‘Send’, Jean-Pierre pressed the button. The letter went to the major secret agencies: the Pentagon, the CIA, Mossad, Interpol, and many others.

It was 10:14 p.m. on the clock. Jean-Pierre took a deep breath and then exhaled, expelling fatigue. He looked out of the window at the courtyard of the main directorate of external security. Two men walked along the paving stones in the evening twilight. He rubbed his bristling face with his hands, squeezed his eyelids, under which there were dark circles. The cell phone rang; it was Jean-Pierre’s patron, Bernard Bajolet.

“Listening,” the young man said briefly, with a notebook and a pen ready.

“Jean-Pierre, I received the documents. Very good. I want to ask you…” said the patron in a low voice. “You will have to go to Tokyo instead of me. I have informed the minister that you will make the report on our proposals.”

“It will be done, monsieur. Thank you.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” monsieur Bajolet interrupted him, “forgive me for not giving you a rest. Tomorrow you can take the day off. I have to stay in Paris.”

“Okay,” Jean-Pierre said calmly and hung up.

He took another deep breath, looked at the clock on his wrist – 10:20 p.m. He printed out the report and wrote a letter to the minister’s assistant. Jean-Pierre was tasked with voicing France’s proposals for a new global counterterrorism program at the conference of heads of world security agencies in Tokyo.

Jean-Pierre knew how serious this event was. He remembered how long it had taken him and his boss to prepare this report. At first, he felt scared that he would have to do everything alone, but then an even more disturbing thought occurred to him, “if the patron is staying, something more important is here.”

Jean-Pierre wrote a letter to the clerk’s office to have them change monsieur Bajolet’s ticket to his name, checked the departure time, and went home to get some rest. Tomorrow he would have to read the theses he had prepared for the boss and check everything out. And the day after tomorrow he would fly to Tokyo.

Part 1 – Chapter 5

Yulia sat on a small bag in the hallway of her apartment, going over in her head whether she had taken everything. “Passport, underwear, passport, phone, passport, jeans…”

She closed her eyes and filled her lungs with air, daring to get up. She was angry that she was going to Kathmandu (the name of the city alone was worth it). The only joy was that the change would be in the United Arab Emirates. “There, they say, is a fancy airport.”

Yulia looked at her watch and got to her feet. She checked that the lights were off everywhere and the windows were closed. “Still, I don’t think Nepal is the best place to travel,” she thought before she left.

On autopilot she made it to the airport and checked in.

On the plane, she turned on some music and slept all the way to the Emirates. At the airport, while she waited for her next flight, she walked through the stores and looked at people while eating ice cream.

The next day she arrived in Kathmandu. At the Tribhuvan airport she was met by a man with a sign saying “Yulia Danilina. Roscosmos.” He took her straight to the observatory, aka planetarium, and the science museum. Yulia sincerely thought it was very likely that the observatory would be a hotel, too.

Dr Giyanu Lamichen the director of the observatory turned out to be a very nice man. He sat Yulia down on a chair and sat next to her.

“You know, Yulia,” he smiled, speaking in English, “this new telescope is not just a new telescope. It’s a new opportunity for us. You must understand that we are very grateful to have you here.”

“Thank you,” Yulia was embarrassed by the high-handedness of the doctor, “it’s just the adjustment of the equipment.”

“No-o-o-o,” Giyanu Lamichen interrupted her abruptly, “simple things are the most valuable.”

Yulia hesitated for a moment and felt a great cloud of responsibility suddenly appear from behind the high mountain of her pride.

“Oh shit,” she thought, “now I’m going to worry if I do everything right, Nepalese you Dr House.”

Dr Lamichen looked at her nonchalantly and nodded to something, and then said that all the antennas were set up and the observatory was already waiting.

Yulia put a bag in the corner of the director’s office and took out the necessary documents, a laptop and a flash drive.

“Then let’s go,” said she in a confident tone.

She went up with the doctor to the observatory and saw seven thin and sickly looking men. They smiled as they looked at her and said in Russian ‘welcome’. Dr Lamichen led Yulia to the healthiest-looking one of them and introduced a balding and tired-looking man with a small gray beard and glasses. He looked about sixty, his face swarthy and smiling. He was dressed in slacks and a sweater over a shirt.

“This is Dr Capri,” Lamichen circled his arm around the man’s torso.

“Welcome to Kathmandu, Yulia,” nodded Dr Capri, “you can call me Tulu-Manchi,” he pointed to a table where many wires and miscellaneous equipment were present, inviting her to come over there.

“Hello,” Yulia nodded, “what stage are you at now?” going towards the table, she asked.

“We installed the telescope according to the instructions last week. Now we have finished installing all the antennas and repeaters along the perimeter of the observatory. All the cables are out here.”

Yulia looked at the table that Dr Capri pointed at and realized that it was an ordinary wooden table, similar to the one her grandmother had in her kitchen. Yulia crinkled her face and saw that the wires were lying tied up with some kind of rope. “God, they don’t even have plastic ties here,” she was horrified.

Yulia sat down at her desk and turned on her laptop, getting ready to work. She checked the chair, which squeaked a little, and logged on to the program.

Dr Capri began plugging in all the cables to the control box that stood nearby. He gently untied the rope and carefully read the numbers on the wires, and then inserted them into the appropriate connector on the control box. Everyone else gathered behind the doctor and Yulia’s backs. They looked on with a sense of deep satisfaction and pride at their unsophisticated work. Yulia felt this anticipatory look of wonder at the workers on her back and whispered to Dr Capri.

“Dr Capri, they know it’s going to take a couple of days to set up, don’t they?”

Tulu-Manchi smiled and said quietly conspiratorially:

“Of course they know, but they’re very patient.”

Yulia realized it was a joke and smiled back, too. Dr Capri turned on the control unit, and different lights began blinking on it. All the workers smiled as they saw this and patted each other on the shoulders.

The doctor, in Nepali, told the workers everything was hooked up and they had all done a good job. One of them would stay in case they need help, and the rest could go home. After a few minutes, the observatory emptied and a tired Dr Tulu-Manchi Capri sat down next to Yulia. He asked her to tell him how she flew and why she chose such a difficult profession.

While the device was being diagnosed they had plenty of time to talk.

Part 1 – Chapter 6

Indira Gandhi Airport in Delhi greeted David with warmth and care. He looked at the sculptures of huge palms that looked like the frozen movements of dancers. “What all those mudras mean?” He bought a ticket to Bagdogra and was already sitting on the plane a few hours later. There were completely different people around, they surprised David and made him feel the spirit of adventure.

Ahead of him awaited the route, which was written down on a scrap of paper lying in his pants pocket. Just the names of the places, the points of the route: “Delhi-Bagdogra-Kalimpong-Rangangang-Yuksom-Kanchenjunga”. Amazing words that until a few days ago meant absolutely nothing to David. He wrote them down, checking every letter. The names seemed so distant and mysterious. No return route, no how to get to these points, no distance, no time. Just a few markers on the path, words that anyone anywhere in the world would be able to understand.

David spent three weeks at his father and Joan’s house. He watched TV, walked around the street, but all the time he felt something tense up inside him more and more. It was as if a huge skyscraper was being built on his chest, and the weight was increasing every day. One evening David sat down at his computer and began to look at a map of the world. “I wanted freedom, after all, and now I’m trapped here like I’m ten again,” David thought. He was already tired of asking himself what he wanted what the plan was, and where to go next. And very tired of similar questions from his father and friends who wrote him letters and messages.

“David, dear,” Joan sat down next to him while he watched another show, “I see you want to make up your mind, get up the courage. Believe me, decisions are the consequences of actions. You see, first the step, then the destination. Just try it.”

“Go to Ireland?” David smiled, glancing at his stepmother.

“And if you’re at all desperate – to Scotland, darling,” remarked Joan.

They watched the show on, but David knew for a fact that the advice was good. For some reason he was scared and didn’t want to crawl out of the hole, which, by the way, he didn’t like at all. But the advice was right – get started.

David sat down at his computer and checked the balance in his bank account. £4,870 – there they were, the ripe fruits of corporate life and all the severance payments due. He clicked on the world map tab and typed ‘Everest’ into his search string, his heart felt cold. He went to Wikipedia and typed in ‘eight-thousanders’. As he read the article, his eyes jumped over a few lines and froze on the number January 11, 1986. It was the date of his birth. For some reason he was very happy with these numbers. Some pleasant feeling of recognition or anticipation flashed weakly inside him. He remembered all the good things that had happened to him in all the time he had lived on Earth. A feeling of gratitude and lightness filled him. He looked over and read what the date referred to. It was the first winter climb to the third peak in the world called Kanchenjunga. David closed his eyes and smiled with a ‘hmmm’ sound. It wasn’t a decision yet, but he felt that this very minute he was taking that very step. A step toward something.

At dinner, David decided to ask:

“Dad, did you know that two Poles conquered Kanchenjunga in winter on my birthday?”

“About the Poles, no, but about the date, yes. That’s right,” Spencer said thoughtfully.

He had been a climber since his youth and was now working as an industrial alpinist. He often used to take David to Kinder Scout National Nature Reserve to hike the hills and be with nature. For him, the mountains were something of an outlet, though for the past ten years he’d only seen the ropes at work and the mountains on the television horizon only. Even before that, he had only hiked mountains in England.

“Read it somewhere?” Spencer asked his son.

“Yes, it’s surprising.”

“What is?”

“Such a mountain was conquered in winter only a few years ago,” David was sincerely surprised.

“Hmm,” Spencer smiled, sensing that his son was interested in the history of mountaineering. “Yes. I thought you knew about that. I definitely told you. The irony is,” Spencer rubbed his smooth chin, “that the first time Kanchenjunga was climbed by two Englishmen was in the fifties. George Band and Joe Brown, that was their names. And old Joe was from here, from Manchester.”

David smiled. Spencer couldn’t figure out what was wrong with the guy, and thought he was surprised by the coincidence around this very Mount Kanchenjunga, which stands right between Nepal and India. In fact, David felt his doubts disappeared and he was ready to go straight to this mountain to see it for himself. After dinner, he plotted an itinerary and bought a ticket to Delhi.

Spencer tried to explain to his son about the dangers of travel and Indian transport, but when he saw that the ticket had been bought, he simply took out his backpack, which was already covered with dust, and began to dump all the necessary things into it. Joan made a list of things to buy, and Spencer took the day off work to go shopping together. The list was huge, but Spencer circled a few things, emphasizing their importance. Thermal underwear, tent, sleeping bag, water filter…

“Promise me you won’t climb the mountain itself,” Spencer said desperately, right in the middle of the store the day before David left.

“Dad, I just want to see that mountain,” David replied calmly.

Joan stroked Spencer on the back and kept saying “Like father, like son”.

It seemed to David that from that conversation at dinner with his father, to this moment, as he sat here in the plane that would take him to Bagdogra, only a second had passed. And that whole second, from the beginning to this very moment, he was smiling. Smiling at himself and everything that was going on around him.

A voice on the speakerphone said “Dear ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seat belts…” David closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

“Step first, then destination,” Joan’s advice rolled around in his head.

Part 1 – Chapter 7

Jean-Pierre woke up at 4 a.m. There was no need to get up, but he could not bring himself to sleep any further. He got up, took a shower, and went for a run around the 20th arrondissement. He walked out of the house where he and his wife had rented an apartment and felt the cold air begin to tingle his face. He thought of Audrey. She, like Jean-Pierre, was from Rouen, but they had moved to Paris for work. She did not like Paris, but she liked how happy her husband was when he left for work in the morning and how tiredly satisfied he was in the evening. Audrey felt impenetrable protection and confidence around Jean-Pierre, and she didn’t care what city they lived in.

Jean-Pierre looked at the entrance to the Porte de Bagnolet subway, straightened his back, and ran in the direction of Édouard Vaillant Square. It had been a long time since he had run in the morning and he felt annoyed about it. Although Audrey never joined him on the run, it was as if Jean-Pierre had been with her that time. He liked to dream of them going to the south or just having a free night and he would take her to a restaurant. But right now Jean-Pierre couldn’t let go of thoughts of work.

“What was the meeting that made the patron cancel his visit to Tokyo? So, I know he got a message from the European Space Agency, about an urgent meeting. He called right after it. How did he sound? Calm, as always. But he apologized for keeping me busy. That doesn’t sound like him. He was always very kind to me, but he never apologized. How strange. Does apologizing mean he thinks he’s to blame?”

Jean-Pierre ran into the park and felt the smell change. The air was cooler and more humid. There were no people, only the occasional car tangentially hitting the park grounds. The pleasant noise of the sneakers’ soles against the embankment on the pathway sounded like a most inspiring soundtrack. Jean-Pierre continued to ponder:

“I see three possibilities. One, the patron just decided to take a break from the crazy pace; he recently turned 58. He’s much more tired than I am. That’s a good option, but it’s not about him at all. The second option, he knows something about this conference that I don’t. Either it’s not important at all, or it’s just idle talk. But we’ve been preparing so much, haven’t we? Maybe he wants to test me. My knowledge and confidence. Maybe I’m up for a promotion. Stop.”

Jean-Pierre turned quickly onto a side track to change course of thought.

“This is all nonsense. There was a meeting at the ESA where the Minister of Security was. It was called without warning. Why the space agency? I don’t remember any urgent or important space projects.”

The coolness of the morning and the silence penetrated between the wet strands of Jean-Pierre’s hair. He could feel the sweat droplets running between the hair on his temples. With each step, with each touch of his sneakers on the ground, fatigue and heaviness fell from Jean-Pierre’s shoulders. He felt his muscles rejoice and it communicated to his thoughts. He suddenly felt that he really wanted to do something nice for Audrey, for the boss, for his mother, and for all people in the world.

“Gotta do the order in the best way,” Jean-Pierre thought, speeding up.

Part 1 – Chapter 8

Dr Capri shouted something to the worker in Nepali. Yulia watched carefully. The worker turned the antenna a millimeter to the left and looked at the doctor.

“No,” Yulia shook her hands, “let him check the wire to the antenna, there is no signal from it, and turn the repeater to the left, it is crookedly attached.”

“Okay, Yulia,” said the doctor calmly, “I think that after this antenna we should take a break. Maybe you should see Kathmandu.”

“Dr Capri, the system doesn’t work, and I have tickets to Moscow the day after tomorrow,” said Yulia tiredly and frustrated.

“It seems to me, Yulia, that you and I should go…” Dr Capri turned his eyes to the screen and forgot what he wanted to say next.

The indicators began to change on the laptop screen. The graph of the received signal twitched upward. The program showed that the observatory was receiving all kinds of signals – electromagnetic, audio. Yulia turned quickly to the display.

“What a nonsense is that?” Yulia said incredulously.

She looked outside and saw that the worker was smiling at her with a wide smile. He shouted something from the stepladder, but she didn’t understand.

“He says the wire from the antenna was not fully inserted,” Dr Capri explained. “Did it work?”

“I don’t know,” Yulia said embarrassedly, turning to her laptop, “that’s not the signal we’re supposed to get.”

“And what is it?” the doctor was surprised, sitting down on the chair next to Yulia.

“We should get the usual background space noise, equalize its density and set zero coordinates, so that the system understands where the reference point is. The system checks the field for anomalies and if such anomalies are detected, points the telescope there and takes a picture of that area,” Yulia said, typing something on the keyboard.

“So,” forcing her to continue, Dr Capri stretched out.

“The antennas and repeaters are working. That’s the fact. But they’re finding a recurring anomaly, the telescope can’t get a focus there,” Yulia pointed to the recurring ‘impossible coordinates’ message.

“What kind of anomaly do the system see? Perhaps they caught some radio wave or TV signal?” the doctor suggested.

“Looks like it,” said Yulia, trying to control the program.

Dr Capri stood up and stretched, dispersing tiredness and sleepiness. He realized that if they had received a signal, even though it was wrong, then the technique was working and now they just needed to adjust it. He wanted to suggest that Yulia go downstairs for half an hour for some tea and then take care of the technical issues afterwards.

“Yulia,” he turned to her, but met her concerned look. “What’s wrong?” with a sharp change in tone, the doctor asked.

“It’s a cosmic signal and strong electromagnetic radiation,” Yulia looked into the space in front of her, “I’m a hundred percent sure of it. But the signal is too distinct. There’s sound and everything else,” she turned to the computer again and started typing something.

“Wait a minute, Yulia,” Dr Capri said, hoping she was just tired, “how can we tell what kind of signal we’re picking up?”

“Now I’m going to try to get that signal and convert it to audio. Damn it!” she yelled.

“What?” the doctor tensed up.

“The program is looking for the signal over and over again, trying to point the telescope there. It’s recording in half-second bursts. I could…” she hesitated, biting her lower lip, “tell the program that the telescope is pointed at the object. Please, disconnect the telescope wire from the control box,” she tossed to the doctor.

Dr Capri, justifying the meaning of his name, which can be translated as ‘mighty man’, immediately ripped one of the wire from the box. Yulia began typing the coordinates into the command line. She copied the data from another window and let the program know that the telescope was already manually pointed to the correct coordinates. The error message stopped appearing on the display. Everything looked calm. Yulia began to receive a steady and clear signal. All devices showed bursts of energy. The electromagnetic spectra were off the charts. She tried to extract the audio signal from the pile of data the system was showing and picking up.

“It seems to be working. The signal is strong, it’s at 8450 MHz. It’s the frequency used to transmit data from spacecraft to Earth. But if the signal is from…” Yulia shook her head to get the interfering thought out of her head. “The telescope can’t aim at the object because the object is on Earth.”

“Can we locate the source of the signal?” Dr Capri asked.

“Yes,” she pointed to the display. “Okay, let’s put this as the zero point. Here,” Yulia pointed at the numbers.

Dr Capri wrote down the coordinates ‘27°41'53.0"N 88°08'15.4"E’ with a pencil on a sheet in his notebook and went to the computer at the other end of the room. He quickly entered the data into the search query and saw the name of one of the largest mountains in the world, Kanchenjunga.

“Yulia, I checked the coordinates,” the doctor began to speak loudly from his desk, “it is the northeastern border of Nepal, the Kanchenjunga mountain.”

Yulia was sitting at the table, her left ear placed over the small speaker of her laptop, she held her right hand outstretched upward, letting the doctor know to stop shouting. Dr Capri ran up to Yulia and lowered his head closer to the laptop, too. They tried to breathe quietly, but the sound was almost inaudible. Yulia tried to turn up the volume. It was the maximum, but apart from the hissing, only isolated almost elusive sounds came through.

Dr Capri ran to the second computer and unplugged the small speakers from it. Ten seconds later, Yulia hooked them up to the laptop and turned the volume to maximum.

The noise increased. Then the sound became some kind of gurgling and finally the room was filled with some rustling and thumping.

“Is that thunder?” Yulia whispered.

The sound began to change again. It was the sound of water. Dr Capri checked the speaker wire, hoping the hissing and rustling would disappear. But then they heard birds singing. Dr Capri sat down in the chair next to Yulia and listened to the sound of birds trilling first, then the growling of wild animals, and then the screams of chimpanzees coming from the speakers.

Yulia and Dr Capri’s faces frowned. The tension was going away and was replaced by frustration and even some embarrassment. Yulia lowered her eyes to the floor and thought to herself, “I caught the educational channel on several million worth of equipment.”

Sounds kept pouring out of the speakers: a phone call, a steamer horn, the sound of a train and some kind of tractor.

Yulia was afraid to raise her eyes to Dr Capri because she couldn’t explain why two days of tuning space gear had resulted in them simply catching a television or radio signal from some station.

At that moment, the cry of a newborn baby was heard. Dr Capri touched Yulia’s hand.

“It’s very strange sounds,” he said, as the crunch of snow beneath feet sounded in the background.

Classical music began to play. Something snapped in Yulia and Tulu-Manchi’s chest. Yulia’s breath hitched and she tried to catch her breath, but Dr Capri beat her to it.

“A golden record?!” he said to the accompaniment of Johann Sebastian Bach.

Part 1 – Chapter 9

Debby was very tired, waiting for her flight from New York to Paris. She arrived early, afraid she would be late. She was worried about leaving in the middle of the school year, about flying halfway around the world, about money and gifts, about her pupils. All at once about a lot of things. To fly spontaneously to Sango in Tokyo like that was not like Deborah Glandfield. Of course, it was fine for Sango to arrange a wedding so unexpectedly, but Debby didn’t like surprises.

Debby wasn’t a nerd, but she certainly wasn’t the kind of person who could decide to fly to the other side of the world in a week. She was a teacher, after all. Honestly, Debby was very fond of Sango and wanted to see her. She didn’t think about the fact that she’d spent half her savings on this trip. And that right now she just wanted to go to a normal bed and rest. She has the one closest friend she has, and she only lives on the other side of the world.

A flight to Paris was announced. Debby wandered tiredly toward the gate. In Paris, she would catch a connecting flight to Tokyo. She was only glad that there she could spend the day in the beautiful city she knew so much about, but had never been to. She loved French movies, music, and culture, though she had never met a native French person in her entire life.

“Plaid?” the stewardess offered, looking into Debby’s tired eyes with her tired eyes.

“Yes, thank you.”

She covered her head and fell asleep as the plane rolled in for takeoff.

It hadn’t been an easy flight. But Debby woke up rested and happy. She ate a bar of white chocolate she bought at the airport and asked her seatmate when the plane would be landing.

“Oh, yeah. About fifteen minutes ago they said we’d be arriving,” her companion said with obvious inspiration.

“Great,” Debby said at the same time as she flashed the signal to buckle her seat belts.

“Hmm. I’ve got a whole day ahead of me…the Louvre and a real French café. I think I’ve had enough of that. Let’s save the Eiffel Tower for the next visit,” anticipating the adventure, Debby thought.

Stepping off the plane at Charles de Gaulle airport, she dropped off her luggage in the luggage room and went straight to the RER-train going to the city center. Debby listened to French trills all around her the entire ride from the airport to the Châtelet le Alle station. There she found Café Grizzly and ate a variety of sweets until she felt dizzy. Afterwards, she walked to the Louvre. She looked at the tourists walking in the same direction and felt joy and unity with them. There were many people around: couples and families, companies and singles, all striving for the goal. Some of them were going there, driven by the irresistible fascination of the Mona Lisa, some wanted to feel the spirit of antiquity or walk through time, from the era of Ramses II to the modern glass and metal pyramids. Debby, on the other hand, didn’t want to look at anything in specific, but rather wanted to get a grip on the principle. It always amazed her that history, which is so uninteresting to most people as a science, is simultaneously so attractive in the world’s museums. People stand in lines and walk for hours at a time in various Louvre halls to immerse themselves in the past. Debby wanted all the kids she teaches history to be as interested in it as visitors of the Louvre. For her, history and art merged. Art drowned in history, and history manifested itself in art.

Debby walked through the first floor of the Louvre completely astounded by the number of people and the fact that everyone had multiple emotions and thoughts on their faces: some thoughtfully gazing into the paintings, some expressing excitement about an ancient vase.

As she walked up the stairs to the second floor, she was suddenly stunned. A marvelous sculpture appeared before her eyes – a woman’s headless body with wings behind her back. The marble tunic seemed to let the light shine through.

“Excuse me, could you…” came a man’s voice from behind.

The man tried to squeeze his way to the front, but was prevented by Debby, who had stopped in the middle of the staircase. She half turned toward him, awestruck by the magnificence. At that moment, the young man saw what had stopped Debby a moment before.

“Oh, my gosh,” he exclaimed, in typical American manner, and froze. “Who is she?”

“It’s the goddess of fortune, Nika,” Miss Glandfield answered with pleasure.

The young man shifted his gaze to his new teacher and smiled at her. He understood why this woman was standing in the middle of the stairs and not moving. Things got a little freer around him and the man spoke to Debby.

“You are American! That’s great. I’m Hank. I’m from Louisville.”

“Hi, there. I’m Debby. I’m from Stamford,” she held out her little hand to Hank.

He shook it and turned to the statue again.

“Nika of Sa-mo-thrace,” Hank read from a distance. “How beautiful she is. Do you know anything about her?”

“All I know is that Nika is the goddess of luck and victory in Ancient Greece.”

Hank nodded and said:

“So we’re in luck. Don’t you want to start anything, hmm?” thoughtfully asked Hank.

“Yes,” Debby answered, also thoughtfully, looking at the bare wall behind the statue.

“Debby,” Hank called out to her,” lucky to have met you,” he laughed, walking away up the stairs.

Debby smiled at him goodbye and moved closer to the statue. Her head involuntarily craned upward. She suddenly felt that she knew very little about who the goddess Nika was, and also how to live on this strange planet among all these people. An organized group was passing nearby. Debby heard the tour guide’s voice, who spoke in English:

“…You can see that it is in motion. It’s not an illusion. That’s what the sculptor wanted to show. Look at her leg, it’s like she’s striving forward…” the guide’s voice faded.

Part 1 – Chapter 10

David stepped over rocks and rhododendron bushes. He looked around and breathed in the clean, cool air of the Tibetan foothills. He thought of the adventures that had happened to him in the last few days.

He remembered sitting in the car with the group of alpinists who had dropped him off at the Mountain. David had met them in Kalimpong at Zengdogpalri Phodong Monastery. He wanted to see the ancient manuscripts brought here by the Dalai Lama. This ancient text is called the Ganjur and is considered an important Tibetan canon for Buddhists. David was curious to see the ancient manuscript, which was salvaged when Tibet was attacked by China. He really wanted to touch such a relic and feel the depth of these places.

A group of climbers were already at the monastery when David walked in. They told David that they would not be able to see Ganjur and suggested we go together for lunch. David happily agreed, because he had no idea what to do next to get closer to Kanchenjunga. Young boys from Germany and Poland told him they were also going to Kanchenjunga and wanted to conquer it. After talking for a while, they offered to help David.

“I don’t want to climb that mountain,” David finished his tea, “I just want to see it up close.”

“What a funny Englishman you are. You won’t even be able to see it on the horizon with your gear.”

“You’ll come with us,” decided the young German senior, named Tobias, “otherwise it will take you another six months to make the journey.”

“Yes,” his friends confirmed, “we have room in the cars.”

“Thank you, but I’d like to do it myself.”

“Look, David,” Tobi put his hand on his shoulder, “we’ll take you to the park, tell that you’re a member of our team, and then you can walk around the mountains all you want.”

“I think that’s good,” David agreed under Tobias’ pressure.

They took him with them and drove first to Yuxom, and then together they passed the cordon at the entrance to Kanchenjunga Park. Together they passed through several villages on their way to the Mountain. But David ended up saying goodbye to Tobi’s group when, after several cloudy days, he suddenly saw a huge thing in the distance, Mount Kanchenjunga itself.

“Tobi, guys, thank you very much,” David said goodbye to them.

“Hey, Englishman,” Jakob, Tobias’ friend, said in a chorus, “don’t turn into a bear or a monk here. And whatever you do, mark your position on the map, keep track of where you are and where the nearest villages are. Be careful!”

They gave him a map of the park and some hiking trivia.

“David, please be very careful,” said Tobi, raising his hand high in farewell.

So David said goodbye to civilization and went on his way. He looked at the mountain in the distance, which seemed to reach the very sky, and walked slowly among the amazingly beautiful bushes. The birds were singing at will in a variety of styles. David walked, circling the mountain, and tried to listen to himself. His mind flashed back to thoughts of his father and Joan, to anxiety about his future, to despair and doom at the thought that everything, absolutely everything that was or would be in his life, would one day be gone. He remembered the villagers of this harsh and beautiful land. They lived here as if centuries behind the rest of the world, but they were peaceful and relaxed. They were just as smiling here as they were in London, and probably unhappy about the same thing. David wondered if it was even possible to live happily in this time and on this Earth. What was it all for?

He set out on a journey full of danger, but ended up chatting with two Germans and three Poles almost as old as he was, and with more or less the same desires and doubts as he did.

“I never got to feel the spiritual power of India that everyone talks about. And now I’m walking alone in the middle of nowhere.”

David wanted to stop and make camp, even though he had only walked a few miles after saying goodbye to Tobias’ group. He chose a comfortable spot with a view of Kanchenjunga, got his things and a kettle. He warmed water for tea, pocketed some breadcrumbs, and lay down in his tent, opening it so that he could see the mountain. David tucked his backpack under his head and felt, to his surprise, as if all the energy had gone out of his body. He felt unimaginably sad and lonely. He felt his throat tighten and a river rise to the bridge of his nose. He jumped out of the tent and looked around. There was no one around.

Fear drove through him. Tears welled up from his eyes, and he collapsed to his knees. Then he crawled into the tent and in a few seconds fell asleep from exhaustion. Only in the evening, he awoke to the sound of the wind. In front of his temporary abode the mountain ranges stretched on all sides, and in the midst of them rose a mountain illuminated by the setting sun.

“Kan-chen-jun-ga,” David whispered, and sighed deeply as he covered himself with his sleeping bag.

Part 1 – Chapter 11

Yulia rubbed her temples in a circular motion, sitting next to Dr Capri. They couldn’t figure out what was going on, so they dropped their heads.

“Well,” the doctor raised his head, “we know for a fact that this is a Voyager recording. We heard some Senegalese and Japanese music. And greetings in different languages of the world.”

“Yes,” Yulia confirmed desperately and added again, “but I don’t understand why we caught this recording on the wave of space transmissions. I tell you, when NASA launched the Voyagers in ’77 to explore the solar system, they did have gold-plated records with music and pictures of the Earth on them, but they don’t play it. Voyagers don’t fly around in space with speakers and perform concerts for the stars. It’s just a piece of hardware.”

“Okay, Yulia. The message is indeed the same, the frequency corresponds to the transmission frequencies in space…”

“From the spacecraft to Earth,” Yulia added.

“Yes,” the doctor confirmed Yulia’s remark, “but we caught this message. The source is near Kanchenjunga. Maybe there was a mistake in the coordinates?”

Yulia rolled her eyes.

“There could be a mistake in the coordinates, or in the decoding, or even in the signals I’m receiving now. It could be a repeater error, or just a set of radio data, electromagnetic activity, etc. But that’s too much error for a system that just needs to be hung on the ceiling. And that!” she pointed to the old speakers, which were playing another batch of international hits.

Dr Capri stood up and stretched his shoulders. He looked at Yulia’s computer monitor, then out the window, then at the wires going into the control box. He yawned with fatigue and covered his mouth with his hand.

“If we’re at a blind alley, I have to tell Dr Lamichen,” Tulu-Manchi said.

“Maybe I should call my boss first?” doubtfully, Yulia said.

“Yes, you can call him. On that computer,” Dr Capri pointed to the old white computer in the corner, “there is the Internet. Meanwhile, I’ll go downstairs.”

Yulia was left alone and felt despair creep in. “What the hell is going on here?” she thought. She copied the data onto a flash drive. Mozart’s “Magic Flute. Aria of the Queen of the Night” played on the speakers. Yulia didn’t like the pressure of this music. She turned down the volume and went to the computer on the opposite wall. There Yulia launched Skype and typed in her boss’s username.

“Hello,” said Yulia’s boss, “how’s work going?”

“Mikhail Nikolaevich, we installed the system, but we are getting strange data. Can I send you the information, so you can check?”

“Tell me in words what happened,” Mikhail asked doubtfully.

“Well, to make a long story short, after the installation the system went crazy. It found an anomaly, not a space anomaly, but here, on the ground. The source is somewhere in the mountains. The system shows a large emission of energy and electromagnetic radiation.”

“So…”

“I decoded the signal. It was an audio signal on a long-range frequency. The signal…” Yulia turned to her laptop and heard faint sounds of music, “the signal is a ‘golden record’ from Voyager. Remember, music, greetings, sounds of Earth?” she became confused.

Mikhail Nikolayevich’s face changed. It was apparent, even with the poor Internet bandwidth and the low quality of the picture, that he did not know how to respond. He was still waiting for Yulia to continue.

“It’s kind of weird,” Mikhail said, singing the words a little bit.

“I checked everything, the system works properly. It’s not the settings. The system must have reacted to the frequency of the signal.”

She knew that none of the Roscosmos executives don’t like it when employees can’t make assumptions on their own to solve a problem. And emergency situations were not something Mikhail Nikolayevich liked.

“All right, Yulia, send us all the data, we’ll check it now.”

“I already did.”

Mikhail Nikolaevich checked the mail, saw the letter from Yulia, clicked the ‘forward’ icon, typed a few words and sent the letter.

“Stay by the computer, I’ll call you back,” said the boss goodbye.

Yulia, disconnected. She sat by the computer, trying to figure out how disappointed the boss was, until scraps of the sounds of the ill-fated recording reached her. “It’s a bug, and I can’t explain it,” Yulia thought.

Dr Capri and Dr Lamichen came up to the room. Tulu-Manchi was explaining the situation to him in Nepali. Giyanu Lamichen quietly listened to his colleague’s story and nodded approvingly. Nothing seemed to bother him. Yulia could only understand words like ‘Voyager’ and ‘Bach’ in the doctor’s words.

“Right,” Dr Lamichen said in English. “Yulia, you need to look into the causes of this mistake. It is very important for us. Please start over. I’ll call the workers, and you can reinstall the whole system.”

“But…” Yulia began, “it’s not about the installation. It’s about the signal. Either it’s some kind of experiment by the Chinese, or it’s a reflection of the satellite signal,” she couldn’t believe what she was saying, but she continued on. “I informed my supervisor, and he is checking the signal now. He’ll check with the Chinese if he needs to.”

“Then continue,” Dr Lamichen said in English, looking at Tulu-Manchi.

Dr Capri nodded back at him, and Dr Lamichen left the room.

“What does your boss say?” Tulu-Manchi asked Yulia.

“He said he would call back when he checked the signal.”

“Yulia, what else do we know about this signal?” taking a seat next to him, Dr Capri asked.

“Well, let’s start from the beginning,” Yulia sighed heavily. “First of all, it’s on the frequency we use to transmit the signal from spacecraft to Earth. Second, along with the information signal, a powerful magnetic pulse emanates from the same place. The signal is very clear and stable. This does not happen when we are talking about a signal from space.”

“Okay,” assessing Yulia’s words, the doctor said. “What do we know about the information in this signal?” he asked the question and started answering it himself. “This is the recording that was on Voyager. We were able to get the audio signal, but you say that there are pictures and something else.”

“Yes,” Yulia confirmed, “I think in an hour we’ll be able to find out all the exact information when my boss checks the signal through the Roscosmos channels.”

“Let’s check the exact coordinates for now and try to find the nearest village or town on the map,” suggested Dr Capri.

Together they went to the old stationary computer. Yulia saw that there was a Skype message from her boss, “Call you back in a minute.”

She sat down beside the computer. Dr Capri looked at her carefully and asked:

“Bad news?”

“No,” Yulia shook her head, “he said he would call back in a minute. But for some reason, I am not happy.”

A message popped up on the screen indicating an incoming call. Yulia answered and moved closer to the monitor.

“Yulia,” Mikhail said sharply, barely appearing on the screen.

Noticing Dr Capri, he said in English.

“Hello. I’ll quickly tell Yulia the information in Russian, and then she will translate it for you.”

Dr Capri nodded incomprehensibly and sat down next to Yulia on the chair. The boss began to say something very quickly to Yulia, and she answered briefly.

“When did you get the signal?” he asked.

“An hour or an hour and a half ago.”

“The signal is stable and strong. We have contacted the Chinese, they can see it. The European Space Agency also confirms the signal. NASA is still saying nothing.”

“So it’s not a mistake?”

“Yulia, what have you found out?” Mikhail asked briefly, distracted by the people around him.

“We defined the exact coordinates. It is a mountain in Nepal.”

“That’s already there. Next,” looking at the sheets in front of him, Mikhail said.

“In addition to the audio signal, the devices show magnetic radiation…”

“Yulia, everything is there. Pictures from Voyager, recordings. This is the whole golden record, and it’s not something that is posted on the Internet on NASA’s website, it’s the one itself, the original. The signal is very strong and accompanied by very strong magnetic radiation.”

“What?” Yulia turned to Dr Capri and looked at him hopefully.

Dr Capri responded to her gaze, but could not help her. He didn’t understand the Russians’ conversation.

“How did the detection work out?” Yulia and Tulu-Manchi’s silent dialogue was interrupted by her boss.

“We started the system, and I turned on the search. The equipment started giving me a targeting error. They tried to point again and again, but they couldn’t. I turned off the telescope and the system started getting a steady signal through the antennas. I used an audio simulation program, and we heard music. Then we realized it was something familiar…” Yulia didn’t have time to finish her thought.

“I’ll call you in half an hour,” Mikhail said without disconnecting his Skype, stood up from the table and started talking to someone.

Yulia looked down at the old keyboard, and only now she noticed that there were incomprehensible squiggles on it next to the usual English letters. Tulu-Manchi looked at Yulia in silence. His patience seemed to have no limits, he just waited. Yulia began to speak, staring down at the incomprehensible squiggles:

“The Chinese and ESA confirmed the signal. Everyone can see it. The signal is not the only problem, there is also strong magnetic radiation. Everyone is trying to figure out what’s going on right now,” Yulia looked up at Dr Capri.

He was calm and deciding something inside.

“The signal is coming from the territory of Nepal,” he said and stopped.

Yulia did not understand whether it was a question or a statement, and just waited to see what would happen next.

“Can you build something to register the signal under hiking conditions?” Tulu-Manchi asked.

“I don’t have the equipment,” Yulia tried to say.

“We can find something in our warehouse. Come down, I’m going to Dr Lamichen,” Dr Capri stood up with the look of a man who had made up his mind.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s happening in Nepal, so we have to go there,” the doctor said as he left the room.

Part 1 – Chapter 12

Bernard Bajolet was twiddling a phone in his hands, sitting at the conference table at the headquarters of the European Space Agency. He could not understand, since when did the ESA become involved in national security issues. But he received a personal call from the minister asking him to come to an urgent meeting. Around him sat several heads of various organizations whom he knew well. All of them were also looking at each other incomprehensibly.

“Well, gentlemen,” he thought, “what’s the news in orbit?”

Jean-Jacques Dordain, head of ESA, entered the room. Everyone turned to him mechanically.

“Madame and Monsieur, sorry to keep you waiting,” he began with undisguised excitement. “Well, about seven hours ago in Kathmandu during the installation of the anomaly detection system in outer space, a signal was detected.”

The light in the room dimmed and the desktop of the computer of one of Mr. Dordain’s assistants appeared on the big monitor. The assistant opened a map file so that everyone could understand exactly where the detection had occurred. At this time, Jean-Jacques Dordain continued:

“The signal was picked up at the Kathmandu Observatory. Roscosmos was the first to confirm it. They checked and found exactly the same anomaly. The head of Roscosmos asked us for confirmation. We did that about four hours ago. The signal is believed to be coming from the foothills in northeastern Nepal, Mount Kan-chen-junga,” he said slowly, reading from the sheet. “The signal contains information from the so-called golden recording of Voyager made in the seventies.”

“Is that a threat to national security?” someone next to Bernard Bajolet said with indignation.

The head of ESA hesitated a bit and added:

“Um. The signal itself is on a space transmission frequency, that’s not the biggest problem. Although we can’t explain that either. The biggest problem is the active magnetic anomaly.”

There is a silent pause in the room. It was interrupted by the French Minister of Security.

“Gentlemen, we are not talking about contact with aliens, but we need to understand what is going on. What resources do we have to check this quadrant?”

“We can take detailed pictures of the area,” suggested one of the generals, “we can analyze the recording to determine the type of transmitting device.”

“Okay,” the minister nodded. “What else do we know? Please, Monsieur Dordain.”

The head of the space agency began to talk:

“The recording itself is no different from the Voyager recording. We tend to assume that this is the original, not the recordings that are in the NASA archives and public sources, this is exactly the original from the Voyager record.”

“How did you figure that out?” Bernard Bajolet asked.

“The quality of the signal.”

“I thought it was just an attached disk on the Voyager plating. Is it possible that the signal is being broadcast?” asked one of the generals.

“No,” replied the minister for the head of the ESA, “so we need to get to the bottom of this situation.”

That ended the meeting, several generals began to call their teams to find out more about the situation. The minister asked all the heads of departments to stay in Paris and attend an extended meeting on the situation tomorrow. Bernard Bajolet went out into the corridor and checked his mail and his work calendar.

He dialed the number of his assistant.

“Listening,” Jean-Pierre’s voice was heard.

“Jean-Pierre, I received the documents. Very good. I want to ask you…” said Bernard tiredly. “You will have to go to Tokyo instead of me. I have informed the minister that you will make a report on our proposals.”

“It will be done, monsieur. Thank you.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” Bernard Bajolet breathed in his chest, “forgive me for not giving you a rest. Tomorrow you can take the day off. I have to stay in Paris.”

“Okay.”

Part 1 – Chapter 13

Jean-Pierre, rested and in the mood for a long flight, stood in the aisle of the plane. There were several passengers in front of him. The stewardess smiled at him and greeted him.

“Good evening, monsieur.”

Jean-Pierre walked to the back of the plane. He had to change the ticket of the boss, and there was only a free seat in the tail of the plane. He walked down the narrow aisle, holding a small suitcase on wheels in front of him. A young Japanese man with headphones was sitting at the window, Jean-Pierre put the suitcase on the luggage shelf and sat on the seat in the center of the row. People were seated in their seats and preparing for the flight. A girl sat down next to them. Jean-Pierre began to repeat to himself the theses of the report, which he would have to present tomorrow. The plane began to roll out for takeoff.

Jean-Pierre glanced to the left – the Japanese man was typing something on his phone and listening to music; he turned to the right and saw a postcard in the hands of the girl.

“Nika,” Jean-Pierre said in French with a smile, “goddess of luck.”

“Excuse me,” the girl said in English.

Jean-Pierre looked closely at the girl and realized he could guess where she was from. Blond hair down to her shoulder blades, smiling face, high forehead, and wide-set eyes. She was dressed in a very bright sweater, and she had a special travel pad around her neck.

“Nika brings good luck,” he said in English, “and good luck is always nice.”

The girl smiled and nodded understandingly. She liked that Frenchman with the gray hair and the tired but kind look. She looked again at the image and said:

“Yes, that’s what I’m thinking. My name is Debby.”

“Jean-Pierre,” he nodded briefly.

The plane accelerated down the runway and threw its nose up. Jean-Pierre leaned back and continued to mull over the report and the speech plan with his eyes closed. Debby put the card away in her purse and sank into her thoughts. In them, she was already driving with Sango in the car and telling her impressions of the Louvre. The museum had given her some interesting thoughts about how to get the children involved in learning. Debby imagined telling a friend about her idea. The name of the project was a draft, but she liked it a lot. “Attention conquers suffering,” she wrote in her notebook.

“Everyone wants to feel connected to great things and great people. Children need to feel connected to the history of the country and the world. They are the ones who create it and perceive it. They make it relevant and important.” Debby put her pen aside and thought.

The plane rose gently above the clouds and leveled off in the ocean of air.

Part 1 – Chapter 14

People were gathering in the large hall of the European Space Agency. There were many more people than yesterday. There were representatives from various countries and different agencies. They were all seated around a large table.

“So, gentlemen,” Jean-Jacques Dordain’s voice rang out, “let’s begin our meeting. Today we are joined by colleagues from Russia, Nepal, and India. Representatives from NASA will be joining us a little later. I would like now to come up with a common position on the situation. Please.”

The Nepalese general turned on his microphone:

“We are monitoring the area, no anomalies so far. Tomorrow we will be able to survey the area with the Roscosmos scientist who detected the signal.”

The words of the Nepalese military officer were confirmed by the Indian commander.

“The cordon at the entrance to Kanchenjunga Park reports that there are no incidents in the quadrant. We have received pictures from a drone. Mountains and snow.”

“What are your plans,” said the Roscosmos representative to the Indian.

“We will wait for the report of Nepalese expedition. For now, we are preparing a special team at the closest base to the point. It’s not that fast, it’s a very distant area.”

“Did you compare the images from the drone and the map of signal distribution?” Igor Komarov, the head of Roscosmos, continued to ask.

“Yes, there is absolutely nothing there, it’s the eastern side of Mount Kanchenjunga. Not a village or even a climbing station.”

“What about the dynamics of the signal?” Jean-Jacques Dordain clarified.

“It is still broadcasting. The magnetic field is getting stronger. We think it may be affecting the weather,” a scientist next to the head of ESA said.

“What do NASA say?” the Indian general asked.

“So far they have not given any answers to us or to Roscosmos,” replied Jean-Jacques Dordain. “The head of NASA, Charles Bolden, and his team are coming to see us today. So far, silence. I suggest we get together when they get here.”

Everyone started getting up from the table and making phone calls. Bernard Bajolet approached the French Minister of Security.

“Monsieur.”

“Yes, Bernard, what do you think of all this?” the minister asked, taking Monsieur Bajolet aside.

“Monsieur, frankly, I don’t understand why everyone is so worried. It’s just a signal.”

“Look at the report,” the minister pointed to the blue folder marked ESA on his desk, “they say the signal is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“М?” Bernard Bajolet said in surprise.

“Along with this signal comes a very strong impulse. A large cyclone is forming, seismic activity has increased. They say that all this may lead to a major catastrophe.”

Bernard Bajolet silently stretched a ‘yes’ and thought about it. He was used to looking for a threat in people and other nations, but he rarely saw it in nature.

“If it were nature,” his mind raced, “there would be no signal from Voyager.”

Part 2 – Chapter 15

The morning was frosty. David ran quickly out of the tent and started jumping on the spot. Steam was coming out of his mouth and the cold air was burning his body. It was about six o’clock in the morning, but the sun was already visible. David turned to it, and shouted as hard as he could:

“Hello, world!”

The echo rang out between the neighboring hills, and the spirit of adventure colored the landscape with bright paint. David is ready for anything and knows for sure that everything will be alright. He brewed some tea and drank with relish. The doubts seemed to be completely gone.

“Is this what life tastes like?” David thought aloud.

He packed all his belongings, checked that his shoes were laced up well and walked towards the foothills of Kanchenjunga. His feet treaded on rocky ledges, next to which small plants struggled to survive. David looked around and felt ready to spend the rest of his days here. “If there could still be Joan’s cooking here, it would be heaven,” he smiled, remembering the culinary variety at his father’s house.

He began to remember some little things from his own life. They were episodes completely forgotten and unimportant. He played them over in his mind and was surprised that he remembered them with such clarity. For example, he remembered taking a coding exam and passing off someone else’s work as his own. His heart clenched for a moment. He felt a real pain in the chest and an unpleasant taste in the mouth. Then the memory flashed back to him and a few others carrying a girl who had fainted on the Tube in London right in the rush hour crowd. David remembered what he was doing, what the girl looked like and all the people in their path, but could not remember a single thought he had at that moment. “Or maybe there were no thoughts?” he thought.

David stopped and took out a small notebook and a pencil and began to write:

“When I was a kid, all I wanted to do was express myself and feel the world. Where is that now? There was no + and -. There was balance. Maybe unhappiness is just the force of that balance. It just wants to tell us, ‘Stop taking, it’s time to give’.”

David looked at the tape and remembered how he had decided to sell everything and leave. It all seemed far in the past now. How had he had the guts to do such a thing? He didn’t quite understand it either. Had he chosen it, or was he just reacting to the circumstances? Maybe it was the monotonous work, the long hours that forced him to do it. Forced him to quit the job, to move out of his apartment, to leave London. How did he end up on the other side of the world? Amazingly, the trip seemed like complete madness to him when he was at his father’s house. But now it all – what’s around and what’s inside – seems so logical and so singularly true.

There was a buzzing sound from the bag and a little later the music of his phone. David froze in place, unsure of what was happening. He looked behind him and listened. The sound was intensifying.

“What the hell?” he dropped his bag from his shoulders.

He fumbled for his phone, surprised that he had forgotten to turn it off. All it said on the screen was ‘Incoming Call’. No phone number, no name from the address book. “How is there even network service here?” He swiped the screen to accept the call and held it to his ear. A loud ring and rattle came from the speaker. David abruptly pulled the phone away from his ear and clutched at the pain. He tried to drop the call, but there was no way he could do it. The phone was unresponsive. He turned it off with a button and stomped his foot in pain.

“Shit,” David sat down on the ground, “what was this all about?”

He rubbed his temple and massaged his ear, wondering what it was. He thought maybe it was some kind of magnetic field from the iron ore or something. He looked at his hand and saw that there was blood on the fingers. His thoughts stopped dramatically. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket, tore part of it off, put it in his ear, and walked onward until a fright found him among those mountains. His head was buzzing, but he didn’t want to lose the spirit that had come to him that morning. The steps became less smooth, and the philosophical thoughts faded away.

“Balance, you say?” he thought. “Will see.”

David quickened his stride, kicking rocks in frustration.

Part 2 – Chapter 16

“Let’s get to the point,” said Jean-Jacques Dordain, as organizer, and he looked expectantly at Charles Bolden. “Charley, tell us, what’s going on?” changing his tone to a friendly one, the head of the European agency asked. “Why NASA gives no response to our inquiries?”

Charles Bolden, the head of NASA, looked at him with a tired smile. He looked around the large room, where about a hundred people from all over the world were sitting. There were representatives of the European Union, several top officials from the United States, China, and Russia. Charles Bolden turned on his microphone and cleared his throat.

“Well, folks,” he began, “here’s the deal. I can’t explain everything, but I’ll try to tell you what we’ve been able to recover. We launched two Voyagers in ’77. Both are still in service and our stations are still getting their signals. The crafts are performing better than we could have even imagined. They completed their mission years ago and are now moving away from the solar system by inertia, as we call it. The project was not without difficulties. On the approach to Uranus, Voyager 2 had an emergency situation. The signal was lost, and we thought we’d lost it. But then the signal came back.”

“No signal? Can you explain?” someone at the table asked.

“I have many versions of this incident, and the official NASA position is one of the memory clusters was damaged. That’s right, the device was damaged, but how it happened we can’t explain. The fact is that according to the data we were able to reconstruct, it turns out that the device was not moving in space for about 36 minutes.”

“Charley, didn’t move in space?” Jean-Jacques Dordain clarified.

“Yes,” Charles Bolden swiped his face, “it stopped.”

People in the hall began to look at each other and murmured.

“Have I got that right?” looking around the hall, Mr. Dordain said. “Voyager 2 stopped for 36 minutes on approach to Uranus? You mean… stopped at all?”

“We have the trajectory reports, the mission correction due to the 36 minute gap, and the program to exclude the damaged cluster from the transmission,” Charles Bolden pulled the documents out of a folder.

“But Voyager 2 has continued on its way, right? It’s in communication.” asked a representative of the Chinese agency.

“Yes,” Mr. Bolden turned around, “that’s right. The spacecraft has got back up to speed without any action on our part. Until this week, NASA believed that the discrepancy was tentative due to the desynchronization of the spacecraft with the control center.”

There was a pause in the room. Then the hubbub and commotion began to grow. Jean-Jacques Dordain collapsed in his seat. One of the American generals turned on his microphone:

“This information is raw, Mr. Bolden just wanted to say…” his voice drowned in the noise of the crowd.

After a moment, everyone’s confusion turned into a thirst for information.

“All right,” Mr. Dordain turned on his microphone, “all right, you have spatial telemetry. According to this data, Voyager hasn’t moved for 36 minutes, and you have a damaged memory sector on your device. Don’t you think that’s a transmission error.”

“That’s exactly what we told everyone,” Charles Bolden replied. “Corrected the course and continued the mission.”

“And now we have a recording from this device broadcasted somewhere in the Himalayas?” said the Indian general.

“Gentlemen,” the Russian general interrupted them, “in a couple of hours the Nepalese army together with our scientists will survey the square. Let’s not go crazy. It is not a fact that these things are related.”

Charles Bolden turned to his colleague from the European Space Agency and held his hands apart. Jean-Jacques Dordain silently said, “Wow!” and looked around the room, where a hundred adults were fiercely arguing with each other and trying to prove something. Some people tried to call the head of NASA or someone in his entourage to account, but Charles Bolden only shook his head in frustration as a sign that he had said enough.

Part 2 – Chapter 17

Yulia and Dr Capri starred in different directions, looking at the mountains that surrounded their helicopter on all sides. They were tense and quiet. The two pilots sat in the front, and the radio technician sat across from the doctor and Yulia. Yulia kept adjusting the huge headphones, which were supposed to muffle the whistle of the propeller, but only irritated her.

“How much longer is the flight?” Yulia asked the doctor in English.

Tulu-Manchi turned to the officer of communications and pointed to his watch.

“Thirty minutes to the point,” the officer said in Nepali.

He was holding a device that looked like a notebook computer and a sonar at the same time, and he tried to stare at it steadily.

“Half an hour,” the doctor repeated in English to Yulia.

She looked at the mountains overhanging to the left of the helicopter. These ridges had no edge. Only the haze blurred their disordered rows into the horizon. Those that were closer seemed like black ruins, and behind them stuck out snow-covered peaks.

The communications officer knocked on the device.

“What happened?” Dr Capri turned to him again.

“The unit is malfunctioning,” the officer replied.

“What’s going on?” the second pilot asked over the intercom.

“The electronics are going crazy,” said the captain. “We have to shut down all our systems. Contact the base.”

The aide began to press some switches and speak loudly into the radio. Yulia looked at the movements going on around her and wondered why she had agreed to this adventure, and why she hadn’t refused to her boss when he asked to go with the military. “Yulia, we have agreed with the Nepalese government that you can fly with the squad, we need to understand what’s going on there,” the boss’s words came to mind. She shifted her gaze from the frowning communications officer to the co-pilot. He jogged his hand over all the toggle switches on the panel and deactivated them. The helicopter stopped rocking from side to side. Yulia exhaled. “That’s enough. Enough!” she repeated.

Dr Capri listened intently to the crew’s conversations. He was trying to figure out if the chatter was related to the signal or if it was just a helicopter malfunction. The pilots were talking to the base.

“We have some kind of electronics malfunction,” the co-pilot said the last phrase.

The captain joined in the conversation:

“Do we continue to fly to the designated target?” he waited tensely for an answer.

“Yes, continue flight, subject to crew safety,” the base reported.

“Understood,” the captain replied and turned on the intercom. “Is the equipment operational?” he turned to the communication officer.

“Captain, the equipment is out of order,” the officer replied with a show of hands.

“Get a map of the area and mark the last position on it,” the captain said with determination to carry out the order.

“Yes,” the co-pilot responded.

Yulia tugged at Dr Capri’s sleeve and looked at him with an expression of bewilderment. Dr Capri began to explain the military’s conversation:

“The electronics are out of order. But we’re going to try to find the source on the regular map. We seem to have been close by.”

Yulia shook her head and, pressing her lips together, turned to the window. She felt fear creeping up and imagined she was talking to her mother on the phone and describing her condition, “Mom, everything burns inside. It’s like a mixture of despair, misunderstanding, resentment, and fear.” The cocktail was clearly not to Yulia’s taste. She looked at the mountains around her and thought that this would never happen to her in Moscow. “And I don’t really need it!”

Dr Capri fatherly put his hand on her shoulder.

“Yulia,” he began to say in his usual calm and judicious voice, “please don’t despair.”

He, also, looked at the mountains and nodded a little understandingly.

“Soon it will be over. I’m sure we’ll find someone’s portable player lying on a hiking trail and go back,” he smiled, following Yulia. “And then I’ll show you Pashupatinath. It’s an amazing place. The biggest Shiva temple in the world. I’ll take you to the lake called Rani Pokhari. You will like it.”

Yulia wiped her tears and patted Tulu-Manchi’s hand to show that she agreed. He smiled and pointed to the mountain ahead. It was Kanchenjunga. Yulia flicked her nose and with a sense of the universality of this mountain exhaled loudly and long with a ‘Ho’ sound.

“The point from where the signal is supposedly coming from is over there, under that peak,” the co-pilot pointed into the distance.

“We’ll make three tapering circles and if we don’t find anything, we’ll head back to base,” the captain said.

He did a small maneuver, the helicopter shook violently.

“Engine power is dropping!” he shouted. “Something is wrong with the machine!”

The helicopter began to descend against the actions of the pilots. The rotor blades began to slow down and the sound density decreased.

“Select a landing spot!” commanded the captain. “Everyone, grab hold of the handrails!”

The helicopter was approaching the ground. Tulu-Manchi held Yulia’s hand tightly. But she looked tiredly at the actions of the military and the doctor and did absolutely not feel the fall. Yulia stopped understanding what was happening. She turned as pale as the snow on the mountain tops around her. Her eyes rolled back, and she fell from this mountain madness into the quiet surf of her subconscious. The captain yanked the lever and the helicopter hovered just in front of the ground for a moment and landed gently, as gently as it could on the hillside. Everything went quiet.

“Are you all right?” looking at Yulia with fright, the doctor asked.

“No,” replied Yulia calmly, coming to her senses, “I’m not alright.”

The assistant captain opened the helicopter doors from the outside and helped Yulia out. The helicopter was sliding down the mountain. The pilots began throwing rocks under the wheels. The helicopter slid down a few more centimeters and froze.

Yulia, Dr Capri, the communications officer, and the two pilots stood in the middle of the mountain and looked at the bizarre giant steel dragonfly, which looked absurd in this landscape. Around the military and scientists towered mountains and an immense silence that contrasted strongly with the noise and anxiety that had ended a moment before.

The military put a few more large rocks under the wheels of the helicopter for reassurance. They took a few steps back, assessing the situation, trying to comprehend what had happened.

“Hey! Are you okay?” an English speech rang out behind them.

The assistant captain drew his gun and pointed it in the direction of the approaching figure.

“Stop and raise your hands!” shouted the soldier in Nepali.

The man stopped and put his hands in the air.

“I don’t understand you,” came the English speech, “I think you want me to do this.”

Tulu-Manchi asked the pilot to lower his weapon and said in English:

“Excuse us, are you a tourist?”

“Yes, I’m…” the man with the raised hands hesitated, “I’m an English tourist. I saw your helicopter falling and ran here.”

Dr Capri began to walk up the slope toward the sunlit figure behind him.

“My name is Dr Tulu-Manchi Capri,” the doctor said as he approached the young man.

“Hello,” the young man shook the doctor’s hand, “my name is David Conel.”

“Sorry about the gun,” the doctor said embarrassedly as he accompanied David to the helicopter. “We are doing scientific research here with the military. This is Yulia. And these,” he circled the group of military men, “are our escort.”

The doctor invited David to come up to Yulia, and went to the captain to explain that there is no threat and this is an ordinary tourist from England.

“Hello,” the young man said, filling the pause. “My name is David Conel.”

“Yulia Danilina,” Yulia answered, looking at the man incredulously.

“It can’t be possible that the helicopter broke down because of him,” she thought, looking at the puny long-haired guy with a tourist backpack behind his back, “and the signal is obviously not his doing.”

David looked confused and looked at the helicopter with childlike delight.

“It was a good landing, but obviously not planned,” David said, smiling.

“Certainly,” Yulia said with a little cheerfulness, “our electronics failed,” she blurted out in a simple voice.

“Oh!” David was surprised and looked at the helicopter.

Yulia couldn’t recognize the emotion David had just expressed and hesitated even more.

“Oh?” Yulia repeated, trying to keep the intonation and at the same time change it to a questioning one.

“Yesterday my phone went crazy and rang just like that, and when I picked it up, it made some kind of hissing and whistling sound,” David said, reasoning, and then pointed to his ear and the cloth in it.

Tulu-Manchi heard David’s last phrase and looked tensely at Yulia.

“David,” said the doctor, smiling, “will you please tell me again what happened to you and when? And more particularly.”

Part 2 – Chapter 18

A morning meeting began in Paris. A large number of people were already gathered in the hall. Everyone was discussing and arguing loudly. Igor Komarov, the head of Roscosmos, was excitedly discussing news with a Nepalese military general. Jean-Jacques Dordain knocked on the microphone to get the attention of his colleagues, and showed his hand to Igor Komarov that he could start talking.

“Gentlemen,” Igor Komarov began, “this morning we lost contact with the helicopter which was sent to the source of the signal. There were two scientists and three military men in it.”

“Connection with the helicopter was lost at 12:14 local time,” said the representative of Nepal. “The interference in this quadrant is very strong now. We can’t contact the crew. In addition to that, a major cyclone has started to form in the area.”

“Do we have any more information?” the head of NASA asked.

“At 12:04 we had the last radio contact with them,” continued the Nepalese general. “They reported that some of the electronics on board are out of order, but the machine is under control. We gave permission for the operation to continue if there was no threat.”

“That’s it?”

“Communication was cut off, 10 minutes later they disappeared from radar a couple of kilometers from the point of alleged source.”

“What can we do under these circumstances?” the Russian general asked.

“We sent a rescue team on foot to the point,” the Indian general interjected. “There is a risk that the weather conditions will worsen and the detachment will not be able to get close to the point.”

“How much time do you need to get people there?” The Russian clarified.

“About eighteen hours.”

“Eighteen?” the Roscosmos chief became indignant. “Are you joking? It is very long.”

“We can’t send a helicopter there now,” said the Indian, “it’s dangerous.”

“How did we let this happen?” Jean-Jacques Dordain said in a half-whisper without a microphone.

The Russian general approached the Indian and called the Nepali. Together they began to discuss something.

“Well,” said the head of ESA looking at the discussion of the military, “let’s wait for the news from the rescue squad.”

Charles Bolden stood up from his seat and said loudly without a microphone:

“Guys, what’s going on here?”

Everyone in the audience froze and turned to him. He put his hands in the air.

“I’m the only one who doesn’t understand how the ’86 Voyager crash, the signal, and our people going missing today are related?”

“What do you suggest, Charley?” Jean-Jacques Dordain asked.

“I’m suggesting we think a minute about it. We have a situation and all we do is react, offer nothing.”

“Charles, we are waiting for offers from you too,” said Monsieur Dordain.

At that moment, everyone in the room had their phones buzzing at the same time. People began to turn around and look at each other.

Part 2 – Chapter 19

Jean-Pierre opened his eyes. His sleepy state was not completely gone, and he looked half-asleep at the rows of seats in front of him. He saw the "fasten your seat belts" signal blink. The thought blinked, “landing?”

The plane bounced. Jean-Pierre sat quietly in his seat, assuming it was a hard landing. But the people in the cabin shrieked. The Japanese man next to him perked up. Jean-Pierre looked out the window and realized the plane was in the air. “An air hole?”

“Dear ladies and gentlemen, we have hit turbulence. Please fasten your seat belts,” the pilot said quickly and coldly.

The plane jumped once more heavily, as if the clouds outside had hardened and hit the hull of the plane. The lights in the cabin flickered. A scream was heard from the tail section.

Jean-Pierre tried to look down the aisle, but immediately realized what had happened. There was no Debby in place. Jean-Pierre unbuckled his seatbelt and, holding tightly to the back of the seat, moved toward the tailgate. There was a steward standing by the lavatory, knocking on the door.

“Please open the door,” the steward said again.

“Just open that door,” Jean-Pierre said sharply in French. “I heard a scream, there’s an American girl, she’s obviously been hit.”

“Monsieur,” the steward replied nonchalantly, “take your seat.”

He looked reproachfully at Jean-Pierre and pointed to his seat. A girl appeared behind the steward.

“Etienne,” she tugged at the steward’s arm, “please open the door, in case it’s something serious.”

The steward reluctantly lifted the toilet sign and pulled the handle that was hidden underneath it. The lock on the door moved from ‘occupied’ to ‘vacant’. Jean-Pierre was the first who saw Debby lying in an unnatural position. She had clearly hit her head on something hard. The steward rushed to her, but Jean-Pierre pushed him away:

“Get the first aid kit, she has a head wound.”

The plane began to shake again: it jerked sharply and began to turn over. Jean-Pierre wanted to hold Debby in place, but he felt his body become noticeably lighter and rest against the wall of the lavatory. Jean-Pierre grabbed Debby in an armful with his right hand and rested his legs and left arm on the wall. The door slammed shut again. Jean-Pierre tensed with his whole body, but through the chattering he heard Debby come to her senses and moan something like, “Where am I? Help!”

“Hold on,” Jean-Pierre shouted in English, “as hard as you can.”

Debby obeyed the request and clung to him as tightly as she could. Jean-Pierre knew by the sound that it was total chaos outside the lavatory. The sound of alarms and the noise of objects flying around the cabin filled the plane with a terrifying cacophony. The screams of women and men mingled with the roar of the engines.

“What is it? What is it?” Debby repeated.

Jean-Pierre tried to figure out what was going on. It seemed as if the plane was spinning around its axis and coming down sharply. Suddenly the plane stopped falling and Jean-Pierre and Debby were hit by inertia on the floor.

Jean-Pierre banged his hip and ribs hard, but held on with tenacity. He stood up again and took up a position with his legs and arms.

“Hold on,” Jean-Pierre commanded again.

Debby’s body went soft and her arms dangled.

The impact of incredible force threw them up to the ceiling and then threw them to the floor. Jean-Pierre hit his head and lost consciousness. He did not hear the iron screeching of the plane’s hull being torn apart. Everything around them went into total darkness and silence. Their bodies were tossed from side to side, and the door slammed shut and something propped it up on the other side. Debby and Jean-Pierre flew like wet clothes in a washing machine in the small space of a toilet cubicle at several thousand feet.

The plane stopped responding to the pilots as soon as Jean-Pierre felt the first air holes. The airliner was being pulled into the storm zone. All electronics abruptly shut down, and the plane went into a spin. The pilots tried to do something, but it was impossible to control the falling airplane. The first pilot commanded to restart the system, but when he saw the huge mountains in front of him, he realized that the plane was far away from its intended course, and the devices had been fooling them for a long time. In a final attempt to stop the plane from falling, he lifted the nose of the craft up, but caught the rock with his wing. The plane jumped up like a little boy on a sled. The impact was so powerful that the fuselage began to crack, and the wing fragments hit the tail section and cut through it like a sharp knife through paper. The tail, together with Jean-Pierre and Debby, fell off the plane and began to fall straight into the mountain range. The plane itself was without one wing and with a gaping hole behind it, descending between the peaks of the mountains.

The smoke left a dark, long cloud in the sky. Looking up from the ground, it felt like a huge meteorite falling to pieces. After a few seconds, the howl of the falling plane stopped abruptly, and it disappeared right in the middle of the sky. Only the tail section was slowly falling down, as if it weighed nothing. It whirled around like a light feather.

Part 2 – Chapter 20

“Debby,” Sango said. “Debby!”

Debby sat up out of bed and looked around. She recognized Sango’s apartment in Tokyo. Everything was exactly as it had been on her last visit. A bright room with a large window and a bed that transformed into a dresser. A beautiful tree in the corner. Sango sat on the edge of the bed, looking frightened, as if she hadn’t been able to wake Debby up for a long time.

“God, Carol!” Debby threw herself into Sango’s arms. “I had a terrible dream. I was on an airplane and it started falling. Then a young man tried to save me, but…” she recoiled from Sango, “how can you possibly save somebody in a plane crash? And then we were falling. I felt weightless. And then the terrible impact and everything was spinning around. I felt like it was better to just die.”

“Debby,” Sango looked at her with compassion.

“М?” Debby mumbled through her tears. “God, I was so scared.”

“Debby,” Sango repeated, “open your eyes.”

The room began to darken and fill with cold. Debby felt her body grow heavy and aching with terrible pain. Sango was moving away from her. She pulled her arms toward her friend to hold her again, but her hands didn’t obey. Everything in front of her eyes blurred. Debby opened her eyes.

Jean-Pierre was in front of her. His face and hands were bruised, but he was looking at Debby frightened. He exhaled with relief when he found Debby awake.

“Debby,” Jean-Pierre said with relief, “how do you feel? Can you move your arms and legs? You didn’t breathe for a couple of minutes.”

Debby tried to say that she felt fine, but realized that it wouldn’t be true. She couldn’t utter a word.

“Aaah!” she let out a semblance of a scream instead of words.

“Debby, you have a broken hip and a lot of bruises. Don’t be afraid. We need to see if I can move you. Try to lift your head.”

Debby lifted her head and felt a wild pain. She moaned again.

“I know it hurts, but we need to check the whole body. The neck is fine. Move your arms,” Jean-Pierre commanded as if he were a doctor.

A few more orders from Jean-Pierre brought a huge dose of pain to Debby, and she couldn’t move with exhaustion. The fingers on her hands were moving, though her hands themselves were bruised and bruised. Her right leg did not move; Jean-Pierre asked Debby not to look down for the moment. This startled her, but he immediately turned her attention to the pain in her left leg. It was normal, though it hurt as much as anything else. Debby’s consciousness wandered around the small room, and she had no clue how she fit, lying on the floor, in an airplane lavatory.

“Okay,” Jean-Pierre concluded, “I’m going out to get someone to help us.”

Jean-Pierre disappeared from sight. A coldness entered the room. A second later, Jean-Pierre returned with a strange – either surprised or frightened – expression on his face.

“Debby,” he paused for a long moment before he continued speaking. “Debby, we survived the plane crash. We’re in the mountains,” Jean-Pierre swallowed his saliva to continue. “You need help. I’ll have to go away for a while, look for people. A village or perhaps climbers. I know…”

Jean-Pierre couldn’t finish his difficult reasoning. Debby took his hand and cried. Jean-Pierre lowered his head and imagined for a moment what his wounded companion was feeling right now. What pain she was feeling, knowing that they might not be able to survive. Jean-Pierre made a mental effort and decided inside, “I’ll do everything I can to save this American woman. Even if it means sacrificing my life.”

“I’m sorry,” Debby said through her tears.

Jean-Pierre looked up at her and asked stunned:

“What? What are you talking about?”

“You’re here because of me, God, it’s all my fault,” she began to squeeze his hand in despair. “Where are we? I don’t understand why I’m always hurting everyone.”

“Look at me,” Jean-Pierre said, trying to get in Debby’s field of vision. “It’s going to be okay. Do you know why?”

Debby looked at him with surprise, the tears stopped.

“We’re still alive, so we can do something.”

Jean-Pierre pulled out all the paper towels from the box above the sink and put them under Debby’s head. He ran his fingernail across the bottom of her right leg, but Debby felt nothing.

“We must hurry,” Jean-Pierre said to himself as he walked out of the small room.

Only a few pieces remained of the plane’s tail. The door of the toilet dangled. The second toilet in front had been swept away completely. From the outside, the keel and lateral stabilizers could be seen to have been pinched off the rocks, leaving holes. By some miracle, the small piece of iron around the toilet room was still intact and frozen between two low rocks.

Jean-Pierre stepped away from the tail of the plane and looked around. Pieces of hull plaster were hanging from the scratched body in bits. Wires, insulation, iron, and plastic had all turned to junk. Jean-Pierre looked around. To his right was a small hill that obscured the horizon. To his left, mountains covered the entire surface of the earth up to the sky with a crumpled cloth. He gazed into the distance and decided to go uphill. “Maybe behind this ridge I can see something.” He began to climb up, looking back.

Debby’s breathing short, she looked around, trying to figure out how to get up. She lifted her torso slightly and leaned against the wall. Seeing her feet, she felt dizzy with fear. Nausea rose to her throat.

Her hip bone was clearly broken. Even through the jeans, you could see it sticking unnaturally out of her hip. There was no blood; it was a closed fracture. Debby tried to move her leg again, but nothing worked. She grabbed her jeans and moved the right leg slightly. A sharp stabbing pain stopped her. Debby closed her eyes and her lips quivered. She wanted to burst into tears, but she didn’t even have the strength to do that. The plane crash, Carol, the leg, the cold – it was all mixed up in her head, and Debby covered her face with hands.

Suddenly she heard Jean-Pierre screaming somewhere in the distance. It was a scream, and there was joy in the sound of it.

“He’s found people!” Debby exhaled and fell to the floor.

Part 2 – Chapter 21

Bernard Bajolet was frantically scrolling letters on his phone, and his mind was jumping from the titles of those letters to the words in the hall. “Maybe write ‘flight’” thought Monsieur Bajolet. “No, it doesn’t come out. When was it? In the basket, perhaps?” Bernard made a few more attempts and found one. He saw a letter from the HR department about Jean-Pierre Biro’s business trip. He opened the letter and jumped at the flight number with his eyes. “Oh my God, it’s his flight,” Monsieur Bajolet put the phone aside.

He put his left hand to his lips and looked around the hall. He glanced once more at the young specialist from Charles de Gaulle airport. The man continued to speak. Bernard Bajolet switched on his microphone.

“Excuse me,” he interrupted the young man’s five-minute report.

The tense gazes of the seated generals and officials began to search the hall for the one who was asking the question.

“I understand correctly that we have no specifics. We understand that the plane disappeared from radar in the same place where we lost the Nepalese helicopter a few hours ago. Anything else?”

The Indian general turned on the microphone:

“Absolutely correct. No information on the helicopter or the plane. The weather’s getting worse.”

“We have no communication with the crew. We tried to contact the airliner for almost an hour, and then it went off the radar. It started veering off course, and my colleagues tried to relay a message.”

“Is it a fact or an assumption that it crashed?” Bernard Bajolet couldn’t stand it.

“Almost a fact,” the young man reported.

The screen showed a map of Asia and two routes, one marked in gray for the planned course, the other in red for the actual course. A cross marked the point of the proposed crash.

Suggestions came from the audience:

“Drones?”

“Strong electromagnetic radiation. We already lost two,” the Chinese general said.

“Satellites?”

“Working on it!”

“You were talking about the border cordon near the mountain,” someone turned to the Indian general.

“The distance is long. We are thinking over this option.”

“Don’t we have any possibility to send a special team there?” Igor Komarov stepped in.

“Shall we send another helicopter there when the weather is even worse than in the morning?” The Nepalese general asked. “We are definitely not going to do that. We are trying to get a rescue team as close to the quadrant as possible. But the area is very difficult.”

Jean-Jacques Dordain stood up and thanked the young man from the airport.

“Gentlemen, I suggest we take a short break until our colleagues have some concrete information.”

Jean-Jacques Dordain was approached by his assistant and said something in his ear. He nodded and pointed to the screen behind him.

“Gentlemen, we have an update on the weather conditions.”

An image appeared on the screen. The large bright spiral of clouds, captured from the satellite, looked dreadful and fearful.

“Just above Kanchenjunga a cyclone about one hundred and fifty kilometers wide is now unfolding. Let’s keep this in mind in our plans,” said Mr. Dordain.

People began to rise from their seats.

In a minute several people had gathered around Jean-Jacques Dordain’s table: Igor Komarov, Charles Bolden and others.

Charles Bolden began:

“We have checked the signal quality and determined that this is definitely a recording from Voyager 2. This is it.”

“Okay,” reasoned the head of the ESA aloud. “We have a signal that we sent into space to inform about our location.”

“But the signal is coming from the Earth,” added Igor.

“On the frequency of space transmissions,” Charles nodded.

“A weather anomaly, an electromagnetic flare…” Jean-Jacques Dordain pondered. “We need at least something. Some kind of clue.”

Monsieur Dordain’s young assistant couldn’t take it anymore:

“Perhaps our message has been received,” he hesitated, “and now it has been sent to us using some device that exists on the Earth.”

Everyone turned to the assistant.

“A little more realistic, Francois,” said Monsieur Dordain grudgingly.

At the other end of the hall, Bernard Bajolet was sitting at his desk, dialing Jean-Pierre’s phone for the third time. “The mobile phone you are trying to call has been switched off, Please Try again Later.” He closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts. Then he called the accounting department.

“Good afternoon, this is Bernard Bajolet, please find me the phone number of my assistant’s wife, Jean-Pierre Biro,” he paused. “As quickly as possible.”

Part 2 – Chapter 22

Debby listened intensely. She searched for something to latch onto in the surrounding sounds, but found nothing. All she could hear was the wind rubbing against the hull of the plane. It sounded like a whistle or a hum. Debby closed her eyes and felt her rib cage rise and fall heavily. She listened to her unnaturally loud breathing. Someone ran to the door and stopped. She heard Jean-Pierre shouting outside in English:

“Hurry, we’re here!”

He ran inside, out of breath, but with burning eyes. His face said, “we are saved!”

“There are people! They are coming to us!” he swallowed. “How do you feel?”

Debby closed her eyes and exhaled, her lips expressing either a smile or despair. The pain didn’t stop for a moment, but she felt joy. Now they were going to get help. Consciousness, clouded by pain, suddenly sank into euphoria.

Jean-Pierre looked out again.

“We are here!” he shouted, calling out to the people.

Debby began to listen to what was going on outside. She could hear several people approaching.

Two Nepalese military men, a tourist, an elderly man, and a girl approached what was left of the tail section of the plane. Jean-Pierre raised his hand up, examining their clothes. He strained to think what could be the reason for such a combination of civilians and military, people of different nationalities, and in the middle of the mountains, where not a hint of civilization was visible. Jean-Pierre saw that the young man was carrying a hiking backpack on his shoulders, while the others were not even wearing warm clothes. The Frenchman tried to push the thoughts away. Somewhere deep inside there was a doubt, “They can’t help.” The group came closer to Jean-Pierre, and a civilian who was older than the others stepped forward.

“Hey, what happened?” Dr Capri asked briefly in English.

“Hi, I’m Jean-Pierre Biro. I was on a Paris-Tokyo flight. I don’t know exactly what happened, but the tail of our plane fell off and we…”

“We? Who’s with you?”

“There’s a woman here who needs help. It looks like a closed leg fracture,” Jean-Pierre pointed to the ajar door of the toilet.

Dr Capri began to translate Jean-Pierre’s report into Nepali. Yulia and David moved toward the mangled part of the plane, Jean-Pierre guiding them.

David looked at the massive steel tail that was wedged between two huge blocks of rock, assessed the slope of the mountain with doubt, and shifted his eyebrows. “Some sort of mystery. Two plane crashes in an hour. What’s going on here?” He followed Jean-Pierre and couldn’t believe the man in front of him was a plane crash survivor.

Debby saw shadows outside. Strange faces peeked into the room. When Debby saw Yulia, she stopped feeling pain for a second.

“Oh!” she let out a relieved shout along with a smile.

Yulia walked in and took her hand. She stood awkwardly, half-bent, in the confined space.

“Hi,” David said, standing behind Yulia. “We’ll help you. How are you feeling?”

Debby was relieved to see Yulia and David, but instantly she was tired, and somehow she felt sleepy. She felt almost safe.

“Hi,” Debby said to both David and Yulia, and to all the people who looked through the doorway of the toilet room one by one.

She saw Jean-Pierre’s face and felt like she’d known him almost all her life.

“I’m fine, but I can’t move my leg,” Debby added.

The helicopter captain and Dr Capri tried to approach Debby. To do so, they had to push Yulia and David outside. They sat squatting near Debby’s legs, which were lying in the doorway.

“Yes, it’s a closed fracture, she needs to go to the hospital right away,” the helicopter captain said in Nepali, examining Debby’s leg.

“What can we do, the helicopter is broken, right?” looking at Debby, Dr Capri asked the captain.

“We have to get the helicopter working and take her to the nearest town with a hospital,” said the captain, “otherwise… based on the blue toes on her leg…” he paused again. “We need to try to get the helicopter up, or find a village nearby.”

“Can you get a helicopter up here?” Dr Capri asked.

“If we can take off,” said the captain as he stood up, “but it would be better to take her to the helicopter.”

They moved away from the room, making some space for Yulia and David. Jean-Pierre approached them to discuss the plan. They agreed that the girl had a closed fracture and many bruises, and they needed to get her to the hospital as quickly as possible.

“It’s amazing how you survived,” Dr Capri shook his head. “Surviving a plane crash.”

“Now we need to help the American girl and send rescuers to search for the plane,” concluded Jean-Pierre.

Captain Shah nodded:

“Yes, and as fast as we could.”

He put the first aid kit he had taken from the helicopter in front of him and pulled out a painkiller. He put the liquid in a syringe and went into the tail section of the plane to give Debby the injection.

Dr Capri looked around at everyone standing outside.

In the middle of the beautiful mountain landscape, standing next to the wreckage, were people who shouldn’t have been here at all. And the doctor understood that very well. He knew this country, he knew what was possible here and what was not. What he saw in front of him in no way fit into his already complicated plans for the day.

He looked at Yulia, who did not fully, but certainly understood the complexity of the whole situation better than anyone else. She knew for a fact that the helicopter would almost certainly not take off. She knew for a fact that the plane had crashed for the same reason that their helicopter. And so David’s phone went crazy for the same reason. And it all started with that signal they detected in Kathmandu. And the source of that signal is somewhere near here.

The doctor shifted his gaze to David, who emerged from the remains of the plane. He was sitting beside his backpack, opening it and taking out his goods. Captain Shah showed him to keep the girl warm. And David got the sleeping bag for that.

The doctor shifted his gaze to the Frenchman, who was standing beside him, looking questioningly straight at him, trying to figure out what was going on. The man seemed to see right through the doctor. There was doubt and disbelief on his face.

The doctor felt a gust of cold wind and saw dark clouds coming toward them from behind the mountains. They were spreading across the sky and growing larger as they swallowed the air. The sunlight began to change, as if it were sunset. A sharp gust staggered those who were standing on their feet.

“We can carry her in the sleeping bag,” David suggested.

“We need something solid,” Jean-Pierre pondered. “A stretcher.”

The captain came out of the wreckage and nodded to the doctor. Tulu-Manchi stepped inside and leaned over to Debby.

“We have a helicopter. It has everything we need to help you,” he looked at Yulia and back at Debby. “We need to get you to the hospital, and the sooner, the better.”

“Where can we find a stretcher?” David asked Jean-Pierre.

“How far is your helicopter?” Jean-Pierre asked.

“About twenty minutes from here,” answered the doctor briefly.

Jean-Pierre felt the snowflakes start to touch his face. He looked around at everyone. Yulia was wrapping Debby in the sleeping bag. David was handing her warm clothes out of his backpack. The doctor was standing next to the military, discussing something. Anger began to grow in Jean-Pierre’s chest. He was eager for action and realized that every second of delay was a risk to Debby’s life. “If the storm starts, we’re stuck here.”

Jean-Pierre walked over to the plane and looked through the doorway. He clenched his fist, looking at Debby, then shifted his gaze to the black clouds. Then paused, staring ahead of him in thoughtfulness. A sharp gust of wind hit him in the shoulder.

The tail of the plane rattled and staggered. The people inside shrieked briefly. Jean-Pierre grabbed at the hull, trying to hold the huge wreckage in place with his own strength.

“Get out!” shouted Jean-Pierre.

“How are we going to get Debby out?” Yulia answered loudly.

Dr Capri and the military ran up to the tail; they rested against the steel plating and began putting rocks under the underside of the plane to stop it from moving. The tail of the plane froze in place.

“Hold it!” shouted Jean-Pierre to the military outside, making his way to the lavatory.

He took hold of the ajar door and began swinging it from side to side. The top edge had already been broken off, and under a few pulls the door gave way and fell off.

“Help me put her here,” Jean-Pierre commanded, pushing Yulia aside and turning to David.

David hesitated for a second, but then, remembering how easily the plane gave way to a gust of wind, reached over to Debby’s head. Her feet lay outside the toilet. Jean-Pierre carefully slid the door under Debby, David took hold of her shoulders. They slowly began to lift Debby up, and she pressed her lips together with a premonition that she was about to feel a sharp pain. Jean-Pierre and David slowly placed the American woman on the door.

“Quickly!” Yulia shouted outside.

Without collusion, David and Jean-Pierre abruptly lifted the door and took a step to the ground. The plane groaned again. Dr Capri stood beside it, with his hands resting on the hull, while the military threw rocks under the belly of the hulk. The doctor saw everyone out of the plane and stepped aside. The giant wreck tilted on its side, and the rocks began to roll from under it. The wind howled again sharply and the plane jumped a few centimeters. Then it rolled for a few meters and flipped on its belly. David and Jean-Pierre breathed nervously as they stared at the scene.

“This is going to end very badly,” Yulia said quietly in Russian.

Dr Capri looked at the military, who were also, out of breath, staring at the flipped tail. Captain Shah turned to the doctor.

“We won’t get the helicopter up in this weather, we have to find shelter nearby.”

Dr Capri relayed this to everyone else. Jean-Pierre nodded. He looked at Debby, she was losing her composure: her eyes were rolling and her breathing had become quite heavy.

“Let’s go,” Jean-Pierre nodded again.

“We will go forward and try to find shelter, move to that rock over there,” said Captain Shah and pointed to the elevation.

The military ran up the slope. Dr Capri took David’s backpack, which lay on the ground:

“Follow them. Yulia, hold Debby’s leg; I’ll walk ahead, so we don’t lose the soldiers.”

Yulia inhaled loudly and exhaled. She had felt like her limit had been reached the moment she had boarded the helicopter in Kathmandu. By now, she had forgotten herself and was simply obeying her instincts and Dr Capri.

The wind hit the rocks in sharp gusts and lifted small stones. They shuffled the ground and complemented the rumble of the wind with a crackling sound. Debby cried softly and Yulia ran up to her. She took her hand and squeezed it tightly. Dr Capri walked forward and shouted, addressing Jean-Pierre first.

“Follow me!”

“Go!” Jean-Pierre commanded and followed the doctor.