"Judy?" It is high and clear. A girl's voice. "Judy, I'm so glad we got you. What are you doing on this band?"
Bud blows out his breath; there is a frozen instant before Dave snatches up the mike.
"Sunbird, we read you. This is Mission Sunbird calling Houston, ah, Sunbird One calling Houston Ground Control. Identify, who are you? Can you relay our signal? Over."
"Some skip," Bud says. "Some incredible ham."
"Are you in trouble, Judy?" the girl's voice asks. "I can't hear, you sound terrible. Wait a minute."
"This is United States Space Mission Sunbird One," Dave repeats. "Mission Sunbird calling Houston Space Center. You are dee-exxing our channel. Identify, repeat identify yourself and say if you can relay to Houston. Over."
"Dinko, Judy, try it again," the girl says.
Lorimer abruptly pushes himself up to the Lurp, the Long-Range Particle Density Cumulator experiment, and activates its shaft motor. The shaft whines, jars; lucky it was retracted during the flare, lucky it hasn't fused shut. He sets the probe pulse on mar and begins a rough manual scan.
"You are intercepting official traffic from the United States space mission to Houston Control," Dave is saying forcefully. "If you cannot relay to Houston get off the air, you are committing a federal offense. Say again, can you relay our signal to Houston Space Center? Over."
"You still sound terrible," the girl says. "What's Houston? Who's talking, anyway? You know we don't have much time." Her voice is sweet but very nasal.
"Jesus, that's close," Bud says. "That is close."
"Hold it." Dave twists around to Lorimer's improvised radarscope.
"There." Lorimer points out a tiny stable peak at the extreme edge of the read-out slot, in the transcoronal scatter. Bud cranes too.
"A bogey!"
"Somebody else out here."
"Hello, hello? We have you now," the girl says.
"Why are you so far out? Are you dinko, did you catch the flare?"
"Hold it," warns Dave. "What's the status, Doc?"
"Over three hundred thousand kilometers, guesstimated. Possibly headed away from us, going around the sun. Could be cosmonauts, a Soviet mission?"
"Out to beat us. They missed."
"With a girl?" Bud objects.
"They've done that. You taping this, Bud?"
"Roger-r-r." He grins. "That sure didn't sound like a Russky chic. Who the hell's Judy?"
Dave thinks for a second, clicks on the mike. "This is Major Norman Davis commanding Unhed States spacecraft Sunbird One. We have you on scope. Request you identify yourself. Repeat, who are you? Over."
"Judy, stop joking," the voice complains. "We'll lose you in a minute, don't you realize we worried about you?"
"Sunbird to unidentified craft. This is not Judy. I say again, this is not Judy. Who are you? Over."
"What--' the girl says, and is cut off by someone else saying, "Wait a minute, Ann." The speaker squeals. Then a different woman says, "This is Loma Bethune in Escondita. What is going on here?"
"This is Major Davis commanding United States Mission Sunbird on course for Earth. We do not recognize any spacecraft Escondita. Will you identify yourself? Over."
"I just did." She sounds older, with the same nasal drawl. "There is no spaceship Sunbird and you're not on course for Earth. If this is an andy joke it isn't any good."
"This is no joke, madam!" Dave explodes. "This is the American circumsolar mission and we are American astronauts. We do not appreciate your interference. Out."
The woman starts to speak and is drowned in a jibber of, static. Two voices come through briefly. Lorimer tinks he hears the words "Sunbird program" and something else. Bud works the squelcher; the interference subsides to a drone.
"Ali, Major Davis?" the voice is fainter. "Did I hear you say you are on course for Earth?"
Dave frowns at the speaker and then says curtly, "Affirmative."
"Well, we don't understand your orbit. You must have very unusual flight characteristics, our readings show you won't node with anything on your present course. We'll lose the signal in a minute or two. Ali, would you tell us where you see Earth now? Never mind the coordinates, just tell us the constellation."
Dave hesitates and then holds up the mike. "Doc."
"Earth's apparent position is in Pisces," Lorimer says to the voice. "Approximately three degrees from P. Gamma."
"It is not," the woman says. "Can't you see it's in Virgo? Can't you see out at all?"
Lorimer's eyes go to the bright smear in the port window. "We sustained some damage-"
"Hold it," snaps Dave.
"- to one window during a disturbance we ran into at perihelion. Naturally we know the relative direction of Earth on this date, October nineteen."
"October? It's March, March fifteen. You must-!' Her voice is lost in a shriek.
"E-M front," Bud says, tuning. They are all leaning at the speaker from different angles, Lorimer is headdown. Space-noise wails and crashes like surf, the strange ship is too close to the coronal horizon. "-Behind you," they hear. More howls. "Band, try ship… if you can, you signal-" Nothing more comes through.
Lorimer pushes back, staring at the spark in the window. It has to be Spica. But is it elongated, as if a second point-source is beside it? Impossible. An excitement is trying to flare out inside him, the women's voices resonate in his head.
"Playback," Dave says. "Houston will really like to hear this."
They listen again to the girl calling Judy, the woman saying she is Loma Bethune. Bud holds up a finger. "Man's voice in there." Lorimer listens hard for the words he thought he heard. The tape ends.
"Wait till Packard gets this one." Dave rubs his arms. "Remember what they pulled on Howie? Claiming they rescued him."
"Seems like they want us on their frequency." Bud grins. "They must think we're fa-a-ar gone. Hey, looks like this other capsule's going to show up, getting crowded out here."
"If it shows up," Dave says. "Leave it on voice alert, Bud. The batteries will do that."
Lorimer watches the spark of Spica, or Spica-plussomething, wondering if he will ever understand. The casual acceptance of some trick or ploy out here in this incredible loneliness. Well, if these strangers are from the same mold, maybe that is it. Aloud he says, "Escondita is an odd name for a Soviet mission. I believe it means `hidden' in Spanish."