Prologue
April 21st, 2021
“It has to be a mistake,” Dr. Michael Haskins said as he leaned over his colleague’s shoulder. Michael was the executive director for the Infrared Processing and Analysis Center (IPAC) at Caltech. His colleague, Dr. Richard Greenhouse, was an associate scientist whose job was to sift through infrared data from the James Webb Space Telescope (JWST).
“No mistake,” Richard said. He pointed at the data on his screen with a shaking hand. All his sifting had just found gold.
“This is unbelievable! Tell me what you know so far.”
Richard half turned his chair away from his computer. One of his knees began bouncing like a jackhammer. His expression was unreadable, cloaked by a thick brown beard, but his hazel eyes blazed with excitement. “We know that it’s big, and it’s close.”
“Give me numbers, Rick,” Michael said.
“At the time this data was collected, it was over two thousand AU from Earth.”
“That’s between the Oort Cloud and the Kupier Belt!”
“The size is around seventy Jovian masses.”
Michael’s jaw dropped. “That’s too big to be a planet.”
“It’s a brown dwarf.”
“You’re telling me that we’ve found the infamous planet X, but it’s actually a star? How the hell are we only finding this out now?”
“Because this mother is cold and dark—really cold and dark. The surface temperature is hovering somewhere between twenty-two and thirty-one degrees Kelvin. That’s colder than Neptune. She burned out a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. And while it’s close for a star, it’s still sixty times farther from the Sun than Neptune. Given all that, I’m not surprised that we’ve missed it—until now. The JWST is the most advanced tool we have to detect objects in the infrared spectrum, and that’s exactly what we needed to pick this up. As for planet X... more like Nibiru.”
“Nibiru? You’re joking, right?”
“What little light this star is still giving off is all blueshifted. This thing is moving toward us at a relative velocity of five hundred and sixty two miles per second.” Richard gestured vaguely to the data on his screen. Nibiru referred to the apocalypse conspiracy that a rogue planetary system crosses paths with Earth every 3600 years. This star hadn’t crossed paths with Earth before, but it was certainly going to now.
“It’s a rogue star? How close is it going to get?”
Dr. Greenhouse shook his head. “We’ll need to crunch all the numbers and create an accurate simulation before I can tell you that. Chances are that it will pass harmlessly through the outskirts of the solar system.”
Michael grinned and clapped a hand on Richard’s shoulder. “This is incredible! I’m going to go tell the others the good news.”
Richard frowned. “It’s late. Almost everyone will be at home and in bed by now.”
“If you were sitting at home while this discovery was being made, wouldn’t you want me to call and tell you about it?”
Richard’s frown turned to a wolfish grin, and he snorted. “Good point. All right, go rattle their cages, but Mike—” Michael regarded him curiously. “—when you tell them, make sure you mention that this is Greenhouse’s Star.”
Michael smiled. “Don’t worry, no one’s going to steal your discovery.”
Chapter 1
—TEN YEARS LATER—
May 10th, 2031
I sat on a PATH train headed across the Hudson to Hoboken from Lower Manhattan. My briefcase sat in my lap, jumping with my knees. Tucked behind my legs was the Dreaded Box, stuffed with the entire contents of my big corner-office desk. Between my knees I could see the photo of me and Katy on our honeymoon peeking out. We were smiling as we sipped coconuts on a beach on the island of Kauai. Katy looked like a super model in that photo—her blue eyes a rival for the sky, her skin so smooth and perfect, ruby lips quirked into a grin. Even after two kids and twelve years of marriage my heart still fluttered at the sight of her—and not just because that picture was a time capsule from her youth. It was the same thing I felt every night when I came home from work and saw her again. I still couldn’t believe that I got to share a bed with this woman.
What had she ever seen in me? An English and business major from NYU with dreams of becoming an editor and maybe writing a book of my own. Not a bad career back then—the editor part, not the writer part, because how many people actually make a living from that?
Maybe Katy had been smart enough to see my potential, but I think she was just one of those blissfully ignorant souls who gets married for love and never thinks about how much love costs.
That’s one of the things that attracted me to her the most. She was more interested in who I was as a person. Back then that had appealed to my artsy romantic nature, plus, I had no money, so I was definitely happy that she wasn’t looking for it.
When our son, Alex, was born, Katy quit her job to look after him. At that point I had a world of financial pressure on my shoulders, but I did well. Five years later, I was Logan Willis, Executive Editor at Harper Collins. We moved out of the city and found that idealized neighborhood with the white picket fences, the good schools, and the cul-de-sac where Alex could play. Four years after that, Kate got pregnant again, and we had Rachel. At that point Kate gave up thinking about a career and settled into her role as wife and mother, while I settled into mine as Mr. Breadwinner. I know, that’s all very traditional, but it worked for us, and we were happy—past tense, thanks to the Dreaded Box, and the fact that I’m on a train headed home an hour after lunch. You do the math.
That math gets ugly fast. A hundred and sixty thousand a year before taxes equals one hundred and ten thousand take home salary. At forty-five years of age, I figured I’d only need to work for another fifteen to have retirement and the kids’ college funds figured out. I did all that figuring in the back of my mind last week while sipping a five dollar microbrew and flipping burgers for my 45th birthday barbecue. Now I had to do that math in reverse. How long does forty-five thousand in savings last when you’re spending more than six grand a month? The answer is a little more than half a year.
You might say I should pick myself up, dust myself off, and go get another job. Fifteen years ago, I’d have done just that, but that was before Kindles and e-Books hit the publishing scene. Traditional publishers are sinking ships. I should know, I was at the helm of one, bailing out water with a silver spoon. Sure, lots of people still buy paper books, but it’s an ever-shrinking market, and when it comes to e-Books, we can’t compete. We sell ours for $9.99 to cover costs while independent authors sell theirs for $4.99 or less. Long story short, big publishers have been consolidating and cutting costs for years. I was just another one of those costs. Even if I could find another job as an editor, it would never compare to the one I had.
I looked up from the Dreaded Box. The woman on the opposite side of the train was reading a copy of the Enquirer. The headline read: Nasa Finds Nibiru and it’s Headed for Earth!
I had to stop myself in the middle of a smirk. That’s probably what I had to look forward to now—a job editing fake news for the tabloids.
Swallowing a sigh, I laid my head back against the side of the train and let the sound and the gentle bumping down the tracks lull me into a quasi-conscious state. My mind was numb. I had no idea what I was going to say to Kate. Hi, Honey, I’m home! flickered through my mind with mocking clarity.
Where the hell are we going to go from here? I wondered, but the question was rhetorical. I already had a pretty good idea about our next step. Goodbye picket fences.
* * *
By the time I pulled into my driveway with the Dreaded Box, I was starting to question the wisdom of coming home. Katy’s car was down at the end of the driveway, in front of our detached garage. Maybe I should have found a bar to drown my sorrows until I was actually supposed to come home—buy time, cushion the blow, yada yada... maybe I could get another job before I had to say anything.
I checked my watch: 3:05 PM. The kids wouldn’t be home from school for another half hour. I took a deep breath and popped the car door open. Getting out, I deliberately left the Dreaded Box on the passenger’s seat. I didn’t want the very first look on my wife’s face to be ashen dread. I was Mr. Breadwinner. I wasn’t supposed to come home without the bread.
Shutting the door quietly behind me, I walked up the steps to the front door. My heart knocked against my sternum with ominous thumps. Fumbling for my keys on a faded Kauai key chain, I found the front door key and turned it in the lock. The door popped open, and I stepped into the foyer. A crystal chandelier hung from the ten foot ceiling. Hardwood floors gleamed in the golden light spilling from that chandelier. The stairs lay dead ahead, while three openings framed with maple wood led to different parts of the house—the formal dining room and kitchen on my right, divided by a wall, and the living room to my left. I glanced at the kitchen, then the other way to the living room. The ceilings were finished with ornate moldings and golden inlay. More crystal chandeliers hung over both rooms.
I cleared my throat. “Katy?”
No reply.
Maybe she was out running? But no, she liked to take morning runs, right after the bus took the kids to school. Thinking she might be watching TV in the sun room, I went left through the living room and opened the French door to the sun room. The couch was empty, the throw pillows undisturbed. Through the windows I caught a glimpse of our backyard and pool gleaming invitingly in the sun. We had a big house, and I was the big idiot who’d bought it and spent a fortune decorating, all the while thinking that my goose would only ever lay golden eggs. Now my goose was cooked.
I turned back around, my briefcase hanging from a limp arm and slumping shoulder, and walked slowly through the living room to the foyer and the stairs. I was in such a fraught state thinking about how I was going to break the news to my wife that I swear I didn’t hear anything as I climbed the stairs. I just blundered right in and stood there in the bedroom doorway, blinking like a fool.
More like a sucker. My jaw hit the floor. I’d just become spectator to a live action porno film. On the life’s-a-bitch flip side of that, I was also married to its star.
“Katy?” I croaked.
She was in mid-groan as I said that, but she had the decency to shut the fuck up and look over her shoulder at the sound of my voice.
Chapter 2
I turned and ran down the stairs, desperately trying to wipe that image from my head. I went straight to the bar in the living room and poured myself a glass of the first thing I could find. Vodka neat. It went down like acid. I grimaced and fumbled for a bottle of whiskey instead. That eased some of the burn.
Walking on shaking legs to the sun room, I opened the door to the back deck and went outside. My heart was racing and my brain buzzing. A part of me wanted to turn around and go kick some ass, but losing my job this morning had turned me into a pathetic puppy dog—one of those with the sad brown eyes and drooping face that looks like he just needs a hug. I sneered at that image and half-drained my glass to get some fire in my veins. Cold emptiness coursed through me instead. I took a seat on one of the swing benches facing the pool.
My mind was a blank as I stared out over the shimmering water and sipped my drink. I heard the front door slam. A few minutes later, the back door clicked open, and Katy moved into my periphery. She was dressed now. I looked at her—speechless, my face as blank as my mind, but I’m pretty sure my eyes could have branded cattle.
Kate’s composure cracked, her lips trembled, and she wiped an intrepid tear from one cheek before taking a seat in a wicker armchair beside me.
“I was going to tell you. We were going to end it,” she said.
I took another sip of my whiskey and nodded as if that was all very reasonable.
“It wasn’t love, Logan. I wasn’t going to leave you for him. I just...” She looked away to stare out over the pool with me. “You work so much. You’re never here, and even when you are it’s like you’re somewhere else. I was just trying to fill the hole that you left.”
That drew a bitter smirk from my lips, and I regarded her with my eyebrows raised. “You were trying to fill a hole? Are you sure that’s the defense you want to use?”
Katy flinched and her expression crumbled once more. She wiped away fresh tears. “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry, Logan. I know that’s not enough, but you have to believe me. I love you. It wasn’t like that with Ben.”
I did a double-take and held up a hand for her to stop. “Hold on—Ben? That’s who it was? Stay-at-home man-child, Ben Fields?” Of course it was him. He lived a block away from us. I knew that he and Katy liked to take their morning runs together, but apparently that wasn’t the only kind of exercise they were into. Ben’s wife was a magistrate, and he was the stay-at-home step-dad who spent all his time in the gym so that he could look like a bronze statue of a Greek god. Good thing I didn’t go the ass-kicking route. I shook my head, speechless again.
“It wasn’t just sex. We understood each other. He listens to me.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I thundered and jumped to my feet. My legs were shaking again. I’d had enough of this. I gestured with my tumbler and half a finger of whiskey to the house. “Have you even stopped to wonder why I’m home?”
Katy’s face was streaming with tears, her blue eyes red and puffy. She was locked in a private world of guilt and misery; oblivious, but she wasn’t stupid. Realization clicked and hit pause on the waterworks. Her mouth formed a dramatic O.
“That’s right. No need to worry about me working so much anymore. You’re going to be seeing a lot more of me around here. The problem is, I’m not sure I want to see that much of you.”
Katy didn’t react to that barb. She slowly rose from her chair. “You got fired?”
“Ding ding ding—we have a winner!”
Katy blinked. “What are we going to do?”
I gave an elaborate shrug and drained the rest of my drink. “I’m not sure what you’re going to do, but I’m going to go check into a hotel.”
Chapter 3
I checked into the Ramada in East Orange, New Jersey. It was relatively close to our home in South Orange, and I had some experience with it since I’d had to bring Katy’s brother here last year. He’d gotten drunk in front of our kids and started cursing and rambling about how we were all going to die if we didn’t start preparing for the end of the world. I’d promptly driven him to this hotel and checked him in. I’d told him he could come back when he sobered up, but he left the next day without so much as an apology or a goodbye.
I smirked at the memory and washed a sleeping pill down with a mini bottle of Jim Beam from the bar fridge in my room. I tossed the empty bottle into the corner of the room. It hit the carpet with a dull thunk. Grabbing the next mini liquor bottle from the pile on the bed beside me, I cracked it open and downed it in one gulp. Whiskey followed by a Kahlua chaser. Yuck. I fumbled for another bottle, but this time I took a moment to study the label—Tanqueray Gin. Much better. I opened it and gulped it down. Next!
By the time I’d emptied eight bottles, the room was spinning pleasantly around my head. I felt warm and blissfully numb. Sleep beckoned, and I reached for the light switch to turn off the lamps beside the bed. Darkness fell with the switch. It was still light out, but I had the curtains drawn, so the only light getting in was a thin blue white halo around the edges of the window. Between the alcohol and the sleeping pill I wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon.
My eyes drifted shut and I floated off on a cloud. I dreamed that I was cheating with Kate on an associate editor from my work named Spencer. In my dreams he was the sucker who’d married her, not me. Kate and I lay in bed naked, wrapped in each other’s arms, and laughing about how dumb Spencer was. Then suddenly I found myself standing in the door to our bedroom, watching us laugh, and I had the distinct impression that somehow I had just become Spencer.
A painful knot formed in my throat, and I tried to scream, but no sound came out.
In the next instant, I was walking down the street in my neighborhood in the middle of the night with a powerful urge to urinate. I unzipped and started peeing on Grumpy Old Man Taylor’s lawn. He burst outside, the screen door banging behind him. He brandished a wireless phone at me like it was a gun. The phone was ringing.
“It’s for you!” he yelled, suddenly inches from my face. Spittle gleamed on his lips as he held the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” I tried.
“I want a divorce,” Kate said. “I don’t love you anymore.”
I gaped at that. Oddly enough, the phone was still ringing.
“Well?” Old Man Taylor demanded. “What have you got to say for yourself?”
What could I say? The phone just rang and rang. “Daddy?” Rachel’s tiny voice asked. “When are you coming home?”
“Soon honey,” I said in a broken voice.
My sobs woke me and I sat up in a hurry. The sheets fell away and I shivered as cold air made a cold sweat even colder. The room was dark. My bladder was bursting, my throat parched. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and my stomach roiled with a confusing mixture of hunger and nausea. Police sirens wailed in the distance, and the phone was ringing. I reached for it and winced as the movement set off a stabbing headache behind my eyes.
“Hello?” I croaked.
“Logan!”
It was Kate. I blinked stupidly and stared in horror at the phone out of the corner of my eye. My dream was coming true. She must be calling to ask for a divorce.
“Where’s your phone?” Kate demanded. “I’ve been trying to call you for hours!”
“My phone?”
“Your cell phone!”
I glanced at the bedside table. My phone sat there, dark and silent. I’d forgotten to bring my charger. “The battery’s flat,” I said, and held my free hand to the side of my head, trying to keep it from exploding.
“You need to come home right now,” she said.
“Look, Kate, I’m not ready to—”
“Have you seen the news?”
Some of the cotton in my head evaporated. “No, why?”
“Because everyone is going crazy, Logan, that’s why! People are saying we’ve detected some kind of signal from space, and that it’s headed straight for us!”
“The signal is headed straight for us? What kind of signal?”
“I don’t know, radio or something. They’re saying it has to be aliens. Logan, some kids were driving down the street earlier, throwing beer bottles at houses and shooting guns in the air. I tried to call 911, but the line was busy. We need you home.”
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