PNR

"All we know is that communications are down."

"What would you like for dinner?"

"Seventeen days? Sir, we can't hold out for seventeen hours!"

"Lars?"

"They're coming out of the walls!"

"It's already at the door!"

The doorknob turned.

Lars screamed and threw the remote at the attacker. The TV flickered silently on. Maren stood in the doorway.

"What is this monstrosity?"

"Aliens," Lars gasped. "This is the best part. Something is already in the room with them — they just don't know where."

"I never know where anything is in this room either..."

"No, Maren, you don't get it... It's a perfect organism. It gets in wherever it wants, and nobody knows where it is until it wants them to."

"I know. I haven't seen him in two days."

"Who?"

"Our kitten, Lars! Little Periscope!"

***

"Camera offline again. Movement in Sector Three. I'm telling you, these things come out of the walls..."

"Cut it out, Torres."

"...we heard it from the vents, Sergeant, both of us..."

"Report to quarters immediately."

Colonel Meyers turned off the transceiver.

The motion detectors in Sector Three kept glitching for days. The patrols were requisitioning cameras, night-vision gear in quantities not seen since the Cold War. According to procurement, the equipment is expected to arrive any day now. Any day now... for months. Everyone would be relieved to find something out there — even a pack of three-headed polar bears. Greenlanders whispered about ghosts, patrols suspected enemy infiltration, the space center muttered about aliens. And the Vice President just had to pick this week to visit...

"Commander... I mean, Colonel!" a technician interrupted her thoughts. "The annual commemoration — Thule Ancestors' Day is coming up. I brought the guest list."

"Leave it here, thank you," Meyers smiled. "We'll check it with counterintelligence."

Meyers slid the request next to the Washington file. Vance on Tuesday, the spirits of the Inuit ancestors on Thursday. Why did they build the radar station on top of an Inuit graveyard?

She switched the radio back on.

"...repeat, Sector Three, movement at the..."

***

The sun warmed his black surface nicely. He'd been lying there since morning, still unnoticed.

"At last! Maren, it's arrived, this is it!" Lars shouted, entering the house with the black sack.

"Which one? The laser level, or the solar-powered lure?"

"The collar, Maren! You won't have to worry about Periscope ever again! Put it on him, now that our little Houdini has finally made his way back home."

As Maren managed to slip the collar onto him, the little "Houdini" leaped onto the sill, and — presto! — vanished through the open window behind the curtain.

"I'll tell you where he went right away!" Lars said, already working his magic on his phone.

"Well?" Maren asked for the second time.

"Uhhh... 異地, 'out of area,'" Lars replied resignedly.

"Let me guess: was that collar on sale?"

***

Colonel Meyers did her final walk-through. The maintenance crew had outdone themselves; she had never seen the base so sterile — like something out of a recruitment brochure. Even the soldiers moved as if on parade. She had dispatched the three most troublesome soldiers to Nuuk with a reliable corporal for a trumped-up meteorological experiment. Everything was ready for Air Force Two, except...

"Colonel! What a pleasant surprise. I've vetted the invitees for the Ancestors' Day commemoration, just a few local elders, and a retired politician-poet. There is, however, a report from Nuuk..."

"The report can wait! Turn off every motion detector!" Meyers cut Agent Richmond off.

"But Commander, now, when the Vice President arrives!"

"Because of the Vice President! I don't want us chasing phantoms right now. Call it maintenance," Meyers said, leaving the office.

The official part — patting shoulders, showing off the instruments — went quickly. As the photographers were packing up, the Vice President took Meyers' arm:

"I'd actually like to take a walk outside. Shall we go, Colonel?"

Right through Sector Three, Meyers thought as she scrambled to keep up with the Vice President.

"You are in a very unique position here; it would be terrible if a security incident were to occur on base."

"Indeed, Mr. Vice President," Meyers replied, wondering how Vance could possibly know about that. Could he know about the switched-off motion detectors too?

"Our country has grand plans for this little island. If there were to be, say, some friction with the locals..."

My God, Meyers froze inside. They even know about the Greenlanders' ghosts. These people have ears everywhere...

"...we would be forced to deploy a larger military force here — purely for your protection, of course, you understand, don't you?"

"Naturally, Mr. Vice President. I will do everything in my power regarding the locals!"

"Thank you, that is exactly the answer I wanted to hear, Colonel. Your country will be grateful. If you have no further questions, we can head back."

"We'll do everything we can! But if you could expedite our requisitions — for instance, most of our cameras aren't working."

"The cameras! Of course, that's the priority. I'm glad we understand each other, Meyers. You have a bright future in the military."

He played that skillfully, Meyers thought, watching the shrinking plane. You don't humiliate an officer in front of her subordinates. And how embarrassing, if the world's second-most-powerful man had to speak publicly about ghosts.

"Nice takeoff," a voice spoke up beside her.

"Ah, Agent Richmond. Switch the system back on. And you mentioned a report."

"Yes, Colonel. Unknown submarine activity around Nuuk. An off-duty soldier heard that locals had spotted a periscope near the coast."

"And you're reporting enemy activity based on that?" What kind of reports have they been getting in Washington? Meyers thought.

Before Richmond could answer, a private came running up to them.

"Commander! No one saw him during the visit either, he's nowhere on base! Sir, Dirty Harry... is gone!"

***

On the third day, Maren began to worry seriously.

On the fifth day, Lars was no longer joking about how a periscope always pops up.

On the seventh day, the printer groaned as it spat out another A4 page.

In the middle of the paper was a slightly blurry photo of Periscope.

Below the image, bold letters read:

MISSING!

Black cat, pink collar, built-in transmitter.

Bluetooth address: EC:3F:05:24:51:42

...

"Lars, honey... are we looking for the collar or the cat?"

In that moment, the door opened. It was a Tuborg Grøn, accompanied by Olaf.

"I'll take a few myself," Olaf said.

"It's rather unlikely Periscope is hiding out in a pub..." Maren remarked.

"Come on, Maren, even last time I heard that your cat was wandering down by the shore at the Two-Star Icebreaker!"

***

Meyers went to lunch at twelve-thirty, and the mess hall was empty. Not almost empty. Empty.

This is just a fever dream, she thought as she headed toward the adjacent building.

In the space surveillance center, she found a single technician monitoring sixteen displays at once.

"Report! Where is everyone?" Meyers asked.

"Reporting: head count is one; everything is normal in space."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Private, but there are usually about twenty soldiers sitting in here. Where are they?"

"They're searching, Colonel."

"Searching for what, Private?"

"Not what, ma'am! Everyone is searching for Dirty Harry!"

Dirty Harry! Just what I needed, Meyers thought as she made her way toward her office.

Half the base thinks the ghosts took him — true Arctic psychosis. Of course, their fear always flares up in the days leading to the Inuit commemoration...

Soldiers outside her office? Or so it seemed, until she got closer.

"Colonel, meteorological mission complete. Permission to report — urgent!" blurted out the only sober-looking member of the group.

"Thank you, Corporal Johnson! The report can wait. Dismissed."

"But Colonel! We know where Dirty Harry is! In Nuuk!"

***

"Guys, you won't believe what you missed!" a man boomed, striding across the room toward the bar. "Have you ever seen fifty American soldiers surround a cat? They threw him onto a C-130 and took off right away! Did a mouse invasion break out at Pituffik?"

"Was he wearing a collar?" Lars asked excitedly.

"Yeah, a pink one."

"That was our cat! Periscope! The Americans kidnapped him! We have to catch that plane! Erik, you have to fly us!"

"How? Sorry guys, Pituffik is way too far for a helicopter."

"For a helicopter, sure," a voice spoke up from the next table. "Not for us."

"The Lancaster United!" Erik whispered.

"What? Manchester United? Those two? What, the reserves?"

"If the Yanks think they can just steal whatever they want, they've got another think coming! We'll get that puppy back!" the other Lancaster said, all fired up.

"The airport isn't even this way!" Lars yelled.

"We don't really like to park in busy places," the pilot for the Lancaster United smuggling gang shouted back on the snowmobile.

They stopped abruptly between two snowdrifts, the pilot walked over to one of them and opened a door. Inside the hangar, an Avro Lancaster towered over Lars and Olaf. With hesitant steps, they followed the navigator into the belly of the eighty-year-old bomber.

"Never seen anything like this, huh?" the pilot grinned, stripping down.

"Sure, but if you don't mind, we'd rather... umm, keep our clothes on," Lars said.

"Dear passengers, please be advised that the heating thermostat got stuck back in the nineties. Cold drinks under the seats," the captain deadpanned, mimicking an airliner's crew.

"We've been flying for hours, when do we reach cruising altitude? It'll be colder up there, right?" Lars asked.

"Never!" laughed the pilot. "The superchargers don't work, the engines would stall. But don't worry, we are nearly at the PNR."

"PNR? We wanted to go to Pituffik!"

"The Point of No Return," the pilot stated deliberately. "The point beyond which we don't have enough gas to turn back."

***

The C-130's engines hadn't even cooled down yet, but the briefing room was already full. When two members of the detachment marched in carrying Dirty Harry in his crate, the room erupted into loud cheers.

Meyers gave the cat a disciplined round of applause. Finally! The base mascot was back where he belonged. Had he snuck onto Johnson's plane on his own? Or was it a prank?

"Looks like he's lost some weight," the medical officer said as he opened the crate.

The mascot cat had been waiting for this moment. Before the officers could react, he was already halfway to the exit. Though people shouted at the soldier who had just walked in, he only saw a black flash dart past his feet.

"Sorry... Comms sent me over to tell all technicians to return immediately."

"What's the problem?" Meyers asked as she arrived at the space communications building with the technicians.

"The SNR dropped in the S-band so much, that we can't communicate with the SBIRS satellites."

"Is it fixable?"

"I'm sorry, commander, I don't think you understand. The instruments haven't broken down. This is a fluctuating jamming signal. It's moving, and it's close. We need to go out with direction-finders."

"Close?" Meyers looked at the nearest screen. "You mean on the base?"

Before anyone could answer, the motion detector alarm went off. Sector Three flashed on the board.

"Sector Three. At least six moving contacts detected. It looks more like a search pattern."

"Condition Red. QSY S3." Meyers switched her transceiver channel.

"Post Two, no movement. Dirty Harry is climbing the antenna tower, over."

"Post Three, I see our technicians circling around with some rods, over."

"Post Four, no movement. Dirty Harry is grooming himself on the taxiway, over."

"Post Five, group of unarmed civilians on the Thule plain. I think the commemoration is about to start, over."

"Colonel! Tower. Unknown object approaching. It's flying so low that surface radar only just picked it up. Not responding to calls. At this speed, it'll be here in minutes. Over."

"Meyers to all units! Air raid alarm. One squad on me to the runway!"

***

"So we're landing soon?" Olaf asked.

"Shortly, but this isn't a fighter jet. We'll make an approach, I'll scout out whether the runway is clear, then we'll descend nice and slow in a turn."

"My bladder's going to burst before then! Why did you keep offering beers if there is no toilet on board?"

*

"First that alarm, and now this noise? I thought the base would show some respect for the ancestors — or at least for us."

"Look, Professor, I'm sure they're not doing it on purpose. That's the sound of an airplane. I reckon some bigwig is arriving, like last time. Do you see that group out on the runway, and that one among them in camouflage?"

"Yes, I see them."

"That's Meyers, the base commander. She's an exceptional woman, believe me. If she's standing out on the runway in person, a VIP guest must be arriving."

*

The plane began an elegant touchdown, then suddenly banked at a terrifying angle, spinning 380 degrees, tracing two erratic ellipses. Its left wing swept right over Meyers' team, leaving a heap of swearing soldiers behind. Finally, the aircraft dropped anchor. Literally. Two figures in undies tumbled from it, with a cloud of steam. They sprinted straight toward the soldiers. One of them screamed:

"Give me back my kitten, you bastards! Where's my kitten?!"

The other was yelling "Bathroom! Bathroom!" and abruptly veered off toward the hangars.

The sight caught even Lars off guard, giving Meyers' team the moment they needed to react. A few minutes later, Lars was kneeling in a ring of soldiers, and they also surrounded the plane.

"Hands up, come out!"

"Fill 'er up, please, and could you check the left landing gear? Feels a bit stuck," the pilot tossed out casually before being slammed to the ground.

"Harry, no!" someone shouted, but Dirty Harry ran straight to Lars, who scooped him up and coddled him: "Little Periscope, there you are at last."

Before the armed men could figure out what to do, the other figure in underpants reappeared and sprinted toward them, shouting from afar:

"I got him! Lars! They hid him in the hangar, he's here with me, you hear? Let's beat it!" But as he drew closer, he ground to a halt and tried to put his hands up while still clutching a cat in one hand.

The radio snapped Meyers out of her momentary paralysis:

"Comms here, we pin-pointed the jamming source. Position: runway threshold 04, over."

"Tell me, is this your cat?" Meyers stepped closer.

"Yes, he's mine, Periscope, leave him alone, you animal snatchers!" Lars shouted.

"That... where did that collar come from?"

"Temu," Lars squinted up at Meyers. "They have it in different colors too, if you want one."

Meyers didn't answer; she was staring at the other figure holding a second cat. Two black cats. Two pink collars. An expedition for a mascot. Drunk, half-dressed civilians surrounded by ready-to-fire weapons.

"If there happens to be any friction with the locals..."

Vance's words echoed in Meyers' head. She suddenly realized what she had misunderstood at first.

"The cameras are what matter most."

The Vice President... that wasn't a reprimand, it was a request!

"Lower your weapons," Meyers said, but her voice was swallowed by the wind and the noise from the hangars.

She took a deep breath.

"Lower your weapons!" This time, the entire runway heard it.

"Colonel Meyers! Are you alright? We saw something go wrong with the landing, we ran all the way over from Ancestors' Day, what happened?"

It almost happened, Meyers thought. If these two unarmed civilians had come to any harm in front of the Inuit leaders...

My God, what did I tell Vance? "I'll do everything regarding the locals" — he thinks I agreed!

Meyers heard a cough behind her.

"Sorry," smiled the old man. "I just wanted to show who we found in Sector Tree."

"Looks like your Dirty Harry found a Greenlandic beauty," the old man continued. "They're a few days old. The leaders are each keeping one. But my apartment is too small..." Before Meyers could protest, he pressed a warm, sleeping bundle into her hands. "Almost forgot — thank you for authorizing the commemoration, Colonel."

"Who was that?" she asked randomly of a man standing next to her.

"Professor Aqqaluk Lynge, guest of honor at the commemoration. I thought you knew him, Commander."

"Private Cage," Meyers finally spoke up firmly, "arrange for that aircraft to be refueled and get these poor wretches some clothes. Tell the guard detail there's a briefing in Comms in two minutes: I've captured one of the scouts from Sector Three. Oh, and have someone bring it a bowl of milk."

***

They had barely stepped through the door when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Nuuk Police Department. Am I speaking with Lars Svendsen?"

"Yes?"

"Your wife is here with us; she came to report you missing. Well, the mystery is solved."

"Lars, for God's sake, I've been worried sick."

"Don't worry, Maren, we're fine, and we have Periscope! Hurry home and I'll tell you everything!"

"Who was that?" Olaf asked, coming from the kitchen with a Tuborg.

"Just Maren, she'll be home soon." Lars turned on the TV.

They caught the end of the news broadcast:

"...Manchester United has denied rumors of a Greenland training trip. Colonel Susan Meyers has been relieved of her command at Pituffik following a leaked email that put her at odds with presidential policy..."

"And she even pinched my collar!" Lars exaggerated.

"Still, it was decent of them to fly us back with that C-130."

Just then, the front door opened.

"Lars, where are you?"

"We're in the living room, you won't believe what happened to us! Go check Periscope in the kitchen — he missed you so much."

Maren snatched up two empty Tuborg bottles and headed toward the kitchen.

"Lars, honey... whose cat is this in our kitchen?"