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had chosen to reject a position at NASA and had joined the SETI Institute instead, driven by an insatiable urge to find life outside the reaches of Earth. This association was the basis of her second assumption for NASA's motives.
    Of course, NASA wouldn't let such talent as hers go to waste, and so in exchange for their support of her search for extra-terrestrial intelligence, both through financial investment and access to their facilities, equipment and man-power, Sally would undertake research and assist in the development of technology for NASA and its partners. Her complete lack of ability to put less than her all into what she did meant that she effectively had two full time jobs — one she worked during the day, and the other she worked at night. It would be a strange day — even hour — when Sally Fisher wasn't poring over a computer screen or a printout.
    Although it wasn't unusual for NASA to request something vague at short notice, the likelihood of them flying her all the way to Moscow for SETI purposes seemed monumentally slim. She couldn't overlook the obvious fact that her encyclopaedic knowledge of communications could easily be imparted over the phone, by email or through Skype, so to send her to Russia for a mere technical query seemed just as unlikely. Her brain spun, tying itself in tighter and tighter knots as she sat alone in the leather-clad flying cigar tube. She considered turning on the polished wood-framed television, but she knew nothing on that could possibly distract her overactive mind.
    The plane, which had been climbing, banked right and levelled out. They were flying East, towards the rising sun and into the new day. With the sun now dead ahead, Sally could slide her blind open again; she watched the criss-crossing grey lines down below give way to open wilderness, and her heart leapt knowing there was so much to explore in the world — and beyond. As she dozed, she hoped she would be getting a chance to discover a whole lot more very soon.
    A screech of rubber on tarmac shuddered through the plane, jolting Sally awake. Disorientated, she brushed her hair from her face — peeling away the strands that were sticky with drool — and stretched against the seat as she remembered where she was. She didn't recall falling asleep, let alone travelling nearly six-thousand miles; it only went to show just how sleep-deprived she was, working day and night without even realising it.
    The sky was bright but bleak, glowing like a fluorescent tube. As they taxied towards the main terminal building, they turned off the painted yellow line, peeling away from the rows of huge airliners and on to the smaller hangers at the opposite end of the airfield. The nose swivelled as they approached the second to last hanger, and the small plane entered and rolled to a stop. It was dim inside, and Sally struggled to make anything out through her small window. From what she could see, it was empty. The door swung down, and a man in a nondescript dark suit and sunglasses leaned in through the gap.
    'If you'd like to come this way, Miss Fisher,' he said, voice as stiff as his suit.
    Sally did as she was told. As she descended onto the tarmac, she looked around the hanger; it was indeed empty.
    'Please follow me,' the non descript man said, and she did. He led her to the back of the hanger, opening a door for her. On the other side, out in the open, a black SUV with dark-tinted glass waited for them. As she approached, the back door opened. A man with white crew-cut hair stepped out and offered his hand to her.
    'Good afternoon, Miss Fisher,' he said as she took his hand and shook it, 'welcome to Russia. I'm John Bales, and I'd like to thank you for joining us out here on such short notice.'
    'That's ok ay,' Sally said.
    The non descript man entered the front passenger side of the vehicle, and Bales gestured to Sally to climb aboard too. She froze, her nerves taut with a sudden panic, but as quick as the feeling had