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.”

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.