The Dark Spring: Hard Science Fiction Page 14

  “Can we continue?” asked Dave via the radio.

  “Sorry, Dave. Of course.”

  “Is everything disconnected?”

  Daniel checked the display. Energy, air, wastewater, fuel, the Orion capsule was now independent.

  “Everything’s sealed,” he said. “You won’t smell my farts anymore.”

  “Oh, what a shame,” said Livia. “I’ll miss them.”

  “Dave should be able to compensate. You’ll just have to stick close to him.”

  “I don’t have a choice in the capsule.”

  “It’s what you wanted.”

  Daniel was now glad he didn’t have to fly to the comet. Mission Control estimated the mission would take several days, and the capsule was packed tight with provisions.

  “Daniel?”

  “Yes, Luna?”

  “I’m just hearing that you automatically have full authorization once Dave is outside of helmet radio range.”

  “Ha, did you hear that, boss?”

  “Typical. When the cat’s away... Don’t make a mess, don’t touch my booze, and no parties with your friends!”

  “What? I didn’t agree to that. They’re already knocking on the window. Hi, ET!”

  “Don’t let them in. They just want to abduct and dissect you.”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “I hate to interrupt,” Luna said. “But shall we continue?”

  “You heard the teacher, Danny boy. She wants to continue.”

  “Do I have to get out my cane?” Luna asked. “Kindly behave. It’s time for the first corrective maneuver.”

  Daniel watched the capsule through the porthole. Its movements were hardly detectable, and the thrusters weren’t breathing fire. Everything happened slowly, elegantly, and in total silence. The Orion would use the moon when it needed to reduce its speed. It would race close across the surface and then allow itself to be flung out into a very elongated, elliptical orbit. Its thrusters wouldn’t be able to help it if it didn’t pass close enough to the comet. The comet was the unknown factor, because it seemed to be changing its orbit.

  Changes were something no mission planner liked. Space didn’t forgive mistakes, and every alteration made those more likely.

  “Daniel?” said Dave.

  “Have fun out there.”

  “Switch from helmet radio to the low-gain antenna now.”

  “Confirmed, Dave.”

  Daniel pressed a button. Communication with the team out there would now proceed via the external antenna. Now they were really gone.

  “Congratulations, Daniel!” Luna said.

  “Congratulations?”

  “On your first command. You’re now the commander of NASA’s Lunar Gateway.”

  “Commander and only inhabitant.”

  “That makes no difference. In your bio it’ll be listed as a command position. It’s bound to affect your next mission positively.”

  Daniel smiled. They weren’t stupid. If he had to endure a week of boredom, then at least it was with good prospects at NASA.

  August 26, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1

  “How does it look out there?” asked Brandon.

  “The moon is stunning,” said Sophie.

  “But you’re not even there yet.”

  “Still. It’s taking up a large part of our field of view. Imagine a vast desert hanging above you.”

  “I’d be worried the sand was going to rain down on me.”

  “A rocky desert, okay?”

  “Fine, I’m imagining.”

  “Now, picture it all at night.”

  “Understood. It’s dark. I can’t see anything.”

  “Exactly. Your eyes get used to the darkness. Suddenly, someone comes and turns on the light.”

  “I’m dazzled,” said Brandon. He squinted.

  “The light’s blindingly bright. All the mid-tones are missing. There’s only black and white, light and shadow. Twilight has been banished.”

  “Fascinating.”

  “Things merge with their shadows. The black is so complete that you can’t tell where a structure ends and where its shadow begins. Only where there’s light can you make out structures. They’re ancient and yet perfectly preserved.”

  “I see them.”

  “And do you know what the most incredible thing is?”

  “Tell me, Sophie.”

  “There’s no movement. The whole world appears frozen. On Earth, there’s always something moving. Your eye is accustomed to perceiving movement. Your consciousness automatically separates out what’s non-threatening. But here, everything’s dead. The moon is drifting past us like a diorama constructed billions of years ago.”

  “But you know that the moon changes, too?”

  “Yes, teacher. But we don’t notice it. I’m telling you what I’m seeing because you can’t be here with us, not what I know.”

  “Thank you, Sophie.”

  “I’m excited to find out what it’s like down there.”

  “Pretty dusty, I’ve heard.”

  “I wonder how my consciousness will come to terms with this dead world. No more movements in my peripheral vision for it to separate out. Will it maybe overcompensate?”

  “None of the astronauts who’ve been on the moon reported anything like that. So you don’t need to worry.”

  “James Irwin kept searching for Noah’s Ark afterward. But I don’t feel fear, just respect.”

  “Respect never hurts.”

  “I’m pretty annoyed with you,” said Jenna.

  “I’m sorry. I really couldn’t say anything. KK wanted to keep it a secret until the last moment.”

  “It would have been such a great story! But I can understand why KK wanted to keep it under wraps.”

  “Why?”

  “He was probably worried NASA might stop him. After all, they’ve got their own moon mission happening.”

  “Had.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Is there any news from those guys?”

  “Don’t you get the news up there?”

  “I’ve been quite lazy lately and prefer to look out the window.”

  “As you should. Enjoy the unique view. NASA’s Orion capsule is currently building up momentum for its flight to the comet. That was quite a clever chess move. The viewer ratings have gone up by twelve percent.”

  “And KK’s moon landing?”

  “Hardly anyone’s interested in what a super-rich Japanese billionaire’s up to. Bad luck for you, Brandon. It probably won’t help your sales.”

  “Yeah. Unfortunately the numbers aren’t skyrocketing.”

  “The best thing would be to write your next book. The comet would be a good subject.”

  “You’re so good to me, Jenna.”

  She laughed. “You can redeem yourself with exclusive information. Why would I bother sleeping with you if not for confidential information?”

  “For my limitless wisdom and god-like body, of course.”

  “Or your whacky sense of humor.”

  “Fine. It doesn’t matter. The main thing is that you do. Do you have a suggestion for a title?”

  “What about The Dark Hole?”

  “That sounds a bit kinky.”

  “I’ve got it! The Dark Spring would sound good. Mysterious and exciting.”

  “I’ll take that, thanks.”

  August 26, 2026 – TU Darmstadt

  Sylvia must have made quite an impression on this Roberto. He’d sent the data 24 hours after she requested it. ALMA was an international project, so it was probably horribly complicated trying to get observation time. Who knew what kind of favors Roberto had to call in? Karl scrolled inquisitively through the forwarded message, but of course Sylvia had deleted all traces of private communication.

  “Here’s the data you asked for,” was all that remained of what Roberto had written.

  He should thank him, but there’d be time for that later. Karl opened the file and saw that it was raw data. He shoul
d have expected that, but he was still disappointed. He’d first have to do the calculations before he could look at the actual image. He launched the appropriate program. Then he looked at the clock and saw it was already after 6 p.m. It wouldn’t be finished today. He should probably just leave the program running overnight.

  Karl switched off the monitor and stood up. Then he heard the pinging sound of an incoming message and figured it was probably spam. But was he really in such a hurry to leave? If he went now, he would dine with Sylvia’s new family again. But if he waited another hour, the kid would be in bed. Then he could go to the kebab shop and enjoy a delicious meal there.

  The decision was easy. He sat down and turned the monitor back on. It wasn’t spam, it was from Robert Millikan. His old friend had sent Philae the same measurement assignment as last time. Good idea. He could use more friends like that.

  Karl went through the data carefully. There seemed to be no change, which was reassuring but also disappointing. He believed the results from CONSERT were outliers. The instrument sent radio waves through the comet and measured their reflection. Last time, 67P had appeared to no longer have a nucleus. But now it was there again. Its density was a little higher than it had been 12 years ago, but that could be due to the natural process of outgassing that every comet was subject to. When it neared the sun, the lighter volatile substances were heated and carried off by the solar wind. Everything that was too heavy remained.

  But then, why had CONSERT delivered different values last time? Maybe the impact of the Alpha Omega probe had changed something. A curtain of dark matter had been pulled aside. If that was true, then the substance could be influenced. If 67P continued to increase in mass, this could be important.

  He closed the data file and thanked Millikan. He’d like to have a beer with him again. The evenings at Sylvia’s house were starting to wear him down. He should probably find himself a hotel.

  The program reconstructing the ALMA images still needed time. He switched off the monitor again and left the office.

  August 26, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

  “Thanks. Our experts will be pleased,” said Luna.

  Daniel had just sent Mission Control a heap of photos that he’d taken in the last few hours, showing the Shackleton crater at the lunar south pole.

  “I have a new assignment for you,” said his CapCom.

  “You’re trying to keep my spirits up with work?”

  Luna hesitated. “I’ll be honest with you. The psychologists think it’s best if you have something to do. But it’s not pointless work. It’s just been reprioritized.”

  “The psychologists. You mean Dr. Rutherford. She told me at almost every consultation that I tended toward depression because I was never particularly sad. I was just suppressing it, and that was supposedly proof.”

  But it wasn’t true. He simply wasn’t able to feel genuinely sad. Where was the problem?

  “Then you’ll be pleased that Cathy’s no longer responsible for you.”

  “No?”

  “She’s now assigned to the 67P mission.”

  “I see. The two of them are flying farther into space than anyone’s ever been before.”

  “Exactly. They’re farther from humanity than any other life form.”

  Maybe. Wasn’t a research probe currently on its way to Saturn’s moon, Enceladus? Its subterranean oceans might harbor life.

  “So, what’s the new assignment?” he asked.

  “You have an instrument on board called GEND, the Gateway Exploration Neutron Detector, which detects water. It’s never been used. You need to unpack it, test it, and run the first series of measurements.”

  “And when I’ve finished?”

  “Then GOLA and LAMP are waiting for you. They’re also for finding water.”

  “Sounds like fun. Why were they all mothballed?”

  “None of the previous crews had time for them. They quickly landed on the surface, came back up, and then went home. The first international crews were supposed to operate the research instruments.”

  “The ones that aren’t coming anymore?”

  Luna sighed. “The Japanese are making noises. The Chinese want to, but the agency is skeptical. They’re even prepared to pay a lot, about the same amount as the former Russian contributions.”

  “All right. I assume there are checklists for the instruments?”

  “Yes, container 2A-T. You have to install GEND at the instrument port. You’ll find the tools in container... just a moment... 2A-C.”

  “Thanks, I’ll find it.”

  “Dave? You look tense,” said Daniel.

  “Haha. I’m not used to the acceleration these days. Short burn to readjust our course.”

  “More than one g?”

  “Zero point eight g.”

  Daniel laughed.

  “Yeah, you can laugh,” said Dave, forcing the words out. “We’ll see how you feel when we land back on Earth.”

  “How are things at your end?” asked Livia.

  She sounded more relaxed than Dave. She must be in better shape, but she was also 20 years younger.

  “Mission Control is piling on the work. But of course it doesn’t make up for your absence. Just the feeling of getting into a completely dry shower that no one’s used, then this awful, neutral-smelling air—”

  “I can tell you’re missing us a lot. Even the ventilation system seems to be missing us.”

  “That’s true. The air no longer smells of Dave’s farts. It now has a wonderful oily, sweaty aroma, like in the worker’s quarters on an oil rig.”

  “How do you know what those smell like?”

  “It’s what I imagine they smell like.”

  “I envy you the shower. We’ve only been stewing in our own sweat for a day, but it feels like weeks to me.”

  “Aren’t you using those amazing alcohol wipes?”

  “I tried to squeeze them out to put a bit of turbo in my tea,” said Dave. “But the stuff evaporates too fast.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not even ethyl alcohol.”

  “Then they’ve cheated us out of another harmless pleasure.”

  “You two are pathetic.”

  August 27, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1

  “Congratulations,” Brandon cried into the microphone.

  It was a wonderful moment. Sophie was officially the second woman on the moon. It was no Armstrong moment, though. Sophie didn’t give any kind of speech that would go down in history books. She’d just jumped off the second rung of the ladder into the moon dust and whooped.

  He felt compelled to shout, too, because Sophie was the first person he knew to set foot on the moon. It was something special, and he was a witness. Most people on Earth wouldn’t find out until the evening news.

  “Thanks!” cried Sophie. “Who was that congratulating me?”

  He, Vyacheslav, and Yunus all replied. They were all following the moon travelers’ adventure on their screens. Blue Destination knew what was needed and had equipped the lander with all sorts of camera technology.

  “Come on, you two. Let’s take a stroll!” said Sophie.

  “We agreed that—”

  “Don’t be a spoilsport, KK. You can’t force Emily to just watch us while we enjoy ourselves out here.”

  “Fine,” said Kenichi, and made way for her on the ladder.

  The hatch opened behind him immediately, and a small person in a white Alpha Omega spacesuit stepped out. She pushed herself off, did a somersault over Kenichi, and landed on her knees behind Sophie.

  “I asked you not to—” said KK.

  “Nothing happened,” said Emily. “See? The suit’s amazingly flexible.”

  It was like a school trip. How would the first people to set foot on the moon, who’d had to risk their lives to do so, have reacted to this scene? Would they have been glad that a flight to the moon was now almost commonplace? Or would they have disapproved of these flippant tourists?

  Brandon was glad not to be r
esponsible for safety down there. KK was probably sweating. The new suits were dependable, but the vacuum on the moon was just as deadly as it had always been.

  “Sophie, Emily, it is a little dangerous on the surface. There could be sharp rocks that you can’t see under the thick layer of dust,” said Brandon.

  “Yes, Daddy,” replied Emily.

  “I just don’t want anything to happen to you.” He couldn’t stop himself saying it, even though he felt that Emily was right.

  “Don’t worry about us,” Sophie said. “We’ll be careful.”

  August 27, 2026 – TU Darmstadt

  Karl switched the monitor on, but nothing happened.

  “No signal.”

  He bent down. The computer was off. Shit. Who’d turned off his computer? Probably the cleaning lady. He should have stuck a note to the screen. The computer started up with a rattle. Apparently it still had a real hard disk. As a guest, he wouldn’t have been given the newest model.

  Finally the computer was running. He was in luck! It must have been switched off after the program had already finished. The images were there. There were several, more than several, in fact, taken at intervals of 18 minutes over about four hours. The field of view was the same in all of them. When he switched between them, 67P jumped a little further along.

  Karl centered the first image on the comet. 67P reminded him of a tadpole, drawn by someone with a penchant for the color red. The color’s intensity increased from the outside in. The tail was a yellowish-orange, and toward the nucleus the color became a deep orange, then red. Right at the front of the comet was a dark red, bloodshot eye. Karl zoomed in on it. The seemingly continuous coloration of the surfaces, in which the intense microwave radiation was encoded, condensed into distinct stripes. He’d reached the resolution limit at this zoom level.

  The eye grew but showed no detail. At the highest magnification it took up an area the size of his fist on the screen. Hmm. It reminded him of a hole. It was surrounded by a black area from which it could have been punched out, except that edges were strangely frayed. Was that a resolution problem? Probably.