The Dark Spring: Hard Science Fiction Page 15

  Karl pushed his chair back, put his arms behind his head, and stretched out his legs. Comet 67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko had a hole in the millimeter range where the cosmic background radiation should be visible. Did that have something to do with the CONSERT data? Was the strange matter they’d found somehow shielding radiation? Or only certain frequencies? What did that mean?

  When did you not see what had to be there? When there was something in the way. That was shielding theory. But what if that which had to be there really no longer existed because it had been sucked away? That sounded insane. Not only had they postulated a dark matter spring, but now he was also seeing a deep sink in the cosmic background radiation. Two completely new astrophysical phenomena? No one would believe him!

  Nevertheless, he should probably tell Sylvia.

  “I have a new theory,” he said.

  “Oh,” said Sylvia.

  “Oh?”

  “Can we discuss it tomorrow? It’s not a good time.”

  “But if I’m on the right track, the crew needs to know about it.”

  “The crew?”

  “You know, the astronauts on the Orion capsule.”

  “Oh, of course. But they’re already on their way.”

  “Did you pass on the results of my simulation?”

  “I... Karl, I really don’t have time right now. The press lady is sending me a new journalist every half hour, I’m supposed to write a summary, the university wants information, and my head is about to explode. It’s really not the time for a new theory. We haven’t even properly figured out the first one.”

  “But the crew needs—”

  “What do you care about the crew? NASA’s responsible for them. They have it under control. But no one there is going to write the new paper we’re expected to produce.”

  “Which new paper?”

  “We can’t just rest on our laurels. This is our hour. We have to make applications for observation time, apply for research funding, I keep getting applications from amazing scientists from all over the world—”

  “But the crew—”

  “—the crew, the crew, can’t you say anything else? You won’t stop talking about them.”

  “I... Okay. The crew has to be careful not to get too close to 67P. It looks to me like it’s significantly increased in mass.”

  “But it’s still a comet, Karl. Even if its mass doubled, its gravity would be much lower than the moon’s. It’s not a black hole that’s threatening to capture the Orion capsule and never release it.”

  “As far as I know, the Orion capsule is on an extremely elliptical orbit. It’ll pass the comet just before it reaches its major axis. That’s when it’ll be moving slowest. A small change at this point can cause a big change to the orbit. In the worst case, the capsule could leave its orbit and fly out of the solar system.”

  “Then they’ll have to counteract it with their thrusters.”

  “And if that means they don’t have enough fuel left to return to the Lunar Gateway?”

  “Karl, I admit it sounds dangerous the way you put it. But we should trust NASA. They always build sufficient security buffers into their missions. That’s probably not the only potential event.”

  “Can’t you at least warn them about the scenario I just described?”

  “Then they’ll just say, ‘those Germans, those smart-asses, trying to tell us how to do our jobs again.’ Believe me, the most it will achieve is conflict. They know what they’re doing.”

  Karl gave a heartfelt sigh. It would be a big mistake not to warn the crew. The astronauts needed to know what they were up against. Sylvia was being quite bitchy. He’d never known her to be like that. Was the success going to her head? Without him, this ball would never have started rolling, but now she didn’t seem to care about his opinion.

  He had to reach the crew some other way. Could Millikan maybe radio them? No, that wouldn’t work, because he didn’t have the codes. What if he asked Alpha Omega? They had a big ship in lunar orbit. The Orion capsule had been built by the competition, but he would bet Alpha Omega had the codes, too. After all, they were firmly integrated into the space station because of their supply runs.

  But the only person he knew there was Neguun—the very person who’d just double-crossed him. No, that was out of the question. His only chance was that he might know someone who knew someone at NASA. He’d send out an email.

  August 27, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

  “No focus. Check calibration.”

  He’d been getting the same error message for half an hour. Daniel had installed the Gateway Orbiter Laser Altimeter exactly according to the written instructions. The instrument had a calibration mode with which it was supposed to regulate its own accuracy.

  Daniel restarted the process. He’d attached the instrument to a small porthole. From there, it sent out a laser beam toward the lunar surface and measured the return time and strength of the reflection. That way, it could determine not only the distance but also the nature of the materials on the ground. NASA was hoping to get more information about the distribution of ice deposits in the craters. But first GOLA had to actually function.

  “No focus. Check calibration.”

  Shit. Daniel reread the manual. He knew he’d done everything right. He needed one of the experts from Mission Control. He floated over to the console.

  “Daniel, can you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear, Luna.”

  “The specialists have an idea.”

  “Great. Are they going to share it with me?”

  “GOLA was designed as LOLA, for the Lunar Reconnaissance Orbiter. It was attached outside on the satellite there, not behind glass.”

  “Opening the porthole could be a problem.”

  “We agree, Dan. The calibration algorithm is supposed to be able to cope with the glass. It just needs to account for its dampening properties.”

  “Shall I update the software? You should be able to adjust it.”

  “Unfortunately, that won’t work. There seems to be a coordination problem. When building the habitation module, the manufacturer changed the type of glass because the original glass wasn’t resistant enough to cosmic radiation. But that increased the dampening so much that GOLA would have to operate outside of its specifications.”

  “Let me guess. Nobody told that to the company that built GOLA?”

  “Apparently so. We’ll figure out who was responsible. But, the thing is, you’ll have to take GOLA outside.”

  “You’re sending me outside alone?”

  “I know it’s unusual. But there’s no one there who can help you. And you’ve got experience.”

  “Great.” Daniel was annoyed. Were they that quick to override their safety regulations? On the other hand, it would help pass the time.

  “It’s not unimportant, you know. We need the data if we want to construct a base at the south pole at some point.”

  “I understand. When is this EVA supposed to take place? You must have a plan?”

  Of course they had a plan. Coming up with plans was what Mission Control did best.

  “Tomorrow at midday. That means you’ll have four hours for the pre-breathing.”

  Great plan. Four hours, on a Sunday. Oh, no, today was Thursday.

  “What’s it like out there?” asked Daniel.

  “Pretty disappointing,” Dave answered. “We could be leaping around on the moon. Instead, we’re following a chunk of ice, dust, and rock that you can’t even really see properly.”

  “Are you still too far away?”

  “No, but sometimes there’s a dark fog in the way. Mission Control thinks it’s the unidentified matter the thing is emitting.”

  “They’re calling it ‘unidentified matter?’ I thought the scientists reckoned it was dark matter?”

  “Yeah, typical of them. As long as they’re not sure of it, they won’t call it that.”

  “When do you arrive?”

  “Sometime tomorrow. We still
have to make a few slight course corrections, but it’s all going according to plan.”

  “I’m supposed to go outside tomorrow and attach an instrument on the Gateway.”

  “Hey, they’re really keeping you on your feet.”

  “Apparently it’s all terribly important.”

  “Sure, Daniel, just like our flight to nowhere. I think I’ll hire myself out to Alpha Omega next. At least with them you know there’s a commercial interest behind every decision.”

  “I thought you were retiring?”

  “Astronaut trainer, they call it, but I don't know... I still don’t feel like I’m ready to be put out to pasture. With Alpha Omega I’d have a shot at a Mars expedition. They send the old guys first, because of the radiation exposure.”

  “It would be a shame for NASA to lose you, Dave. I’ve learned a lot from you.”

  “Thanks, Daniel.”

  The connection dropped out. Daniel called up the Orion capsule’s course on screen. Two almost straight lines moved toward one another, met, and then continued on their separate ways. At least that’s what it looked like at this scale.

  August 28, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1

  “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday—”

  “What? Who’s that?”

  Brandon tried to pull off his blanket, but it was caught on something. Where was the communicator when you needed it? And who was that singing so badly?

  The blanket was covering the screen, so he tossed the blanket aside. “Jenna. Oh, it’s you.”

  “Happy birthday,” she said.

  “Don’t you dare reveal my age.”

  “It’s on Wikipedia.”

  “I try to ignore that. But thanks, Jenna. I haven’t had such a nice wake-up call in a long time.”

  “And I was thinking Vyacheslav and Yunus would have made you breakfast.”

  “Hardly. We emptied a bottle of vodka together last night. Slava brought it with him. I mean Vyacheslav.”

  “Are you hungover?”

  “I don’t think so.” Brandon unfastened his seatbelt, shoved off, and did a flip. His stomach didn’t complain. “No, I’m fine.”

  “That’s good.” Jenna licked her lips. “You’ll get your present after you land.”

  “Ah, my favorite kind of present,” he said, blushing.

  “Yes, a cheesecake,” said Jenna. “But it’s cute that you’re blushing. As though you were only turning 18.”

  “That’s how I feel. You keep me young.”

  “Haha, you old ass-kisser.”

  “Don’t call me old. It’s depressing.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I know. I have to freshen up. CNBC wants to do a little interview. It’s not every day an author celebrates his 60th in space.”

  Brandon floated toward the bathroom. Yunus was still asleep. Vyacheslav was lying unbuckled on his lounger, reading on a Kindle. The device had an old black-and-white screen. Vyacheslav waved at him without saying anything. They’d already wished him a happy birthday just after midnight.

  “Keep your seatbelt fastened, even at cruising altitude,” Brandon said.

  “Yes, boss,” said Vyacheslav, but didn’t comply.

  Brandon’s communicator wanted his attention. His bladder was full, but he opted to check the screen in case the broadcaster had suddenly decided to move the interview forward.

  He had 117 new messages, all birthday wishes, even one from Sarah, his ex-wife. His grown-up daughter, a few friends, and some shrewd fans were there, too. And his mother, of course, who was now nearly 95 and lived with his sister. He hadn’t cared about his birthday since he’d turned 21, but others did, so he’d humor them with thank-yous.

  But not yet. He needed to use the bathroom. Now.

  “Brandon, is space the way you’ve described it to your readers?”

  “Yes, I feel like I researched it well.”

  “And that’s what your novels are known for. So, no surprises at all?”

  While the moderator was speaking, Brandon checked his image on the screen and gave Yunus, the cameraman, a signal. He didn’t want so much of his belly in the frame.

  “I’m overwhelmed, John, again and again,” he said. “The Earth looks so tiny from here. And there are lots of details that make me realize how far away we really are. For example, these little pauses between the questions and answers. Did you know that light and radio waves take one point three seconds to reach me from Earth?”

  “I didn’t know that. I was about to complain about the equipment.” John laughed. “Aren’t you sad not to be able to set foot on the moon? We just interviewed your fellow traveler, Emily, and she seems to be awestruck by all the impressions.”

  “No, John, I’m happy for Emily, Sophie, and Kenichi. This kind of space voyage brings people closer.”

  “And you’re not even a little bit envious? I think I would be.”

  “I’m lucky in that respect—I never give in to envy or hold grudges. I think that makes life much easier.”

  “That’s an interesting philosophy. You write very realistically about the way spaceships are piloted. If all the computers in the spaceship were to fail, do you think you could save the ship and fly home manually?”

  “No, John, definitely not. It’s not like a pickup driving around a supermarket parking lot. Every step has to be planned, and the thrusters have to be ignited at exactly the right moment and for a precisely measured period and at the correct intensity. That was also the case with the first Apollo missions, except that the astronauts pressed the buttons themselves, not a computer. In those days humans were considered more reliable than computers.”

  “Thanks for the explanation, Brandon. I can see Kenichi invited the right guy. I’ll wish you a happy birthday and hand it back over to the studio.”

  August 28, 2026 – TU Darmstadt

  Karl had finally had a decent night’s sleep. The hotel room was tiny, but it faced onto a rear courtyard and was blissfully quiet. Sylvia hadn’t understood his decision, but accepted it without drama. That was progress.

  He checked his emails. One was from Neville, who knew a former colleague who’d worked on the team responsible for the radiometer instrument on the Gateway. His boss, Raúl López, probably had access to Mission Control, he said.

  “I’ve already put in a good word for you with my ex-colleague,” wrote Neville. “And he owes me a favor. Can you please let me know what López needs to warn them about, and back it up with solid argumentation? I can’t promise anything, of course, but the odds aren’t bad.”

  Karl looked at the date and saw it was already the 28th. Tomorrow was the weekend. He had no intention of spending it in his hotel room, but would Neville and his ex-colleague work through the weekend, too? He could only hope. At least he had a time-zone advantage when it came to communicating with Mission Control in Houston.

  He quickly wrote the message and sent it.

  August 28, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

  It was no different from the first time. Daniel stood on the outside of the Gateway, sweating, looking across at the moon, which now felt like an old friend. The safety line was clipped on near the hatch. He’d also wound it around his arm, so it would be easier to pull himself back in if he accidentally lost contact.

  Luna and the entire Mission Control team was following his EVA. “The airlock’s outer hatch is still open,” she said.

  “I’d like to leave it open. Then I’ll be quicker getting back in.”

  “That goes against safety protocol. We can’t risk a pressure drop in the Gateway.”

  “But there’s no one else there.”

  “Please, Daniel, safety first.”

  “Fine.” He bent down and closed the hatch. “Satisfied?”

  “Perfect. Now go to sector 3D and attach the instrument.

  Daniel grunted. He was turning the screw, but the tool indicated it still wasn’t tight enough. One more time. He summoned all his strength. Finally.

 
“I think that’s it,” he said, standing up.

  He suddenly felt dizzy. But he said nothing. It would only make Luna worry.

  “Hey, you’re breathing is shallow, is something wrong?”

  “How can you tell?”

  “The oxygen concentration—”

  “That must have been the cramped position I was in when I tightened up the screw.”

  “I understand. Your values are normalizing again now.”

  “Are you watching me day and night?”

  “We don’t watch you in the bathroom, if that’s what you mean, but the system is constantly recording your vital statistics and reporting deviations.”

  Daniel blushed. Luckily no one could see it. He hadn’t thought of that last night when he... had taken advantage of the fact that he was alone in the Gateway. But, the system definitely would have recorded his increased heart rate. So what? The doctors had probably seen it all.

  “You still need to connect the instrument to the data port,” said Luna.

  Oh, yeah. He already had the cable in his tool bag. He connected it to GOLA and then ran it to the port, a socket about two meters away below a porthole.

  “Finished,” he said.

  “Confirmed. You can come in.”

  Finally. The spacesuit reeked more with each EVA. He bent over the hatch and attempted to turn the wheel. It wouldn’t move.

  “I’m sorry, Daniel, but I’m afraid I can’t do that,” said Luna.

  Daniel laughed. “What’s the problem, HAL? What are you talking about?” Of course he knew the classic film.

  “I just wanted to see if I could provoke an increased heart rate,” said Luna.

  Was she somehow aware of his relaxation technique? Daniel blushed again. “And? Did it work?”