The Dark Spring: Hard Science Fiction Read online

  “It was delayed, but yes.”

  “Then you can release the hatch now.”

  “Forgive me. Of course.”

  He turned the wheel and the hatch opened.

  “Daniel?”

  “Yes, Luna?”

  “There’s a problem.”

  “Can it wait? I’m still in the HUT. Or do I need to go back out? Is GOLA not starting?”

  “We haven’t tested it yet. This is urgent. There’s something you have to do immediately.”

  Luna’s voice was flat. He’d never heard her like this.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We lost contact with the Orion capsule a few seconds ago.”

  “What? This must be a bad joke.”

  “Unfortunately not. You have to contact the capsule from the Gateway immediately.”

  “Okay. What shall I do, exactly?”

  “The capsule communicates with the Gateway via the low-gain antenna, and the Gateway then transmits everything to Earth via the high-gain antenna.”

  “Sure.”

  “You need to aim the high-gain antenna at the Orion’s approximate position and try to make contact.”

  “What do you think’s happened?”

  “We have no idea. The best-case scenario is that their antenna failed.”

  “And you’re hoping the Gateway’s high-gain antenna will still be able to receive something.”

  “Exactly. Our RF experts say you can even pick up their helmet radio frequency with it.”

  “Will I be able to talk to Dave and Livia?”

  “Probably not. The helmet radio antennas aren’t sensitive enough for that.”

  “But if I turn the antenna, I’ll lose contact with Earth.”

  “Yes. There’s nothing we can do about that. But you’re the only one who might be able to tell us what’s happened to the Orion.”

  “Okay. I’m at the computer.”

  “Listen closely. You’ll try for half an hour to make contact, then contact us again. Good luck.”

  “Okay, let’s do it. Which button do I press?”

  “Lunar Gateway to Orion. Please come in.”

  No answer.

  “Lunar Gateway to Orion. Please come in.”

  No answer.

  “Lunar Gateway to Orion. Please come in.”

  This was pointless. They couldn’t even hear him. Daniel went through all the helmet radio frequencies. Please, Dave, please, Livia, talk to me. Let us know you’re still alive.

  But the receiver was silent.

  “Luna?”

  “Did you have any success?”

  “Unfortunately, no. All quiet. Isn’t there some other way you can check if they’re okay?”

  “We’ve already focused all available observatories on 67P.”

  “Anything?”

  “Nothing unusual. No sudden increase in brightness or anything.”

  “Well, that’s good. That means there was no impact, no explosion.”

  “Yeah, maybe it’s just a technical malfunction. But then you should hear something. The experts all agree on that.”

  “I’ll try again.”

  “Yes, please. Report back again in thirty minutes.”

  “Still nothing,” said Daniel.

  “We have a couple of ideas we’re looking into,” said Luna. “Wait a minute... An engineer from the RF team has something.”

  “My name is Raúl López,” said a man with a slight Spanish accent. “I’m responsible for the radiometer experiment.”

  “Will that help us?” asked a deep female voice.

  That must be MOM, the Mission Operations Manager.

  “It won’t, but I’m pretty sure we should be able to pick up the helmet radios with our large radio observatories. They’re much more sensitive than the high-gain antenna on the Gateway.”

  “Charles? We need to check that right now,” said MOM, sounding energized. “Time to hit the phones.”

  “And something else,” said López. “I have a warning here from the German research group that first captured the signal from Philae.”

  MOM sounded furious. “Why haven’t I heard about this?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  “That wasn’t directed at you, Raúl. What kind of warning?”

  “Comet 67P is emitting a whole lot of dark matter.”

  “We know that. That’s why we’re flying to it.”

  “The German scientist says it might be too much already. Dark matter has a gravitational effect. It could accelerate the capsule so much that the thrusters won’t be able to maintain its intended orbit.”

  “We’ve already established that the comet’s affecting the orbit, but that was far from being impossible to correct.”

  “It’s possible that the concentration of dark matter increases dramatically when you get closer to the comet.”

  “Okay, Raúl, I understand the concern, even though I don’t believe that’s our problem—at least I hope it’s not. But we never know what we might be up against. I need a direct line to this researcher in Germany. Charles, can you arrange that?”

  “Yes, MOM, we’re on it, although it must be pretty late in Germany now. Raúl, can you send me the details?”

  “They’re already in your inbox.”

  “Did you catch all that, Daniel?”

  “Yes. What a mess. We should have stayed in lunar orbit.”

  August 29, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1

  “Did you hear?” Jenna asked.

  “Yes, all hell’s broken loose at NASA. I just saw the news.”

  “You know what that means for me.”

  “You won’t have much time for me today.”

  “Not just today, my dear. The problem’s not going to solve itself in twenty-four hours.”

  “Unless the Orion capsule makes contact.”

  “Do you think it will? I find that hard to imagine.”

  “Why? NASA’s assuming it’s a technical malfunction. If their radio system is defective, they could repair it.”

  “I think they’re just saying that to reassure themselves. Something’s happened up there.”

  “We’ll know more tomorrow at the latest. The capsule’s orbit is supposed to be much closer to Earth by then.”

  “My dear Brandon, can I ask you a favor?”

  “What?” He already thought he knew what Jenna wanted, but she was so good at persuading him he didn’t want to deny her the opportunity.

  She opened her eyes wide and looked at him seductively. “If you hear anything, please let me know. Okay?”

  “Of course. But I doubt I’ll hear anything you don’t already know. I’m much further away from the action here than you are.”

  “Well, Mr. Science Fiction Writer wasn’t paying attention, was he? Out of eight billion humans, you three guys are the closest to the drama that’s currently playing out at the moment.”

  “When you put it like that, I suppose you’re right.”

  “See? I always am. How are those three on the moon, by the way?”

  “They’re continuing their expedition. They come back the day after tomorrow.”

  “Okay. I’ll call you again as soon as I can.”

  August 29, 2026 – TU Darmstadt

  The call came in just after he’d turned off the TV to go to sleep. At first he didn’t believe the man on the phone. Charles Dickens, yeah, pull the other one. As if NASA would call him, Karl Stoll, the smallest cog at the institute, after midnight on his mobile number.

  But this Charles had referred to Raúl López, as well as Neville Youngs. How did they even get his number? Only five or six people in the world knew it. Dickens must have awakened at least one of them, or he had a direct line to the secret service, which probably had access to every registered phone number.

  He shouldn’t get side-tracked. Dickens had given him a U.S. number that he was supposed to call from the institute. They urgently needed his expertise. When Sylvia heard about this, she’d have a fit. Bu
t was it a good idea to wake her and her whole family? They were asking for him, not her, even though he wasn’t the principal author of the paper they’d written together.

  That gave him a feeling of gratification in the pit of his stomach—and a dash of excitement. If he dialed this number, he’d supposedly be put directly through to Mission Control.

  “Ah, Mr. Stoll,” said a woman with a broad Texas accent, “I’m so glad you contacted me. May I call you Karl? I’m MOM.”

  “Good morning, Ms. MOM.”

  “Just MOM. It’s short for Mission Operations Manager. It’s evening here, but the time of day is largely irrelevant for us at the moment. I’d like to thank you for your willingness to advise us. We’ll take all the help we can get right now.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Karl, you’re probably the one who best understands the situation surrounding 67P.”

  Karl nodded, immediately feeling like a bumbling fool and glad MOM continued without waiting for him to reply.

  “What do you think is the most likely reason for the loss of communication? A hardware defect?”

  “That can’t be ruled out. I’m no space technician, and I don’t know what the likelihood of that is. But the disruption happened when the capsule was approaching the comet, which tells me it’ll have something to do with 67P.”

  “I’m following you so far. For us, it would be simpler if it was a technical fault. We know how to deal with that. But what’s happening with 67P seems completely new and unknown.”

  “For us, too, MOM. We have some ideas, but those need to be verified.”

  “Among those ideas, is there anything that could have disturbed the communication?”

  “In principle, yes. One of the properties of the unknown substance is that it seems to shield electromagnetic radiation in certain frequencies.”

  “Could that affect both helmet radio and long-range communication?”

  “It’s possible, although the shielding effect doesn’t span the entire spectrum. Maybe you could try a few frequencies outside the usual ones.”

  “That’s an excellent idea, Karl. Thanks. The crew would have to be listening to the same frequency, but maybe they’re smart enough to have thought of that. And I’m hoping Green Bank Observatory will send us some data soon, too.”

  “That’s a good place to start. We’re receiving data from our lander Philae via their radio telescope, even though Philae doesn’t have a long-range antenna. If a system malfunction is the cause of the silence, then Green Bank should hear something.”

  “You stressed the word ‘if’ more than I’m comfortable with.”

  “I don’t want to remove hope that the solution’s that simple, but there are certain indications that make us suspect complications.”

  “My colleague brought my attention to those. That’s why we contacted you in the first place. But I’m wondering why I wasn’t informed earlier. I’m responsible for this mission, but I’m clearly not aware of all the dangers our crew is facing out there.”

  “I’m sorry, MOM, these findings are very new, and we didn’t have a direct channel to you. I passed on the information yesterday.”

  MOM sighed. “The bureaucracy... I know. Well, it’s good that we now have an open line of communication with you. So, what’s the problem you suspect?”

  “As you know, the comet’s emitting an unknown substance that we theorize is dark matter, which is increasing its mass, and therefore its gravity.”

  “I understand. My colleague said something about that. My first thought was that the capsule’s thrusters should have no problem dealing with that. Or am I wrong?”

  “As I understand it, this problem has already destroyed an Alpha Omega probe that was supposed to inspect Comet 67P. Admittedly, that was probably a small CubeSat model, but the comet’s mass has increased more since then. I’m not saying the comet has destroyed the capsule, but the comet might pull the capsule so far off course that it won’t be able to maintain its lunar orbit with the fuel it has, and it could therefore be lost.”

  “That would be the worst-case scenario, Karl. We don’t have the technology to bring them back.”

  “And maybe I’m wrong.”

  “I hope so. Oh—I’m hearing that the data from Green Bank has just now come in. Karl, can I ask a favor? I’d like to invite you to Mission Control, virtually. One of our admins will provide you with access. Then you’ll be able to follow everything here remotely. And if you have any ideas that might help the crew, you can let us know with the click of a mouse. I think you might be able to see the big picture better than we can.”

  “Sure,” said Karl.

  “Great. You’ll receive the details in a minute. See you soon.”

  The message arrived 60 seconds later. Karl installed the software and typed his access data into the input field. Now should he let Sylvia know? No, she needed her sleep. He dialed himself into the NASA conferencing system.

  He’d expected Mission Control to be bigger. The camera sending him the image must be suspended from the ceiling of a room about the size of two average college classrooms. He could see a large projection displayed on a wall, showing various graphs, although he couldn’t make out what they represented. A row of desks was arranged in front of it. Roughly half of them were occupied. Two people seemed to be asleep with their heads on their arms, which didn’t seem to bother anyone. At a couple of other desks, people were whispering with their heads together.

  Each desk had a printed sign, but the camera resolution was too low to read what was on them. However, ‘MOM’ was plain to see on the desk at the front left, where a corpulent woman with unkempt blonde hair was sitting. She kept reaching into a bag and putting something from it into her mouth while studying text on her monitor. Now and then she rubbed her eyes. Karl felt exhausted just looking at her.

  “Good evening,” he typed into the chat window. “I’m Karl Stoll, and my focus is on the physical properties of the comet.”

  “Hello, Karl. Good to have you with us,” replied someone called Charles. That must be the man who’d telephoned him, presumably MOM’s right-hand man. No one else responded.

  Suddenly everyone looked up at the screen. MOM opened her mouth. Karl had forgotten to turn on the sound, so he pressed the plus button.

  “...Bank Observatory is here. I’ll put it up on the screen.”

  The projected image changed. Nine diagrams appeared.

  “Here you can see the activity on certain bands that are typically used in space travel.”

  The diagrams were flat, some had outliers, but Karl could see at once that they were statistical artifacts. There was radio silence, that much was clear.

  “I’ll switch between the frequencies,” MOM announced.

  New diagrams appeared. They were flat, too. MOM gave them each a minute, then changed the image.

  He heard a woman’s voice exclaim, “There! Top left!”

  Karl couldn’t see who was speaking. But he recognized the signal at once. That was Philae, not the NASA spaceship.

  “Those are the transmissions from our lander,” he typed. “I recognize them. Sorry.”

  “That’s all the data. I’ll run a few Fourier analyses on it,” said MOM. “There might be structures that we don’t recognize.”

  That couldn’t be ruled out, but the curves looked more like white noise than anything—what you heard when you couldn’t hear anything recognizable.

  Why was Philae getting through, with its limited range, when the helmet radios in the NASA capsule weren’t? It was highly unlikely that two independent systems had malfunctioned simultaneously. And if the capsule had been destroyed, some telescope would have registered the energy burst, like when the Alpha Omega probe was destroyed.

  He typed, “Can someone send the Philae data to me, please?”

  “On its way,” Charles replied.

  The diagram opened on his computer. He saw familiar patterns. Philae spoke, as it were, in a pec
uliar manner prescribed by its protocols. Back in the day, the Rosetta probe had been able to pass on the data precisely.

  Karl zoomed in on the diagram. Something wasn’t right. But it wasn’t the data, and the labels on the axes were correct. It was a simple value that bothered him. The Green Bank telescope had received the Philae transmission on a different wavelength this time.

  He called up the data that Millikan had sent him. He was right—Philae had transmitted over a higher frequency the first time. The second frequency was a little lower, but within the measurement tolerance range, so it hadn’t been noticed. But now the nature of the shift was clear. The frequency of the radio waves they were receiving had shifted down.

  What did that mean? Philae surely wouldn’t change the frequency of its own accord—although a certain amount of drift wasn’t out of the question. Karl checked the last few values he’d received. The interior temperature was within the range that Philae could tolerate without problems, and the operating voltage was even slightly increased. It couldn’t be that.

  Frequencies shifted when the source moved relative to the receiver. That was the Doppler effect, an everyday phenomenon that you experience when vehicles such as ambulances drive toward you, pass you, and then move away from you, with their sirens blaring. But it shouldn’t play a significant role here. Karl roughly calculated the values, just to be sure, but his intuition was right. The constant expansion of the cosmos caused another kind of redshift. Was the space continually increasing around the comet, and the radio signal was having to pass through that increase? But then the distance from 67P to the Earth would be growing, too, and the astronauts would have noticed that.

  There was only one other potential cause: gravity. It could distort radiation, which then had to overcome the strong attraction. Karl was about to pass on this conclusion to Mission Control. But a gravitational redshift had enormous consequences. To even be measurable, the comet’s mass would have to increase immensely, more than he’d imagined. If that were the case, it would be impossible to stop the Orion capsule from leaving its orbit and being dragged through the solar system along with Comet 67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko.