The Dark Spring: Hard Science Fiction Page 3

  “We’re through,” Dave reported.

  A camera drone flew around Daniel’s head, annoying him. He tried to bat it away with his hand. At least the viewers were seeing some action. A docking maneuver like this was routine and unexciting. Maybe Mission Control had deliberately maladjusted the pressure sensor? No, the engineers there wouldn’t allow it.

  “Congratulations,” said CapCom Luna. “Now you’re one step closer to landing on the moon.”

  That was true. However, she didn’t mention that it wouldn’t be decided until later which of them would get into the lander. One of them would have to stay onboard the Gateway for security reasons, even though there was room for all three of them. Two black Americans, a woman and a man, together on the moon—that would be a powerful image for the media. Although Mission Control insisted they would come to a decision that was best for the mission, they wouldn’t be able to entirely disregard external pressures.

  “Daniel? You can come through now,” said Dave.

  “Mission Control? Can you confirm that?” he asked.

  When leaving the capsule, one astronaut had to maintain launch readiness until the station was declared secure.

  “Everything’s fine,” said Luna. “Have a nice stay.”

  Daniel quickly unbuckled his belt. He wasn’t in any hurry to get to the station, but he wanted to get out of the suit. His bladder was full, and if he hurried he wouldn’t have to use the diaper.

  August 16, 2026 – Cologne

  “Who... Who is this?” Karl asked drowsily.

  He was lying on his side, on his side of the bed. On the other side, where Sylvia once used to sleep, he’d set up everything he might need during the night, including the phone, of course. He held it to his ear with his arm in the air. That funky smell must be coming from his armpit. It was time he threw his pajamas and bedclothes into the machine.

  “Is that you, Charly?”

  Although the voice was speaking English, it took his brain a while to associate it with a name. He’d just been skiing in his basement. A strange dream. He was grateful to Bob for waking him.

  He found it harder than usual to switch to English in the middle of the night. “Yes, I’m... It’s me.”

  “Sorry, I forgot about the time difference,” said Robert.

  “No problem. How can I help?”

  “I might be able to help you. You asked my opinion on the signal from the Philae lander.”

  “Yes, did you think of something else? Was Neville wrong after all?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “But we’d already got that far.”

  “Just a minute, Charly. I couldn’t resist checking the communication with your Hera probe. All I could find was what you exchange officially with the probe.”

  “So, it’s not the relay for Philae?”

  “Definitely not. You can be sure of that.”

  “Then there must be another probe that’s relaying the signal?”

  “You won’t find anything there, either.”

  “What makes you so sure? There could be some private project underway.”

  “With your codes for Philae?”

  “Since the project ended, a few ESA engineers moved on to work in the private sector. They could have taken program code with them. It’s not like anyone can stop them.”

  “Believe me, Charly, there’s no other relay.”

  “And what if Philae was in the middle of transmitting when you were looking at Hera?”

  “That’s possible, but—”

  “But? Don’t keep me in suspense.” Bob had always had a flair for the dramatic. At such times, it helped to beg him.

  “Please, Bob. Out with it.”

  “It’s irrelevant whether Philae was in the middle of transmitting when we looked at Hera.”

  “Because?”

  “Because I found the real source of the signal. And it’s not Hera.”

  “What is it? A private satellite?”

  “No. Comet 67P Churyumov-Gerasimenko.”

  Karl sat bolt upright. “Come on, Bob, it can’t be.”

  “But it is. I’ll email you the data and you can see for yourself.”

  “But Philae’s antennas and transmission power—”

  “I know. I was there, too. It can’t reach us. But the cheeky thing clearly doesn’t care.”

  “That’s insane,” said Karl.

  “Totally insane.”

  “What now?”

  “You have a connection again. That’s great, Charly. You can continue your work from where you left off. 67P must have some secrets to reveal.”

  “Everything here is focused on Hera and the Didymos system. If we’re unsuccessful after all NASA’s preparatory work, no one will ever work with us again. The to-ing and fro-ing back in the day was damaging enough.”

  And the old team didn’t exist anymore. He’d never be able to work together with Sylvia and Joe the way they had in 2014 and ’15.

  “If you say so. I’d at least be interested in finding out why Philae resumed contact.”

  “It’s unlikely to give us an explanation.”

  “Man, Charly, you used to be more creative. Philae has so many scientific instruments. Surely one of them can send answers!”

  “First I’d need the transmission capacity for commands and data. Everything’s reserved for Hera.”

  “I’d like to offer my help in that regard. I enjoy enough freedom here to smuggle a few data packets through to Philae for you. If I can receive data from it, it can also hear me. That’s the advantage of such a large dish.”

  “Thank you, my friend.”

  He wasn’t using the word to flatter. It felt right. What would Sylvia say?

  “Schröter here.”

  Hmm, the man must have slept poorly. But Karl was in such a good mood he simply ignored the brusque tone.

  “Good morning Mr. Schröter,” he said. “I have an appointment with Professor Stoll.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Stoll, Karl.”

  “Oh, the same last name. That’s a coincidence. One moment. No, I’m sorry, you’re not on the list.”

  The man was starting to annoy him.

  “We arranged it yesterday evening. The professor probably just forgot to note down our appointment.”

  “She never forgets to do that.”

  “Just please ask her, Mr. Schröter. It’ll only take 15 seconds. Who are you, anyway?”

  “I’m her assistant. Fine, I’ll ask her.”

  Schröter must be new, because he didn’t mute the phone before calling through to the next room.

  “Sylvia, I have a man named Karl Stoll on the line who insists on talking to you.”

  “It’s okay, Thomas. It’s my ex-husband. I told him he could reach me at ten.”

  “Oh, good, then I’ll put him through.”

  “Thanks, Thomas.”

  “Did you hear that, Mr. Stoll? I’m putting you through.”

  Hold music faded in briefly. The few notes weren’t enough to recognize the piece.

  “Karl? So early in the morning? I wasn’t expecting you to actually call at ten. You usually sleep till midday.”

  Nice. But he couldn’t let his annoyance show or they’d start arguing again.

  “Good morning, Sylvia. Thanks for taking the time. It’s really important.”

  “You sound even more emphatic than yesterday.”

  “I am. Philae is transmitting again, directly from 67P.”

  “Let’s assume the best-case scenario,” Sylvia proposed. “We know that two of the lander’s transmitters are defective. Even if the solar cells have magically managed to recharge the secondary battery, what are the chances that the only remaining transmitter is pointing at the Earth?”

  “Very small,” said Karl. “But look at it another way. Both Neville in New Norcia and Bob at Green Bank Observatory received data that must have come from Philae. That would be impossible if the last functioning transmi
tter wasn’t pointing in our direction. The chances of winning the lotto are much slimmer, but someone always wins the jackpot.”

  “That’s true. And I doubt both Bob and Neville are wrong. I know them too well. It’s got to mean we’re in contact with the lander again. So, what now?”

  “It’s is a great opportunity. We can use the instruments to find out more about Churyumov-Gerasimenko.”

  “We already met ninety percent of Philae’s research targets. And now Hera’s about to arrive at Didymos. I’m sorry, Karl, but this is way more important. Philae is in the past. Hera’s supposed to show us whether we can successfully divert an asteroid from colliding with the Earth. We’ll need that data at some point. Philae, on the other hand, doesn’t have much more to tell us. And if it does, 67P will be back in six years, and we can investigate the comet again then.”

  “Pity. Those were great times, don’t you think, Sylvia? We were a great team, Bob, Joe, you, and me.”

  “I thought it was something like that,” said Sylvia.

  “Something like what?”

  “It’s about the past for you, Karl. You can’t let it go. I bet you still sleep in our bed.”

  “It’s not the bed’s fault we separated. Why should I throw it away? And that has nothing to do with Philae and the Rosetta mission. It’s pure coincidence that Neville started receiving data just now.”

  “Regardless, I don’t want to argue about it. The main thing is that we have a much more important project that needs our full attention. In three months, when we’re finished with Didymos, I’ll be happy to help you.”

  “But you said yourself how slim the chances are that Philae is making contact. The comet it’s sitting on will keep moving, just like the Earth. Our line of sight is fleeting. In three months there won’t be any more transmissions. If we’re going to give the lander our attention, it has to be now.”

  “Karl, even if you can’t see it yourself, there are things in the world other than you and your egotistical desires. For you, everything has to happen right away. I thought you might have grown older and wiser, but I guess I was wrong. I have to go to my lecture now. Have fun with your new girlfriend, Philae.”

  “Sylvia, wait—”

  His ex-wife had hung up. He’d figured the conversation would end like this. And now he knew why he hadn’t tried to start a conversation with her for eight years. But he didn’t need Sylvia. He still had a model of Philae somewhere on the backup server. The lander had enough sensors to tell him the story of its reawakening. With the help of Robert’s radio antennas, he could send it the necessary commands.

  August 17, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

  The difference was huge. He was already familiar with the interior of the Lunar Gateway from the water tank at the Neutral Buoyancy Lab in Houston. But with three of them in it, they were always in each other’s way with nowhere to retreat. The ISS had reminded him of his grandparents’ big house, growing with each new extension but having a decrepit skeleton for which the inhabitants lacked the money for maintenance. His grandparents had kept their heads above water by renting two rooms to students. These were the only two rooms that received a coat of paint and a new carpet every few years.

  That was just how the ISS appeared to him—except that here, the maintenance was concentrated on the space tourists’ habitat and the dome for Earth observations. The Lunar Gateway was like a three-person tent by comparison. Every camper knows that a three-person tent shouldn’t be used by more than two people. Here, too, there was one too many. So they’d agreed to sleep in shifts. The noise of the life support system drowned out every other sound, and the micro-gravity had the advantage that you could wear headphones and an eye mask in any sleeping position.

  Out of the last eight hours—Daniel’s sleeping shift—he’d barely spent three in the realm of dreams. The rest of the time he’d listened to audiobooks and watched his crewmates. It was a strange feeling, floating uselessly on the ceiling, watching others at work. But that was the deal, and now he had to vacate the space.

  “Good night, you two,” said Livia.

  “Shall we discuss shift changes quickly?” asked Dave.

  “Is there something to discuss?” asked Livia.

  “I recommend the new novel by Brandon M. Mitchell,” said Daniel. “We have it as an audiobook in the station’s library. It’s about a moon landing.”

  “Are you serious? A sci-fi fairytale?” asked Dave.

  “It’s no fairytale. Hard science fiction. Really well researched.”

  “I’m sick of this Mitchell,” said Dave. “They interviewed him on CBS about the Artemis program as though he were an expert. But he just makes it all up.”

  “I thought the book was good,” Daniel countered.

  “I wanted to talk to you about that,” said Dave.

  “About the book?”

  “No, Dan, I don’t even know anything about it. About Mitchell and his companions.”

  “Why? What about them?” asked Livia.

  “Mission Control warned me earlier that we might have to postpone our landing.”

  “What’s that got to do with the writer?”

  “You must’ve heard of the Japanese multi-millionaire who bought himself a moon tour from Alpha Omega.”

  “Yeah, he wanted to invite artists to go with him,” said Livia. “Don’t tell me, he—”

  “Exactly,” Dave interrupted. “Their SpaceShip SS1 will circle the moon in the next few days. And NASA doesn’t want them getting in our way, or us in theirs.”

  “Can’t they just wait a few days?” Daniel asked.

  “Theoretically, yes. They could be prohibited from launching,” explained Dave. “Alpha Omega’s an important supplier for us, so they wouldn’t kick up a stink.”

  “But?”

  “Well, Dan, Luna has her own theory, and I think she’s spot-on. NASA’s afraid the hobby astronauts might get themselves into trouble, so we’re supposed to keep an eye on them until it’s all over.”

  “I suppose NASA would be quite pleased if their pros ended up rescuing a few civilians,” said Livia. “That’s good for their image. That Ihab Chatterjee from Alpha Omega has been totally stealing the show recently. Somehow he manages to do everything more cheaply.”

  “Have you seen SpaceShip SS1? The cabin’s three times the size of the Lunar Gateway,” said Daniel. “I could put up with that all the way to Mars.”

  “There’s even supposed to be a Burger Queen oven on board,” said Livia.

  “I didn’t know you liked burgers,” said Dave. “I’m glad we don’t have to sell ourselves to advertisers. It just means we have to be thriftier with the tax dollars.”

  “Hey, turns out you’re something of a socialist,” said Daniel.

  “Are you trying to insult me? I’m from Texas.”

  Livia laughed. “You guys are cute. Are you going to have a wrestling match now?”

  “A rodeo,” said Dave. “If anything, a rodeo. But it still sucks that we have to sit around in this sardine can and wait.”

  August 17, 2026 – DLR Control Centre, Cologne

  It smelled like garlic in the control room. Marcel must have indulged in a kebab. Karl turned the air conditioning up a notch, but it didn’t drive out the smell. He bent down to check the wastebasket. His younger colleague had disposed of the remains of a kebab and its packaging. He shook the wastebasket and saw the box from his Vietnamese noodles under it.

  What would two days at room temperature have done to those noodles? He’d have to have a word with the cleaning crew. Karl took the wastebasket and opened the door. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something flashing on his computer monitor. An urgent message? He looked around. The corridor was empty, so he simply put the basket next to the door and closed it behind him. Problem solved.

  He sat down at the workstation he shared with Marcel and logged in. A message from his colleague popped up. Karl had been wondering where he was. He usually relieved him here around noon.
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  “Hello, Karl. Thanks for your work on the TIRA code. During the night the probe confirmed that you seem to have solved the problem. I’m at a team meeting. We’ll see each other tomorrow at noon. Marcel.”

  He slammed his fist against the desk. A team meeting? Why hadn’t he heard about it? Unbelievable! Were they trying to slowly squeeze him out, shuffle him off into retirement? Or was it about who got the laurels? Working on the Rosetta project certainly helped Sylvia get her professorship. What else was she planning? His ex had always been more career-oriented than himself, and she’d always accused him of lacking ambition. He just wanted to get on with his work in peace and do what he enjoyed.

  He started drafting a new email. “Hello, Sylvia,” he typed.

  Then he deleted the line. It wasn’t up to Sylvia to invite him. The official team leader was some functionary at the DLR, whom he’d never personally met. The man’s assistant sent out invitations in his name. Why did Marcel get one and not him?

  “Dear Dr. Rott,” he typed.

  This was stupid. He was about to complain to the institute about not being invited to a meeting that he would almost certainly have found pointless. Who did something like that? An old, embittered pedant. He didn’t belong to the group. Period. By now his anger had subsided. He should be glad. Instead of sitting in a boring meeting, he could occupy himself with Philae. Yesterday, Hera had taken priority.

  Karl made himself comfortable and started reconstructing the backup of the model. The Rosetta project had been discontinued over ten years ago, but scientific papers based on the data they’d collected had continued appearing until two or three years ago. These papers had to be kept available for review. So even ten years later, everything was well archived.

  “Reconstruction complete.”

  Now he had a virtual copy of the Philae lander on his computer. He could send it the same commands as the genuine hardware—except that if he made a mistake, all he had to do was perform a reset. In reality, an erroneous command could send the lander into outer space forever.