The Dark Spring: Hard Science Fiction Read online

  He mentally flipped the direction of the ship around. Now the tower was a pipe along which he was crawling on all fours, and the Gateway was a tower. Only Dave disrupted the effect, because he appeared to be hanging horizontally from the hatch. It took a while for Daniel to get used to the lack of any sense of direction.

  “And? How does it look?” asked Dave.

  Daniel had reached the part insulated with golden foil. He had to be especially careful here not to damage the coating. His task was to inspect the thrusters, the sizeable main thruster, and the corrective jets. He climbed along them one after another. Now and then he looked around to make sure the safety line didn’t get caught and damage something.

  Dave laughed.

  “What?” asked Daniel.

  “I feel like I’m walking a dog.”

  “It fits. I’ve been needing a walk for a while. Lucky for me, I won the coin toss with Livia.”

  “I fudged it,” Dave admitted.

  “What?”

  “I wanted to speak to you in private.”

  “You want to tell me you’d like to land on the moon with Livia.”

  Why else would he want to speak to him alone?

  “True,” said Dave, sounding surprised. “How did you know? Was I talking in my sleep?”

  “Oh, it’s obvious. Despite all the promises, there’s still only been one woman down there, and for you it’s probably the last chance.”

  “Well summarized.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean last chance because you’re an old geezer.”

  “You’re right, though, Daniel, I’ll be starting to train astronauts soon. They’ve already asked me.”

  “Well, congratulations.”

  “And you don’t have a problem with staying up here?”

  “Look at that tube. Sitting in a tight space like that with one of you for a week—it’s not for me.”

  “I’m not sure I believe you, Daniel. You wouldn’t have come up here if you weren’t hoping to set foot on the moon. But thanks for your understanding.”

  “No problem, Dave.”

  Dave tugged on the line briefly. “Shall I throw you a stick?” he asked.

  “I suppose if you’re asking that question, then I’m finished here, so sure.”

  Dave raised his left arm out of the hatch. He was holding a shiny metal object, presumably some tool.

  “Watch close. I’ll throw it and you try to catch it,” he said.

  Then he drew his arm back and flung the tool toward the moon. Daniel oriented himself, estimated the flight vector of the object, and jumped. He sailed through empty space, secured only by the line. If Dave let go, he’d be lost, because the Artemis suits didn’t have any jets, being designed for the surface of the moon.

  He’d underestimated the speed. Daniel paddled with his arms, but of course it didn’t help. The tool sailed past him.

  “Shit,” he said, “I screwed up.”

  “We have plenty more,” said Dave. “Shall I throw you another?”

  “Forget it. Hopefully it won’t land on anyone’s head down there.”

  “It’s too fast for that. It’ll stay in orbit around the moon.”

  “Then our moon has a new moon.”

  “I’ll bring you in now, Daniel.”

  August 21, 2026 – Pico del Teide

  “Hello, Dieter,” the email began. “I hope you’re settling well into your new workplace.”

  Well, yeah. Dieter Zetschewitz wedged his numb hands under his thighs. Why hadn’t anybody told him it would be so cold up here? He was on Tenerife! He didn’t want to complain about the fact that his boss, a Frenchman, apparently didn’t like Germans. Germans were difficult to have around because they were always right. He’d already pointed out three mistakes François had made. But the man only laughed. One day he’d get his own back. He was only 19, and François was ancient at 42. His time would come.

  “I have a favor to ask of you,” wrote Karl.

  The older man—definitely over 50—appeared in his mind’s eye. Karl was an excellent scientist, but he didn’t know it. Something must have broken him years ago, probably something to do with a personal relationship. For every genius, their private life held the potential for their downfall. Had Einstein been expected to change diapers, he would never have come up with the GTR. Dieter wasn’t going to let anything like that happen to him.

  “We need some data on the current path of Comet 67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko, as accurate as possible, and preferably over time, so that we can calculate all orbital parameters. I assume you have access to a decent telescope?”

  Karl, Karl, Karl. You must be in quite a hurry, or you would’ve gone through official channels. But you’ve come to the right guy. Who gives a shit about official channels? The question is, what might be in it for me, hmm?

  But he couldn’t ask Karl that, because Karl thought of himself as an upstanding guy, morally superior. His email showed this was just a facade. But Dieter had to demonstrate his willingness, and then he’d just have to choose the right moment in the future to point out that Karl owed him a favor.

  Blah, blah, blah. He skimmed through the rest of the message. Who cared what the measurements were about? Dieter clicked the reply icon.

  “Hello, Karl,” he wrote. “I’m glad you thought of me. I did my first scientific internship with you, and you know the connection that forges.”

  Grease, grease. Build a connection. Maintain ties and so on.

  “Regarding your problem, I was able to convince my bosses...”

  Wait a minute. He should wait at least half an hour before sending the reply. Otherwise it wouldn’t be believable that he’d put in a good word for Karl.

  “...to make the OGS available to me.”

  Make it available to me. Ha. He’d simply smuggle in a tracking order. The OGS, a one-meter mirror telescope, was designed for tracking space trash. No one would notice if it spent a night following a comet.

  Should he explain the OGS’s purpose to Karl? No, that would sound unprofessional, plus he had a lot to do, so he should keep this brief.

  “If you ever decide to come to Tenerife on vacation, don’t forget to look me up,” he wrote.

  Build a personal connection. Important.

  “All the best. Yours, Dieter.”

  No, ‘Yours’ sounded stupid. He deleted it. But now it seemed too impersonal.

  “Sunny greetings from Pico del Teide, Dieter.”

  That was better, even if the sky was currently overcast. Dieter was about to click ‘Send,’ but caught himself just in time. Too soon. He switched to the object database, pulled up the current data for 67P, and entered it into the OGS tracking memory.

  August 22, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1

  “I think I behaved unwisely yesterday,” he said.

  Jenna smiled. Keep talking, her eyes said.

  “I let slip that there are no secrets in my books.”

  “But that’s no secret,” she said.

  “No? I thought only I knew that.”

  Brandon looked around him. It was still dark in the ship, and the porthole covers were closed. Only the central column that housed the computer was flashing. He couldn’t sleep. Everyone was wearing ear protection, so it didn’t disturb them when he spoke to Jenna.

  “Every reader knows that. I’ve only read one of your books, but I noticed right away.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “Not at all. That’s what’s special about your books. Your readers love it.”

  “Thanks. It’s all about to kick off here.”

  “Then have fun!”

  “Oh yeah, something else I wanted to say...”

  He bit his tongue. The communication was likely being monitored, so he couldn’t tell Jenna about the moon lander.

  She smiled expectantly.

  “Oh, nothing,” he said.

  Jenna closed her mouth and swallowed.

  Oh. She had probably been expecting something else.

&n
bsp; “Fasten your seatbelts,” it said on the screen.

  Brandon leaned back and pulled his belt. The damned thing was jammed. He raised the backrest a little. That was better. He pulled the belt down and buckled it at his crotch. It clicked and a big green tick appeared on the screen. It reminded him of earning a gold star in kindergarten.

  “Dear friends,” said KK.

  Their host was using the audio system so they could hear his voice in their headphones.

  “Our ship is about to fire its thrusters,” said KK. “Before that happens, you should say goodbye to Earth. I think that, once we’re as far from it as our plan dictates, we won’t be able to see it like we can now. At least that’s what the few space travelers who have undertaken this journey have said.”

  All heads turned in unison toward the portholes. The blue sphere of the Earth was indeed a majestic sight. His editor would probably delete that adjective for being too clichéd. Brandon searched for an alternative, but couldn’t think of one. He turned his attention to his body. Shouldn’t his heart be beating faster? Why weren’t the palms of his hands sweating, like those of his protagonists in situations like this?

  “The thrusters will fire in five—four—three—two—one—zero,” said KK.

  Now he should feel a force pressing him back in his seat, but nothing happened.

  “One moment,” said KK. “I’m hearing from Mission Control that we still have a few more minutes. One of the thrusters must have reported an error.”

  Brandon looked at the Earth. The Apennines were currently rolling past. He’d gone to Rome last year with Jenna. His girlfriend had insisted on flying to Europe. He found the old continent and its inhabitants a little pompous, as though they’d built the Coliseum with their own hands, when in fact a bunch of slaves did all that a very long time ago. And this democracy they were supposed to have invented—only ten percent of men were allowed to vote in the ancient Greek city-states, and that was supposed to be popular government?

  “Emily just made an interesting suggestion,” KK said. “She’s asked us to make our farewell from the Earth more conscious with awareness exercises. I think it’s a great idea.”

  Awareness... Great. His ex had always tried to make him a more aware person. Who was it that had always made sure the food didn’t burn, the windows were all closed, and the gas tank didn’t run empty? But woe betide him if he didn’t notice when she was wearing new lipstick.

  “Dear friends,” said Emily. “So that we can say a proper goodbye to our birthplace, let’s all turn our heads toward the ceiling again. We’re very awake and present in ourselves, can you feel that? Now we focus on our breathing. Can you feel your ribcage expanding and contracting with each breath, and your whole body moving? If a pesky thought wanders through your head, let it go. Don’t follow it. Refocus on your breathing. In, out. In, out.”

  Brandon awakened because the buckle at his crotch was vibrating. He hadn’t slept so well in a long time. They were in zero gravity again, so he must have slept through the deceleration phase. Maybe it was because he’d been missing the gravity he was accustomed to.

  Someone touched his shoulder, startling him. The Japanese man was floating on his side next to Brandon.

  “I need to speak to you for a moment in private,” KK said.

  Brandon looked over at Sophie, whose lounger was only a few feet away.

  “She has her headphones on,” said KK.

  “I understand.”

  “It’s a shame you don’t want to come down with us.”

  “It’s really not for me, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Brandon, I’m not trying to change your mind.”

  Of course you’re trying to change my mind. Every such attempt in his books started just like this. But he didn’t interrupt.

  “None of us is trained for a moon mission,” said KK. “So we could simply set out in the Blue Destination lander, observe everything through the window, and then fly back. You don’t need any skills to do that. The lander does it all. But it would be pretty boring, of course.”

  “Frustratingly boring,” said Brandon. “Spending hours in a confined space only to land and then leave again.”

  “Exactly. And I don’t even know if we’d have officially been on the moon if we did that.”

  So it was about the history books. KK was afraid of being forgotten. He’d sold an online shop to his competition for several million dollars, but he hadn’t yet managed to create anything enduring. Was that why he liked being surrounded by artists?

  “Just think,” said KK. “Until now, only eighteen people have been on the moon. All American! We’d still be among the first twenty.”

  And you’d be the first non-American among them.

  “I’m American, too,” Brandon replied.

  “None of those who went before you were science fiction writers.”

  “Labels like that are overrated. My fans would read my books, anyway.”

  “It’s a shame. It really is,” KK sighed. “Your book set on the moon, I devoured it, and everything was so realistic. Maybe you can at least advise us?”

  Brandon laughed. KK must be a gifted businessman, but sometimes he was very naive. He wouldn’t exactly ask a writer of hospital romances for his opinion on an upcoming operation.

  “It’s true. I’ve read everything that’s been written about the situation up there,” said Brandon, “but that was a long time ago, and it’s only second-hand knowledge, not practical experience.”

  “That’s still more than the rest of us.”

  “Stay away from crevices and don’t jump too high. That’s all the advice you need.”

  KK sighed. “What a shame. If you change your mind, I’m not going to announce my decision until just before launch—so it wouldn’t look like you were taking someone else’s place.”

  “Jenna?”

  “How are you?”

  “Good. I have to speak quietly. The others are sleeping.”

  “I understand. I just got myself something from Micky D’s.”

  Could he smell fresh fries? Brandon’s mouth watered. “Oh, now I’m jealous,” he said.

  “Haven’t you tried out your burger oven yet?”

  “No. KK seems to be preoccupied with other things at the moment.”

  “What things?”

  “I can’t talk about it.”

  “Okay. It sounds like something’s brewing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The administration canceled a press conference at short notice, scheduled for tomorrow.”

  That meant NASA must have changed their plans. Maybe it was about the next moon landing. The Russians and the Chinese were close, and if NASA wanted to send moonwalkers numbers 19 and 20, then they’d have to stay focused on it.

  “Good to know,” he said.

  “I’m glad. It means I don’t have to go to Florida tomorrow morning.” Jenna was a journalist who covered space exploration, among other things.

  “Then I’ll get some sleep,” said Brandon.

  “Sweet dreams.”

  “Thanks, Jenna.”

  August 22, 2026 – Pico del Teide

  Dieter stepped on the brakes and clutch and stopped at the barrier, but it didn’t open as it usually did. What was up with the guard? The man always recognized his old Polo. Was he on vacation?

  He wound down the window. The guard came out of his cabin and tipped his cap.

  “What’s wrong?” Dieter asked in Spanish.

  “Good morning, boy. I just wanted to warn you.”

  “Warn me? Why?” He felt blood rush to his face. This could only mean one thing—someone must have noticed something. He didn’t touch anything else yesterday, just tidied up the archive.

  “Your boss, the Frenchman, had to come in last night. He was livid, I’m telling you! It was a hectic night, and I hardly slept at all. Luckily someone’s coming to relieve me soon.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” said Dieter. �
�Did François say why he had to come in?”

  “No, the technical stuff is none of our business. The scientists never tell us anything. I hope you don’t get caught up in it yourself, boy.”

  “Thanks for the warning. And get home safe.”

  The guard nodded. He shuffled back into his cabin and the barrier opened.

  The sun was shining, but a cold wind chilled him, so Dieter zipped up his thin jacket. His department worked in a building that looked like a shipping container. How glamorous. He knocked on the door to his boss’s office. Might as well get the reprimand out of the way.

  François leapt up when he saw him. How dare he? It was outrageous, an intern falsifying the record—Dieter switched off. His boss, who often slipped from English into French when he was agitated, was being unfair. He hadn’t overstepped. One object, more or less, didn’t make any difference to the OGS. It didn’t overload it, nor did it cost anything. The way François was berating him made it sound like he’d endangered the existence of the entire observatory. His old lady was probably holding out on him again, and now he was taking his frustration out on Dieter.

  Dieter picked the dirt out from under his fingernails.

  “Are you even listening to me, Dieter?”

  François stressed the last syllable of his name. Dietér.

  “Of course, boss.” He kept looking at his fingernails. François would calm down eventually. “I’m sorry you had to come in last night, boss.”

  “You’ll go straight to the head of security and give him your phone number. If the OGS triggers another alarm, you can be the one to come in.”

  “Sure. I’ll go to security and give them my number.”

  Repeating orders back always sounded soothing.

  “Good. And I don’t want to see you again today.”

  “You won’t see me again today.”