The Dark Spring: Hard Science Fiction Page 9

  “And don’t parrot everything I say.”

  “I won’t. What was wrong with the OGS, anyway?”

  “It reported a critical course deviation.”

  If space trash suddenly changed course, it could endanger Earth satellites. In such cases, the OGS triggered an alarm.

  “But it was only that damned comet that you smuggled into the tracking list. Why?”

  “The famous 67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko. I just wanted to see what it was up to.”

  “Well, you did that. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  One day he’d be a boss, and his underlings wouldn’t have it easy, either.

  François. That asshole. He’d get him back one day. Dieter sat at his computer in his tiny office and chewed on a pencil. He always carried several around with him—not to write with but to chew on. It calmed him. It made it easier to endure the constant humiliation directed at interns. He laid the pencil across his index and ring fingers and rested his middle finger on top of it. Then he pressed down.

  Crack.

  The pencil snapped in the middle with a satisfying sound. Dieter threw it in the wastebasket. He felt better. He called up the OGS parameters on his screen. Then he moved the cursor over the entry for 67P. He held his finger over the Delete key, but didn’t press it. 67P harbored a secret. Should he simply deactivate the warning? Then no one would be dragged out of bed again by unexpected course alterations. No. If his instincts were right, he should stay tuned. He simply entered his own contact data. If the comet changed course again, he’d be the first person on Earth to know.

  August 22, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

  Daniel sprayed cleaner onto the surface, making it smell of alcohol and vinegar. Then he wiped the surface down with a cloth. Dave had ordered a major cleaning operation that day. It happened at least once a week. The humidity on board was a paradise for bacteria and fungi, and that had to be counteracted. Dave had assigned them each a third of the Gateway. He’d even postponed his own sleep shift for it.

  Time for the next surface. Daniel had never liked cleaning. But he was glad—he was already supposed to be alone up here. Once he was, he’d have to clean everything himself.

  “May I?” Livia asked. She pointed at her phone. There was no mobile reception, but they had Wi-Fi.

  “Sure,” answered Daniel.

  Livia tapped the screen a few times, and then music flooded the station. It was 1980s rock. He and Livia hadn’t even been born then.

  “Not bad,” said Dave.

  Livia usually listened to her music through headphones, and Daniel had assumed it would be some kind of modern pop. It was strange. They’d trained together for six months, but never talked about their musical tastes. Was that his fault?

  “What do you say we play a round of Skat afterward?” asked Dave.

  “Skat?”

  “A card game, Livia. It’s from Germany. My grandparents on my father’s side emigrated from Germany to the States when they were children. That’s how I know it.”

  “Ah, your name’s German, too?” asked Daniel.

  “Yes. My grandparents spoke German to each other their whole lives.”

  “Interesting. I can’t remember anything other than English being spoken in my family.”

  “Maybe they wanted to integrate quickly,” Livia speculated.

  “I think it’s more that they never really felt at home as blacks in Germany. Oh well. It was a long time ago.”

  “Oh, Daniel?”

  “Yes, Livia?”

  “I wanted to thank you for giving me this chance.”

  “It’s no big deal,” he said.

  But he was pleased. The more time he spent with his crewmate, the more he liked her.

  August 22, 2026 – TU Darmstadt

  “What have you gotten me into?” Dieter had written. “My boss gave me a major dressing-down today. I hope the attached data is worth it. You can start thinking about a way to return the favor.”

  Dieter wrote quite boldly for an intern. He would never have dared to act like that at age 19. But whatever the tone, he’d delivered the data. Karl closed the email program and opened the spreadsheet. The OGS had searched for the comet at intervals of 30 minutes. Just after midnight, also shown in the table, it had sounded the alarm because the object had deviated from its expected course.

  But was that even accurate? Karl made some calculations. In point of fact, 67P hadn’t been following its predicted orbit even before that. However, just after midnight the deviation was so significant that the OGS had started interpreting it as an orbital disturbance instead of a measurement error. Then it had done what it was programmed to do—warned its owner.

  Karl launched the simulator. He selected the OGS’s measurements as the input. The program plotted a course based on the 20 measured points. Then it calculated the properties of a celestial body that would have an orbit like that, taking into account the gravity of the sun and planets. It was a complicated process, but they had certain information about how heavy and how fast 67P was from the last two times it had passed the sun.

  The program announced that it was finished. It reported that 67P must weigh 11.277 billion metric tons. Six years ago it was 11.271 billion tons, so its mass had increased by 6 million tons. That looked impressive on paper. But for an astronomer, it was an insignificant amount that lay far below the accuracy threshold of existing measurement procedures. Karl compared this to the values from 2014. That year it had been 11.270 billion tons. In the first six years, the comet became one million tons heavier, and in the next six years, 6 million tons heavier. If it kept increasing six-fold, then in 12 years the value would lie outside the permitted measurement inaccuracy.

  But natural events rarely demonstrated consistent doubling times. What if the escaping dark matter followed an exponential curve? That was the bursting dam Sylvia was afraid of. He mustn’t make her anxious—or himself. There was no cause for that, yet.

  So far, all they had were measurements within the range of accuracy—data from a lander that was supposed to be long dead—and obscure ideas from non-physicists. Should they really be submitting this to a renowned journal?

  “Bernhardt, have you already sent the draft to Science?” Sylvia asked over the phone. “Wait, I’ll put you on speaker so Karl can hear.”

  “I... I was just about to.”

  “There are a few more things to include.” Sylvia explained what they’d discovered with the help of the intern.

  “Okay,” said Piras. “That’s a little sketchy. We can’t submit that.”

  “You could include it as a commentary. ‘News and Views,’ or whatever the heading’s called. People always speculate freely there.”

  “I know what you mean. But whether they’ll give us the space—”

  “There’s no harm in asking. Dark matter is a hot topic, and Churyumov-Gerasimenko made quite an impression back in the day. Tell them Nature’s also very interested.”

  Nature was the second most renowned scientific journal in the world, and they wanted to be number one.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t even spoken to Nature yet, and I don’t know anyone there personally.”

  “You don’t have to tell them that.”

  “Fine. I’ll try as soon as their offices open.”

  “Thank you, Bernhardt. You’re a darling.”

  So, now he was a darling—that was quick. Sylvia hung up.

  “So, that’s in the bag. And now?” she asked.

  “What I’d really like to do is fly there and look at it up close,” said Karl.

  “Listen to you. Fly there. Haha. Although you’re right in the sense that the only way we can be sure is by going there ourselves and looking at it. Who knows how long Philae will continue transmitting? But to catch up to 67P with a probe, we’d have to have launched already.”

  “Maybe there’s another possibility. Back when the solar system had its first interstellar visitors, NAS
A developed a statite project.”

  “That means nothing to me.”

  “It’s a probe that stabilizes its own orbit and just waits for the next visitor.”

  “And then flies toward it?”

  “No, it sends a CubeSat to explore the object. The idea was to be able to reach any object within two or three days.”

  “But that’s not possible,” said Sylvia. “The distances are too vast.”

  “They wanted to position a whole armada of statite probes.”

  “And they did that? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “No, the project was canned after three probes. Ihab Chatterjee was transporting them free of charge on his rockets, but these days he’s booked out.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “If we’re lucky, one of those three probes may be in a convenient position.”

  “You’ve got free reign, Karl. Research it if you like.”

  He had free reign. The professor seemed to think she was his boss. He waved his hand to chase away the sour smell of injured pride. He didn’t care what Sylvia thought of him.

  Karl looked at the clock. It wasn’t even midday, and he already felt like he’d been working for ten hours. It was a good feeling. Last night he’d slept well for the first time in ages, even though his ex-wife was lying in bed with another man in the next room. Just after midnight he thought he heard moaning. For a moment he was tempted to put his ear to the wall. But it had been easy to just roll onto his other side and go back to sleep. The time when he would deliberately cause himself pain finally seemed to be over.

  The man he needed to reach worked at MIT. He was responsible for the statite project, or rather he used to be. Now that they weren’t putting any more probes into space, almost all the information about it had disappeared from the web. That was unusual. What had gone on behind the scenes?

  “Richard, is that you?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Who wants to know?”

  Karl introduced himself. Richard Lineman from MIT seemed to be a man of few words. It wasn’t until Karl started talking about Rosetta that he thawed. The mission had been well received by space travel engineers the world over. Lineman had probably hoped for something similar from his own project. Visiting an interstellar comet would have been a whole lot more exciting.

  “What can I do for you?” Lineman asked after a while. “We seem to be talking in circles.”

  “Okay,” said Karl. “I’m looking for a way to examine an orbiting object up close as quickly as possible.”

  “Well, my statite project would have been perfect for that.”

  “What went wrong?”

  “The official version is that the budget was too low once Alpha Omega stopped providing us space on their rockets.”

  “But that’s not the whole story?”

  “Just between us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, we’re talking about two 2U units and some electronics with solar sails. There’s enough space on Alpha Omega rockets to fire 30 of them into space per year.”

  “Were there issues with NASA?”

  “No. Ihab Chatterjee wanted the project for himself. He didn’t want to leave it to NASA to examine the first object from another star system. Chatterjee believes we should become an interstellar species.”

  “In the longer term, he’s probably right.”

  “Maybe. And he is doing some things better than NASA. For example, he thinks CubeSats aren’t sufficient. He wants to capture every interstellar visitor with at least a Rosetta probe with a lander.”

  “That sounds sensible.”

  “It does. And so that NASA wouldn’t get in his way, he orchestrated things so that my project was discontinued.”

  “That sucks.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  “And the three satellites that were already launched?”

  “I can send you their positions, Karl. But it would be a huge coincidence if they were suitable.”

  “You’re probably right. And Alpha Omega? Do you know who’s in charge of the project there?”

  “Yes, a certain Adam Smith.”

  “Oh.”

  Richard laughed. “Like the famous economist,” he explained.

  “Economist?” asked Karl. “You’ll have to excuse me. It’s not my area.”

  “It doesn’t matter. He’s long dead and won’t help you now. Quite a common name,” said Richard.

  “I’ll never find him.”

  “I’ll give you a tip since you’re a nice guy, Karl. The man also goes by the name Neguun.”

  “Neguun?”

  “Yes, but don’t ask me why. Maybe he realized early on that you can’t get anywhere with a name like Adam Smith, even if Neguun sounds like the villain from a Marvel movie. Please pass on my greetings. Then maybe he’ll get a pang of guilt.”

  “I don’t know if that’ll help my cause.”

  “I like you, Karl. Always honest. If you’re ever over this way, drop by.”

  “Thanks for the invitation.”

  The positions of the three statite satellites Richard had sent him were, in fact, useless. It would take months to reach 67P from them.

  “I’m looking for a certain Adam Smith,” said Karl.

  “One moment,” said the female receptionist. “We have a handful of employees with that name.”

  That was probably unavoidable with tens of thousands of employees.

  “He also calls himself Neguun,” said Karl.

  “Oh, you want Neguun? Why didn’t you say so! I’ll put you through.”

  Thanks, Richard.

  “Smith here. What can I do for you?”

  That was quick. What did he want to ask? Karl introduced himself and then explained that the Philae lander had made contact again.

  “That’s nice for you,” said Smith. “What does it have to do with me?”

  “A colleague from MIT told me that Alpha Omega had the capability of quickly examining orbiting objects with probes.”

  “Let’s assume that’s true—what object are we talking about?”

  “Oh, 67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko, I thought I made that clear.”

  “But there’s hardly another celestial body that’s been more thoroughly researched than 67P. And now you even have a functioning lander. What do you need us for?”

  “We’re looking for a second opinion.”

  “I’m sorry, we’re not interested in that sort of thing. Our system is there to intercept incoming interstellar objects. 67P is almost the opposite of that. Or do you have a budget? In that case, we can talk. Otherwise we’re both wasting our time.”

  “What amount are we talking?” asked Karl.

  “For us, it starts at a small explorer class mission from NASA.”

  Ugh. He may as well hang up now.

  “That’s one-hundred and fifty million dollars, right?” Karl asked, despite himself.

  “These days, it’s one-hundred and seventy-five million.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Smith. I’ll have to talk to my superiors.”

  “Just between you and me, Karl, it’s quite irregular for you to contact me directly. I sense there’s more behind it. What’s it really about? Have you discovered something we don’t know about? Don’t worry, I won’t give anything away if your discovery’s still in the review process. But think about our Chinese and Russian friends. It’s in the West’s interests to be the first to greet an interstellar visitor. If you just give me the position, we can prepare everything. Then, when your discovery is officially announced, our probe will be well underway and you’ll get your results faster, because we’d share the data with you, obviously. NASA can’t react as quickly as we can. Think about it!”

  “I’m sorry, Adam, but it really is about 67P.”

  “Pity. I still have the feeling you’re not telling me everything. Well, have a nice day.”

  “Wait a minute. Can you assure me our conversation won’t go any further?”

  “If
you haven’t been a bad boy and got the secret service listening in on you, then yes. Ha, ha.”

  Hopefully he wasn’t about to make the biggest mistake of his life. If someone else heralded their discovery before they did, Sylvia would never speak to him again. And rightly so.

  “Okay, it’s about something we’ve discovered on 67P.”

  “Oh, stop with 67P. We definitely wouldn’t send a probe to a known comet.”

  “Maybe you would, Adam. Something quite special seems to have emerged there, a spring from which dark matter is flowing into our universe.”

  “Are you serious? Yes, you’re serious. No German scientist would make up such sci-fi crap. I just googled you while we were talking. You’re an engineer. Mercedes, BMW, Audi—everything a German engineer gets his hands on functions well. That’s why I believe you.”

  “And that means?”

  “I’ll discuss it with my boss, Ihab Chatterjee.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s not my decision, Karl. But I think what you’re doing is exciting. Who’s going to publish it?”

  “Science. It could be a matter of days.”

  “Then it was definitely a good idea to talk to us today.”

  “I hope so.” Karl ardently hoped so. Sylvia would tear him a new one if she found out he’d already leaked their results before publication. She was hoping for a Nobel Prize! But it was first in, first served.

  “I’ll talk to Ihab today and let you know.”

  “Good. One more question—if you don’t mind?”

  “I know. Neguun. Everyone asks about that. I play in a Mongolian rock band. Neguun, a Mongolian first name, is my stage name.”

  August 22, 2026 – Hawthorne, California

  “What is it, Neguun?”

  “I just had a strange phone call.”

  Adam Smith was standing in front of his boss’ desk. Ihab leaned forward, supporting himself with his elbows on the plywood board that sat on two simple wooden trestles.