He laughed. She’d like that. Small mishaps appealed to Jenna. They made her feel like she was safe from larger misfortunes. What were you supposed to say in a situation like this? It wasn’t as though he’d be away for years. They’d descend here again on the six landing legs of SpaceShip SS1 in ten days.
“I love you,” he said.
“What? I can’t hear you,” said Jenna.
Shit, he’d forgotten to turn on the microphone. He pressed the button on the right side of his chin.
“I...”
“Ten.”
Brandon frantically swiped across the screen. He had to find the communications app.
“Nine.”
“Eight.”
There it was. Jenna was static. The countdown had priority. He laughed. Maybe she could see him.
“Seven.”
“Six.”
A deep vibration shook his spine. The thrusters were already working, 37 of them.
“Five.”
“Four.”
Now he felt a twinge of fear after all. It pressed on his bladder.
“Three.”
Someone with a high voice was counting along. He looked at Sophie, but she wasn’t the one. Her lips were pressed together.
“Two.”
Sophie winked at him.
“One.”
“Yippie-yeah,” someone yelled.
Brandon was startled—he was the culprit! He tried to cover his mouth, but his hand was stuck to the armrest, bound by the increasing inertial force. The SS1 began to make its way up to the stars.
They were gods. Nothing less.
August 19, 2026 – Lunar Gateway
“How much longer, Dave?” Livia asked.
“Mission Control says the artist entourage has just launched.”
“And that means?”
“Am I God? I have no idea.”
Daniel was following their conversation from the ceiling of the module, where he’d suspended his sleeping bag. He was afraid that if he took off the sleeping bag and got up, they’d look up and see him. His bladder was full, and he had an erection.
“But they must have at least given a time?”
“A few days, apparently. Chatterjee insinuated that there might be another surprise,” said Dave.
“A surprise? I love surprises.”
Chatterjee was a master of insinuation. Whenever Alpha Omega announced anything officially, it drove the stock price in a certain direction, so the CEO preferred insinuation. But Daniel didn’t have anything against surprises, either.
“As long as we don’t have to pull them out of the fire, they’re welcome to do whatever tickles their fancy,” Dave said.
“Has Mission Control dropped any hints about who gets to go in the lander?”
“Ah, I’m glad you asked. Daniel, are you awake?”
“You’re talking loud enough,” he said. He really needed to use the toilet. His bladder ached.
“Mission Control says I’ll decide who lands on the moon. They trust me as your commander to make that decision.”
Shit, now he desperately needed to go. Daniel pulled the sleeping bag off his lower body. He’d been sleeping in shorts and a t-shirt, and a tent had now formed between his hips—at precisely the moment Livia looked up.
She laughed. “Hey, apparently you’re happy to see me.”
“I urgently need to pee,” Daniel said, blushing.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve seen lots of erections.”
He shoved himself off and sailed toward the end of the module. A tiny room was partitioned off there, the Waste Hygiene Compartment, or WHC. Finally. He quickly closed the door, hooked himself up, and let go.
August 19, 2026 – DLR Control Center, Cologne
Oh, yes! Karl went through the findings. Millikan had been true to his word—he was probably burning the candle at both ends. But Philae, the lander, had been busy, too. All the instruments Karl had addressed in his command sequence had delivered data. It was mostly spectra, the energy distribution of a variety of different particles or types of radiation.
Karl knew what the units on the axes meant. He could read the data, but because he was no planetary scientist, he could not interpret the measurements. What did it mean if the APXS instrument’s reflection rate was high and the maximum energy of the alpha particle stood at close to 100 percent? He’d studied physics, so he knew the reflectivity must primarily have to do with very heavy atomic nuclei. So, was the comet made of lead or was silicon heavy enough to produce a spectrum like that?
Those were questions for which he needed Sylvia. They’d always worked so well together in the past. Sylvia would explain the problem to him, and he’d develop a suitable experiment. He’d deliver the data to her, she would interpret it and insert it into their theoretical framework, and Joe would write a paper on it.
Okay, he was probably being a little unfair to Johannes because the guy had stolen his wife.
He was dwelling in the past again. He had to stop doing that. He’d almost managed to put it all behind him, and now this stupid lander was stirring up the dust again. Maybe he really should just concentrate on Hera. Hera was the future.
But it was worth one last try. Karl clicked the forward symbol. He didn’t add a comment, knowing he would probably just put his foot in it.
Send. That was it. Philae was buried again, regardless of what the lander continued to send. Life would go on. Karl deleted the model from the memory.
The Hera model responded promptly. Marcel had said the Asteroid Framing Camera appeared to be decalibrated.
Ha! Karl switched between the filter’s seven colors. The simulated AFC produced perfect photos in each wavelength. He’d altered the analysis software and reduced the sensitivity in near-infrared to eliminate noise. The sensor chip they were using didn’t operate at the same sensitivity in all wavelengths. He copied his changes into the source text database. Someone else would check them later, and if he hadn’t made any mistakes, the software would be loaded onto the Hera probe. It was similar to the Tesla he’d bought two years ago.
The phone rang. His shift was finally over, and he was looking forward to going swimming again this evening. Phone calls almost always meant overtime. They weren’t the only ones working on Hera, and there were other probes in space that often used similar instruments. The scientists would seek advice from their counterparts.
He looked at the display. It was a Darmstadt number.
Sylvia.
Karl picked up the receiver. She was probably about to tell him never to write to him again.
“Hello, Karl,” she said, but didn’t give him time to reply. “I don’t have much time, but this is very noteworthy data. Where did you get it?”
“Philae.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Maybe. But believe me, it really is coming from our lander on 67P.”
“I’m inclined to believe you received it from that direction. But that’s not 67P. It must be another comet.”
“Philae can’t just relocate to another comet.”
“That’s not what I meant. But first of all, the data doesn’t even match the data we obtained twelve years ago. And secondly, it contradicts itself. The individual instruments don’t appear to be in the same place.”
“But that’s impossible.”
“See? That’s what I said.”
“So we just throw everything away and ignore the data?”
“Are you insane? Of course not! If even a tenth of this data is accurate, we have a full-blown sensation on our hands! We definitely need to take a closer look.”
“Seriously?”
“Please, Karl, no scientist would disregard this.”
“Umm, yeah. That’s what I thought.”
“I’m very thankful you stuck with it. You’re a trooper. As soon as I have time, I’ll send you a list of experiments we need to persuade Philae to do.”
“So you no longer think it’s all impossible and unreal?”
&nbs
p; “You misunderstand me. This combination of findings is impossible from our current perspective. But that doesn’t mean they can’t be real. That’s what makes the problem so exciting. How did you even get the data? Don’t you need a project contract to be able to use ESTRACK? Getting one within 24 hours is impossible.”
“Just because something’s impossible doesn’t mean it can’t be real.”
“Haha. But seriously, how did you do it? I don’t want you getting yourself into trouble.”
“That’s my secret. But I haven’t illegally hacked into anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Good. Because if you send me more data, I’ll take this to the next level. And then we’ll have to reactivate the Rosetta team.”
August 20, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1
“You can let go of your mascots now,” said KK.
Red letters on the screen instructed them to keep their belts buckled. Brandon reached down at his groin. The buckle didn’t respond, so it still must be locked. The computer was watching over its children. Next to him, a white stuffed bunny floated toward the ceiling. Sophie watched it go.
The animal didn’t suit the artist at all. He’d expected something like an abstract sculpture.
Sophie noticed his expression. “My daughter gave it to me,” she said, sounding apologetic. “What about you, Brandon?”
Kenichi wanted to foster an atmosphere of familiarity, and had insisted from the first day that they all call each other by their first names. He hardly knew any of them, but he wanted to make the journey with friends. KK seemed to be trying to avoid the clichés associated with his homeland. He claimed that burgers were his favorite food. They even had an experimental oven on board that they were supposed to test out in zero gravity. Was that why their host had signed a contract with the world’s largest burger chain? Or did the deal come first, and then his proclivity for minced beef in a bun? KK wasn’t a multi-millionaire for no reason.
“What about you?” Sophie asked again.
Shit, sometimes his thoughts wandered so much he couldn’t keep up with them, and people thought he was conceited. Or deaf.
“Oh, right,” he said. Brandon reached into a pocket on his suit and pulled out a pen. He’d spent a long time thinking about what object would suit him. Then Jenna had suggested a pen. He never used a ballpoint pen to write, but it was about fulfilling the expectations of others. He gave the pen a gentle shove.
“Ah, a writing implement,” said Sophie approvingly. “That’s fitting.”
The French woman sometimes used terms that were more complicated than necessary. Was that because English wasn’t her first language? Or was she trying to come across as intelligent? The pen obediently followed the soft toy. It rotated along its transverse axis. Then it hit the rabbit, which moved sideways at a 120-degree angle and sailed toward a yellow bear. The pen continued to tumble toward the ceiling. It was now directly above his head. If gravity suddenly kicked in, it would strike him in the forehead. He held his hand up protectively.
“I never write with a ballpoint pen,” said Brandon.
“I never paint with a stuffed rabbit,” Sophie said with a laugh.
Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all. Brandon was relieved. Every time the ship was accelerating, the painter would be his only conversation partner. Now he just had to find out whether they could enjoy each other’s company in silence. He’d prefer if the belts remained buckled the whole time. Then maybe KK wouldn’t notice that he lacked the glamour factor and didn’t belong.
August 20, 2026 – Lunar Gateway
“Look at these wannabe astronauts,” said Dave.
A transmission from Alpha Omega’s spaceship was playing on the screen at the computer workstation. Stuffed rabbits and bears sailed through the air, followed by people in blue suits.
“Hey, their suits are slick, though,” said Daniel.
“Designed by some luxury brand,” said Livia. “See the logo on the chest?”
“I thought that was the Alpha Omega logo,” said Daniel.
“That’s made up of two Greek letters, alpha and omega.”
Daniel blushed. Obviously. Who didn’t know the logo with the intertwined letters? He was already making an idiot of himself again today.
“Don’t worry about it,” Dave said. “Brain volume shrinks during space travel, scientists have found. It’s due to the microgravity.”
“Very reassuring. So I’m well on the way,” Daniel replied.
“The amount of room they have makes me jealous,” said Livia.
It was true. SpaceShip SS1’s cabin must be at least three times the size of their Gateway.
“Oh well, at some point it’s supposed to carry a hundred people per flight to Mars,” said Daniel.
For that scenario, the dimensions looked pretty cramped.
“I’m a little concerned about these hobby astronauts’ lack of training,” said Dave. “What if they have an accident? They’d never be able to save themselves. And who’ll have to come to the rescue?”
“Us,” Daniel replied.
“Exactly. The pros. And then you can say good-bye to the moon.”
“Dave, do you really think they’ve got us stewing here because they need us standing by in case we have to rescue those weirdos?” Livia asked.
“As far as I’m concerned, the weirdos are back on Earth,” said Dave. “Who would send a ship on its maiden voyage without a captain?”
“The computer’s the captain,” said Daniel. “It’s much more reliable than a human.”
Willinger glowered at him.
“That’s what they say, not me,” Daniel added quickly. “But you can’t hold it against the passengers. I probably would have accepted an offer like that, too.”
“Speaking of pros,” said Dave, “your commander’s decided it’s time for another safety drill.”
Oh no, not again. He hadn’t even had breakfast.
“Alarm!” Dave yelled.
Daniel glanced longingly at the drinks machine. At least a warm cocoa?
Willinger followed his gaze and shook his head. “I want to see you in your Artemis suits in three minutes. And to make it more realistic this time, I’m going to remove the air from the cabin. It stinks in here, anyway.”
August 20, 2026 – DLR Control Center, Cologne
“Many thanks,” wrote Karl. “I hope that was the last time I have to ask you a favor. If there’s anything I can do for you in return, please let me know.”
He read through his message to Robert Millikan, then sent it. The computer announced a reply astonishingly quickly. Had he mistyped something? Only error messages arrived that fast.
“Karl, it was my pleasure,” wrote Robert. “And I do have a favor to ask. Please let me stay involved. I know something about comets, not as much as your Sylvia, but enough to recognize that you’re onto something huge. I doubt my employer would have anything against me using our equipment again for this purpose.”
Your Sylvia. It really was a long time since they last saw each other. Could he grant Robert the favor? Institutions like his own, and Robert’s employer, had to justify their existence with new discoveries—the more spectacular the better. If he let a third party in on it, it wouldn’t win him any friends here.
On the other hand, without Bob’s help he’d have nothing at all. Maybe it was best if Sylvia solved the problem. She was a born diplomat.
Ping. Another email. It couldn’t be Sylvia already. He’d sent his request less than ten minutes ago.
But it was. She must have flown through the data in record time.
“Karl,” she wrote. “I have a favor to ask. Can you come to us in Darmstadt? Quickly? Telephone and email aren’t enough now. We need more resources, which I’ll have to requisition, and we also need to stay in contact with Philae and find out as much as we can. It’s impossible to know when we’ll lose contact again. But I can’t come to Cologne because of my family, and I probably have the better options here due to
my position.”
That was true, of course. Professor Stoll was a queen in Darmstadt. She’d be accepted here, but she wouldn’t be able to make any demands. He had to go to Darmstadt.
“Ah, Karl, come in!”
Sylvia hugged him like an old friend she hadn’t seen for a long time. Karl felt awkward but managed a smile. Her office was at least as big as the living room in the house they used to rent together. On the left, beside the window, stood a modern desk, and on the right was a group of three small, comfortable-looking armchairs. It smelled of coffee.
An older gentleman sitting in one of the chairs stood up.
“Bernhardt, let me introduce Karl. We worked together on the Rosetta mission back in the day.”
The man extended a hand. He had white hair, remarkably pale eyebrows, and blue eyes. Karl guessed he was in his mid-60s.
“Karl, this is Professor Bernhardt Piras, the head of our faculty. I’m so glad you were able to make it. We were just talking about your findings.”
“I came as quickly as I could,” said Karl.
“Clearly. Have a seat. Coffee, black?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
He sat on one of the armchairs. The upholstery was still warm, so Sylvia must have been sitting there. He stood up again.
“No, stay there,” Sylvia said, putting a cup on the table in front of him, naturally with a matching saucer that smelled of lemon detergent. She sat down opposite him and crossed her legs. Her tight gray skirt crinkled so she straightened it.
“Where were you up to?” he asked.
“I’d just started going through some of Philae’s results. But we only got as far as the APXS. I suggest we start again with that.”
“Sure,” said Karl.
Piras nodded. He was sitting stiffly in his chair as though he desperately needed to use the bathroom, but didn’t dare ask to take a break.
“Good. The APXS then. The spectrum’s very unusual, we’ve established that. The device sends out alpha particles, that is, helium nuclei, and measures how much these are reflected by the substrate. This only seems to be happening to a very limited extent at the moment.”
The Dark Spring: Hard Science Fiction Page 5