He nodded slowly. “Okay. Russia has learned of some disturbing rumors. If you hear of anything – anything at all – that would endanger or alter the mission, you must let me know right away. I am responsible for the ship and everybody on it. Space is a harsh mistress, and she does not give up her secrets easily.” Tung-chi nodded, bemused.
“Enjoy the rest of your day.” Aleksandr patted him once on the back, and then pushed off back down the tunnel, leaving Tung-chi wondering what on earth was going on. Had his own country duped even him, one of their own?
51
T-plus 90 days
It was 4 AM. Eight sleepy, but excited, astronauts were gathered in the hub. Today was the big day. The computer announced, “Incoming call from Mission Control.”
“Accept.”
“So, there is much rejoicing today,” Fernand Alliaume said. “Today we enter Mars orbit. We are proud of you all up there.”
“Remember all those months ago, when we left Earth?” Nikita asked. “The C3=0 point. Well, here we go again, only in reverse.”
“Yep,” said Christopher. “It’s so hard to believe. We’ll be the first humans to orbit another planet. If our engines cut out one second too early, we’ll miss Mars completely and cruise right on by.”
“Yeah; C3=0 occurs in about fifteen minutes,” Aleksandr replied.
“Well that darn balky reactor got us here, anyway,” said Christopher. “Russian engineering!”
“Well, the Americans built the central truss segment,” Aleksandr said, sarcastically. “My, what a complex piece of engineering that was!”
“Who invented the VASIMR in the first place?” Christopher countered.
“Kids, kids, you’re both right,” Alessia offered. Smiles broke out on the other crew’s sleepy faces.
“Seven minutes,” Nikita announced.
“Why can’t spaceflight events happen during waking hours?” Martin asked. “I think Kepler’s laws ought to be amended to take account of this fact.”
“I agree,” said Christopher. “I’ll petition the IAF when we get back and ask them. While I’m at it, I’ll see if I can get some of Newton’s laws changed too to make spaceflight easier. Once we get those taken care of, we can colonize the universe.”
“You might want to talk to God then, not the IAF,” Alessia replied.
“I thought they were God?” said Christopher, sarcastically.
“Not the last time I checked. We’re only observers of God’s handiwork,” Alessia replied.
“Too early in the morning for philosophical discussions,” said Martin.
“Why don’t you display all the detailed navigation data, Nikita?” Aleksandr said.
“Computer, bring up the full nav suite in a four-by-three window. Show level two data.”
Their trajectory was displayed in 3D, along with their velocity relative to Mars, Earth, and the Sun. Three other numbers were displayed for each too.
“These numbers here are our exact position, in the coordinate system relative to each body. At C3=0, we’ll automatically switch to the Martian system as our primary system,” Nikita said. They watched their coordinates, in meters, thirteen digits long, changing. “We know our position to within two meters. We have during the whole trip.”
“Wow,” Alessia said, genuinely amazed by all this.
“Plus,” he continued, “once we get within 40,000 kilometers of Mars, we can augment it with the Mars Positioning System for additional accuracy and verification. They put up a set of satellites much like the GPS on Earth, as more infrastructure was needed for the amount of probes being sent here. They can also act as communications relays. We’re about 177,000 kilometers from the planet right now. Computer, display Mars in a new window.” An image of the planet’s full disk appeared next to the navigation data. It was about the size of a large marble held at arm’s length.
“Two minutes to go.”
They waited and watched. As at the Earth end, nothing would happen and nothing had to be done. They could still just sit back and enjoy the ride.
“One minute.”
“Computer, display engine-off path,” Nikita commanded.
An orange line appeared, next to the green line that currently denoted their trajectory under power. It showed where they would go if the engines were switched off now, and they just coasted. It bent around Mars, but then plunged towards the Sun.
Nikita counted down the last seconds. Then, the orange line suddenly snapped from a solar orbit to one that would take them far around Mars, but then back towards it again. They all cheered and hollered.
“I guess we are Martians now, for better or worse,” Aleksandr said.
“Yep, we’re stuck here, even if the engines quit right now,” Christopher said. “Especially if the engines quit now!” The others preferred not to think about it.
“God, it’s beautiful,” Emile said, gazing at the planet.
“Mars-relative velocity is 5.176 kilometers a second,” Nikita said.
“Three days to Phobos,” Martin said.
“Yeah, we have to lose about three kilometers a second now to reach its orbit. Plus, we have to change our orbital plane a bit, too,” Nikita replied.
“Mission Control, we are in Martian orbit!” Aleksandr said. Their reply wouldn’t be heard for twenty-four minutes.
52
T-plus 91 days
* * *
Interactions with the Cosmos – The Blog of the International Mars Explorer
We're in Mars orbit!!! We've already achieved another giant leap for mankind, even if nothing else happens now. Great credit must be given to the Russians, who built the propulsion system that got us here, but also to all the other nations whose contributions were vital. Not only the main participating nations, but each one that produced even the smallest part for the ship. Did you know there are over 18 million parts in the International Mars Explorer? 91 nations are represented, and the flag of every currently-recognized nation on Earth is on board.
Now, it's time to settle down and listen to some music. I hope you will enjoy it along with us.
-Martin Robbins
* * *
The world was now to be treated to a special event to celebrate the crew's arrival at the Red Planet: the London Symphony Orchestra would play Gustav Holst's “The Planets Suite”, to a live view of Mars from the ship. The camera had to be zoomed in, as they were still nearly 140,000 kilometers from the planet.
Around the world, people stopped what they were doing, whatever time of day or night it was. Video and audio technology were such that everyone, everywhere, had access to crystal-clear sound and 3D video at a fidelity unimaginable to previous generations.
The orchestra began with the first movement which was, appropriately, “Mars: the Bringer of War.” Its ominous opening tones seemed at odds with the celebratory nature of the event. It was difficult for people not to get emotional, looking at the Red Planet turning slowly as the full, rising score of the movement drew towards its climax. The crew relaxed in the hub, listening to the same music and watching the same view – only for them it was right outside the window.
Next came the gentle “Venus: Bringer of Peace.” Performed mainly on stringed instruments, it seemed far more compatible with the spirit of the moment. After that came “Mercury: the Winged Messenger.” It drew to a soaring climax, before fading.
“Jupiter: the Bringer of Jollity” started out with a bang. Soaring strings, bass drums and deep wind instruments provided a startling opening. The middle section of the movement brought tears to people's eyes, as the heart-stirring melody combined with the close-up of the planet combined into a unique moment of human unity. The crew was not unaffected either, as they listened with crystal clarity and looked out into space through the glass wall display mode.
The melodies of “Saturn: the Bringer of Old Age,” “Uranus: the Magician,” and finally the haunting “Neptune: the Mystic,” rounded out the performance for those inclined to keep listen
ing.
“You know, I don't really feel like I did anything special to get here,” Aleksandr said at length. “I was a washed-up air force Major who happened to be in the right place at the right time. I feel like I now have a place among the gods.”
“Me too,” Kinuko said.
“Yeah,” Martin said, thoughtfully. “How many other astrophysicists have looked up and wished they could have been here? At any planet, much less this one,” Martin continued.
“Right.” Kinuko nodded. Her head was resting on Martin's stomach as though it was a pillow, and it had been throughout the entire musical performance as they looked out at the stars. They were making no attempt to hide their closeness from the rest of the crew. Christopher felt just a tiny bit jealous. He could have used some closer companionship on this long, and sometimes lonely, voyage.
“This is truly the stuff of science fiction,” Christopher mused. “I sometimes have to pinch myself to remind myself that this is really happening. It’s surreal.”
“How do you know we won't meet aliens?” Aleksandr asked.
“If we do, we can shoot copper impactors at them,” Christopher replied.
“And lasers, and blocks of frozen waste,” Emile chimed in. The others laughed.
“Speaking of sci-fi, what is everyone's favorite sci-fi novel, and why?” Christopher asked.
“2001,” Alessia replied, without hesitation. “It's still fresh, even though it's so old. A computer taking over a mission to Jupiter in the name of efficiency, and then having a psychotic breakdown and eliminating the human beings? Digital computers were in their infancy then. Clarke obviously thought that AI would be much more sophisticated than it really turned out to be, but the insight and the prescience that he had so long ago – it's just amazing.”
“I agree,” Emile said, “and for most of the same reasons. The movie of it was creepy, though.”
“Good thing our computer is not that intelligent,” Christopher said. “I mean, it can respond to voice commands, and apply a fair bit of intelligence, but it doesn't think the way the HAL-9000 did.”
“Yeah. Might be a good thing, for mankind in general, that we didn't create true thinking machines,” Martin said. “They'd kick our butts, otherwise. The Terminator movies would come true. All those workplace robots would be after people's lives, not just their jobs. As it is, they can't generalize their way out of a paper bag. They're good at physical tasks, but that's it.”
“So, what about other novels?” Christopher asked.
“Isaac Asimov's Foundation series for me,” Tung-chi said. “It's unparalleled. To me it's like the Lord of the Rings of sci-fi. Just a breathtaking world – universe, even. And all revolving around one character, Hari Seldon.”
Martin spoke next. “For me, it was a toss-up between Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card, or A Universe Eventual by Nathan Beauchamp. Both of them feature children trained to fight wars – well, fly a faster-than-light ship in the last one – but the worlds and storylines are amazing. My parents had print copies of both in the house when I was a kid, which was pretty rare even then. I figured they must have liked them, hence I read them too.”
“Yeah,” Christopher replied. “I’ve read many stories about faster-than-light ships. Then I figured I'd better get on with building one, and so here we are.” The others chuckled.
53
T-plus 92 days
“This is Kelli Cowan and Michelle Stewart in the ENN studios in London. A very good morning to those of you in the western hemisphere who may be just waking up.
“The big story this morning is the bombing of the U.S. Embassy in Moscow, Russia. A huge blast occurred at 8 AM local time. At least sixty-five are dead, and many more injured. The extremist group the Workers’ Front has claimed full responsibility…”
Aleksandr, Nikita, Martin and Christopher looked at each other in disgust and disbelief. They embraced.
“Both our countries are affected deeply,” Aleksandr said, at length. “Let’s prepare a statement of condolence from the crew.”
They floated off to the other side of the hub, and tried to think of what to write even as they tried to process the news. Aleksandr forgot his tablet, and had to go back for it.
The news was still playing: “This comes less than two days after the history-making entry of the International Mars Explorer into Martian orbit, which many had hoped would usher in a new age of tolerance and peace.”
The camera switched to the other presenter.
“Thanks Kelli. In other news, the elite group of biological researchers known as the Masters of Life have announced that their new prototype nanotherapy for cancer has now proven over ninety percent effective against all forms of the disease. This includes stage four cancers. As they are based in the Cayman Islands, all their therapeutic trials have proceeded much faster than they would if they had been regulated by the American FDA. They are also predicting that variants of the same techniques will mean cures for, or prevention of, literally any illness within ten years.”
Emile, already stunned by the news of the bombing, was floored. “My father!” he exclaimed. “Maybe there is hope for him. I have to get him there, at any cost.” He pushed up off the floor towards his cabin to get in touch with his family.
“Computer, open a message to Georges Ouvrard, Beauvais, France. Georges, I take you heard the news about the Masters of Life? I didn't even know about them before. We have to get Dad in there for treatment. Tell them he is the father of an IME astronaut, sign over my future film and book rights – whatever you have to do. I will sign the necessary power of attorney paperwork so you can take care of things there. Please let me know what you can find out. Meanwhile, I will try and message them from here, too. A message from Mars might carry more weight! Love to you and the family. Computer, end message.”
“Computer, open a message to the Masters of Life organization, Cayman Islands. Please, I beg whoever gets this message, please at least watch it through to the end. I am Emile Ouvrard, on board the International Mars Explorer. My father, in France, is very sick with stage three colon cancer. All therapies so far have been unsuccessful. He has less than six months to live. Please, whatever you can do… as one human to another, and as one of the most famous people in history… grant us this. I await your reply eagerly. Emile Ouvrard. Computer, end message.”
He then looked up as much information as he could find on them. The Masters of Life was a secretive institution funded entirely by extremely wealthy private donors, for the good of all humankind. They had drawn the best and brightest researchers from all corners of the globe, with a promise of unlimited money, equipment, and facilities to find cures for all the health problems facing humanity. They had chosen cancer as their number-one target.
Squarely in their crosshairs, it had yielded like a shriveling tumor to the blistering will and genius intellect of the researchers, armed with petabytes of genetic data and the fastest computers on Earth. First had come animal trials, then new high-speed digital and biological models, and finally human trials. All of this was conducted far more quickly than would have been possible in other first-world countries. The government of the Cayman Islands had given them their tacit blessing in this regard, in light of the fact that this would eventually dwarf the billions of dollars that the tiny island nation already made as a major center of offshore banking.
They conducted their research out of the spotlight, preferring to remain outside the mainstream scientific community. People knew about them, of course – in some cases negatively, because they had stolen their brightest minds – but they never published papers or presented at conferences.
Their name had been chosen because it was becoming obvious that biotechnology was approaching a point of singularity: that within twenty years, mankind would possess the keys to life and death, being able to manufacture or repair any body part at will, or even create new forms of life. At some point soon thereafter, aging itself would be conquered. What would follow then, in
terms of societal implications and medical ethics, was fiercely debated.
They had developed an intelligent nanoparticle, which knew about all of the hundreds of known types of cancer. Once injected into the bloodstream, it would home in on any it found, killing all malignant cells anywhere in the body while leaving surrounding tissue untouched. They were tiny hunter-killer submarines, a few micrometers wide. MOL had chosen, in an unprecedented move, to go public with this information.
Emile laid back on his hammock and exhaled loudly, his mind overwhelmed and his emotions mixed. He thought, then prayed, then thought some more. There was surely a divine love, a plan for everything, he was convinced. Would he and his family be in their good graces?
Scarcely forty minutes had gone by when his cabin computer announced: “Incoming message for Emile Ouvrard.” It bore the crest of the Masters of Life. Emile was stunned to have received a reply so quickly.
“Accept.”
A pretty female representative, probably an AI, spoke.
“Thank you for contacting Masters of Life, Mr. Ouvrard. While we wish your father the best in his cancer treatment, we are not offering cancer treatment services to the public at this time. If you would like him to be put on the waiting list to be considered for upcoming treatment trials, please reply to this message. Thank you, and have a good day.”
The screen went silent. His heart sank. A waiting list? His father didn't have time for a waiting list. Time was running out, and so was hope.
* * *
@KR_IME: SORRY TO ALL THOSE WHO HAVE LOST THEIR JOBS TO AUTOMATION. SPACEFLIGHT TENDS TO ADVANCE TECHNOLOGY RESEARCH, SO WE’RE MORE PART OF THE PROBLEM THAN THE SOLUTION, BUT HEY, THAT’S LIFE!
* * *
The tracing programs designed to find the origin of KR_IME’s posts, placed at the main hubs of the Internet, instantly sent their results to Samesh Gupta. Before Lesley Jones could even pick up the phone to call him, he had called her.
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