About the Author
Jonathan Dransfield was a child when man first stood on the moon. There was an expectation that the next place to visit would be Mars. It never happened, but the awe and wonder of the solar system and the universe has lived with him since.
When the current interest in visiting the red planet resurfaced he felt that crazy schemes like sending people on a one-way trip were not the way to go. As an architect he was used to designing things and solving problems.
The key problem is weight. To date we have dropped only robots onto the surface, as the problem of a manned mission is getting the crew back off the planet. Solving this is the key.
Perhaps it was the fact that Dransfield and his partner have nine kids between them that compelled him to write this book. He also knows that kids at times can be smarter than adults, especially with modern technology.
Dransfield is a visual person and used his drawing talents to develop the plot. The Other Things is an illustrated book – and a study on how to go to Mars and get some peace and quiet.
The Other Things
Jonathan Dransfield
Unbound Digital
This edition first published in 2019
Unbound
6th Floor Mutual House, 70 Conduit Street, London W1S 2GF
www.unbound.com
All rights reserved
© Jonathan Dransfield, 2019
The right of Jonathan Dransfield to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ISBN (eBook): 978-1-91261-887-3
ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-91261-886-6
Cover design by Mecob
To Kirsty, Kathryn and the kids.
With grateful thanks to Denis Ryan for his support over the years.
Dear Reader,
The book you are holding came about in a rather different way to most others. It was funded directly by readers through a new website: Unbound.
Unbound is the creation of three writers. We started the company because we believed there had to be a better deal for both writers and readers. On the Unbound website, authors share the ideas for the books they want to write directly with readers. If enough of you support the book by pledging for it in advance, we produce a beautifully bound special subscribers’ edition and distribute a regular edition and e-book wherever books are sold, in shops and online.
This new way of publishing is actually a very old idea (Samuel Johnson funded his dictionary this way). We’re just using the internet to build each writer a network of patrons. Here, at the back of this book, you’ll find the names of all the people who made it happen.
Publishing in this way means readers are no longer just passive consumers of the books they buy, and authors are free to write the books they really want. They get a much fairer return too – half the profits their books generate, rather than a tiny percentage of the cover price.
If you’re not yet a subscriber, we hope that you’ll want to join our publishing revolution and have your name listed in one of our books in the future. To get you started, here is a £5 discount on your first pledge. Just visit unbound.com, make your pledge and type DRANSFIELD19 in the promo code box when you check out.
Thank you for your support,
Dan, Justin and John
Founders, Unbound
Super Patrons
Julia Adamson
Paul Barritt
Nick Beecroft
K H Bottomley
Rima Boz
Sherry Brennan
Roderick Burgess
Ingrid Chauvet
Janet Chequer
Kristen Cutlip
Philippa Dennison
Adam Dransfield
Graham Dransfield
Owen Dransfield
Patrick Dransfield
Sam Dransfield
Shakar Elahi
Emerald Gregg
Nicola Guirguis
David Holmes
Sarah Huber
J W Hughes Building Contractors Limited
Adam and Elizabeth Knight
Zulu and Thando Maseko
Kathryn McAdam Freud
Kayd McAdam Freud
Kirsty Mcneil
Tim Murrills
Sarah O’Sullivan
Jonathan Reeves
Jim Rice
Chakib Sbiti
Bernadette Sheehan
Ana Silva
Clive Smith
Jervis Smith
Clive Thomas
Giles Underhill
Nick Warde
Dom Welby
Andy Welsh
Ianthe Wicks
Ann Wilkinson
Rupert Wilkinson
Ian Yardley
‘We choose to go to the moon. We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard, because that goal will serve to organise and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one which we intend to win, and the others, too.’
John F. Kennedy
12 September 1962
Prologue
Pioneer 1990
The Pale Blue Dot
Speeding beyond the outer planets, the Pioneer spacecraft turned its camera to take a last look back. There, caught on a sunbeam, was what Carl Sagan called ‘the Pale Blue Dot’. It was our planet.
No larger than a pixel. All of us, and everyone who has ever been, was represented on no more than a digital square.
In an instant it revealed how irrelevant our troubles are and how fragile we are in the vastness of space.
It also begged a question. Are we alone in the void or just one corner of a universe teeming with life?
Chapter 1
Wilson
Asteroid Wilson
Ford Harris had never felt like this before in his life.
His mind and body were twisting and turning between panic, elation and the need to run to the toilet or drink something strong enough to put him to sleep until it was all over. It was probably the most incredible night of his life… so far.
However, Ford couldn’t show anything but calm self-belief and confidence as he stared at the screens, his team behind him answering phone calls, checking calculations and scribbling indecipherable scrawls on reams of paper. As time moved on, they were edging closer to him, and finally followed him as he moved steadily out and found a space to stand on the observatory balcony, absolutely still. The team mirrored him with their own heads tilting towards the sky. No one made eye contact as they all stood either staring at the sky or scanning it with binoculars, everyone wanting the best view possible of what they believed was about to happen.
Standing below them was a field of astronomers, each with the task to observe a specific patch of sky and record the exact time the asteroid crossed their field of vision, then relate it back to be recorded against the expected trajectory. One by one they signalled their sighting and joined Ford and his group in searching the sky with binoculars. Beforehand, people had seemed to be in a terrible hurry to do things with gadgets, but it was now really happening and they were witnessing it. The entir
e Near-Earth Object – NEO – observation operation had been temporarily moved to the disused Mount Peach Observatory, secretly prepared over the last few weeks. This was the team’s opportunity to check the asteroid’s final path as it passed directly overhead in this remote area of North America. It was the last chance to give the warning or reassurance that the world was or wasn’t about to end.
Mount Peach Observatory
Dexter Michigan, USA
42.4N 83.9 W
Altitude: 1,033ft
Geology: Wooded, glacial moraines and lakes
The president specifically didn’t want a War of the Worlds scenario with all-out panic, anarchy and looting, so opted instead for secrecy and the inevitable backlash that would be sure to follow once this was over. ‘There’s no point having mass panic, violence and chaos if you’re going to die anyway – may as well just be getting on with life, eating our greens, like the dinosaurs did.’ This wasn’t one of the president’s best speeches, but luckily there had only been an audience of one – Ford Harris, and he had been on the other end of the phone.
Long ago, with meagre government funding, NASA had launched Project Jukebox – looking for hits – and Ford had enlisted a growing band of trusted amateurs with telescopes and computer software – the NEO team. There are millions of asteroids and comets out there, but they were looking for the rogue ones that might be heading towards Earth. Thanks to social media and the internet, Ford’s team co-ordinated this vast network of contributors, without whom they couldn’t do their job.
It was an email that had set this whole thing off; Jackie Wilson, its author, was with them tonight in this remote forest in Michigan. He had understood the initial need for total secrecy and was an able and enthusiastic member of the team. Being here was a fitting reward for being the first to spot the asteroid and sending the code ‘ONE’. He had seen it when observing Mars and tracked it over several nights. When Wilson had realised it was moving suspiciously and was fairly large, he fired off his warning.
Ford had arrived very late into work that day after dropping his grandson, Buzz, off with his mother. He went straight to his computer and checked his mail. ‘Dolores, there’s a ONE code.’ Ford beckoned and she moved quickly towards him. ‘It’s from Wilson, and he’s got a big one!’
Field of Astronomers
So now there they stood, straining upwards at the sky – because that was all they could do. The news of the asteroid’s existence had been kept secret until they had felt reasonably certain that it would not impact the planet. False news reports warning of an unseasonal hurricane had allowed for evacuations, but many people had refused to move until finally the real news of it just skimming the Earth was revealed. There would be loss of life, destruction and chaos, Ford was sure. Yet, if their calculations were wrong, it could be absolutely catastrophic.
And now, above the south-western horizon, there was a growing primrose dot. There was a gasp from the crowd. The asteroid was moving at an immense speed against the backdrop of stars. One by one, the hunched shapes peering through their telescopes signalled a thumbs-up as it passed through their lens and relayed the exact time through a phone app to Celeste in the dome.
Then, in one accord, they all rocked back as it tracked overhead, changing and growing into an orange beacon – the brightest thing, save the sun and the moon, that any of these seasoned sky watchers had ever seen.
The air was full of expletives and words like ‘amazing’, ‘incredible’, ‘awesome’. As the crowd on the balcony rushed around to the other side of the dome, Ford was reluctant to break off from this spectacle, but he had duties to perform. He rushed in to check with Celeste, who was huddled by the great telescope mounting, the glow of the computer screen lighting her intense expression. Ford, still within earshot, had rushed to the opposite window.
The intense orange crescent, now hanging like a Cheshire cat’s smile, appeared to float to the north-eastern horizon.
Celeste, without looking up, shouted, ‘It’s bang on track, Ford! I’ve sent the signal. I’ve got Reykjavik online.’
Kirsten Gunnarsdottir stood in the cold and windy Harpa – the concert hall overlooking Reykjavik’s majestic harbour. She had worked through the night as a special volunteer, organising the storage of thousands of sheets of glass from its crystalline facades. This beautiful building had been built as a gesture of Icelandic self-confidence in the wake of the notorious banking collapse, which had blighted the country since the start of the millennium. Kirsten was one of the trusted few who had been informed early of what was to come today. The cold glow of dawn was starting to light up the snow-covered peaks across the dark and peaceful water. It was time to leave and gain higher ground. They had barely half an hour before asteroid Wilson was about to change their lives forever. ‘Flytir!’ she called to her companions, as they wound their way through neatly stacked piles of glass, leaving behind the filigree temple to the arts, and moved up the Skólavörðustígur, towards the Hallgrimskirkja.
Reykjavik
Faxafloi Bay, Iceland
64.1N 21.6 W
Altitude: 0ft
Geology: Volcanic, glacial, coastal
At this moment, all she could think of was Elin, her daughter. When they’d heard the news, torn between duty and family, Kirsten had stayed in Reykjavik to help. After much anguish she’d decided that Elin was safe with her grandfather, and in any case, what could Kirsten do to protect her against a million tons of rock and ice? At least she could be useful here.
If a major calamity were to happen anywhere, Iceland was the best place for it. Constantly on the alert for the next major volcanic eruption and with the sparsest of populations, it had many of the contingencies in place and an organised and stoic spirit. As Kirsten reached the top of the shopping street, her back against the lightening sky, she turned and peered to the western darkness. ‘Va otrulegt,’ she whispered to herself. It was like a second moon had appeared in the sky, except this was moving, growing and shining with an intensity of light that was both beautiful and frightening.
Asteroid Wilson was now entering the atmosphere and the red morning rays were mixing with the intense light of friction on its perimeter. This was no time to stand and stare. She had to make it to the great church for shelter.
She was met at the doors by her colleague Magnus, who handed her a pair of dark glasses.
‘Einhverjar frettir?’ she demanded, her normal calm broken for a moment. Any news?
The wildly grinning Magnus, who had been working with the American team of observers, had heard the latest update from Peach Mountain and gave the thumbs-up.
Kirsten surveyed the small, brave crowd who were still outside. Sunglasses adorned each head, with some already in place over eyes. The moment had come. She thought she was going to throw up – she hadn’t eaten properly for days, no ‘last supper’ for her. Rigidly still, she held her stomach, her eyes fixed on the sky. There was no time for any further thoughts as the heavens appeared to unfold in a blinding streak of light, no longer white now but coloured. Still in absolute silence, some of the team dropped to their knees, clutching their heads; others ran screaming into the building, but Kirsten never moved. She wanted to feel it, hear it, see it, taste it. If she was going to die on this day, she wanted to know about it and damn well be there for it.
Two great hands grabbed her and pulled her through the church’s mighty wooden doors just as they were shut and barred. Any gap in the boarded windows now streamed with the intense light. In the packed nave, dwarfed by the soaring white arches, people linked arms and waited in silence. Then came a deafening, terrifying noise and a shockwave that assaulted all Kirsten’s senses. It felt as if her chest, ears, whole body had been hit with a thousand sledgehammers.
To the north, high above the stark volcanic interior of central Iceland, asteroid Wilson was enjoying its brief visit to Earth, powering its way through the stacked layers of atmosphere. The pressure was creating an immense bubble of superheated ioni
sed plasma, which now enveloped it like an iridescent cloak. The air in front, unable to accommodate its velocity, was stacking up as a massive shockwave with a vacuum tunnel in the great trail behind it. The deep boom of the shockwave, mixed with the continuous ear-splitting crack of the atmosphere closing behind the speeding body, had created the loudest sound ever heard by humankind.
Wilson’s encounter lasted all of three minutes, travelling through 1,500 miles of our precious atmosphere. For all but the very closest observers, it did so in majestic silence, an awe-inspiring and beautiful sight. However, no one could anticipate the power of what was to come. That shock and noise was spread over the whole length of its track and was only travelling out at approximately 750mph, thus producing a two-hour cacophony of such power that it could be heard rolling around the whole world, not once but twice over the next three days, as it resonated like a great discordant bell.
The shockwave took three hours to reach Ford and his team near the Great Lakes, where it was still the middle of the night. After the asteroid disappeared over the horizon, there had been an anxious wait, and the crowd shivered in the cold night air. Suddenly a slight glow could be seen above the trees, spreading out as a false dawn, starkly lighting the few high-level clouds present, then brightening the sky as if it were day. Many of those watching instinctively reached out to hold hands, not wanting to break their gaze but needing to share this moment of sublimity.
As the light and colours finally started to fade, Ford stood and watched with a profound sense of relief. ‘It can’t have hit us,’ he muttered to himself, pushing past his colleagues.
He re-entered the dome, where Celeste was still collecting data and reports on her various screens. There were emails, texts and tweets coming in from the epicentre, and live coverage from ships in the Greenland Sea and the Atlantic, where Wilson could be seen in all its glory, like a streaking sun flashing through the morning sky, its long trail of vapour tracing its path through the heavens. Small pieces could be seen breaking off, exploding and disintegrating. Luckily Wilson was a dense and rocky body with enough clout to barrel its way towards its next encounter – with the sun itself.
The Other Things Page 1