Then, suddenly, Allison is brought back to reality. Once again, her senses are bombarded by all of the noise, pressure and confusion. The first stage of the SLS, two rocket boosters, is disconnected; then, the huge central stage kicks in at full speed. She feels a shift in velocity, and, once again, the three astronauts are pressed against their seats.
After a few more minutes, the vibration subsides, and another jolt pushes them forward again. The central stage has effectively been detached. The ship is now traveling through the Low-Earth Orbit. Looking out one of the windows, the crew can see Earth in all its glory.
Russell takes control of the ship. He is able to verify that the spacecraft is slightly off course.
“Prepare activation of Orion-II engines in three, two, one, ignition,” he commands.
For the next few minutes, the ship experiences constant acceleration, until the commander cuts the thrust. Then, using the ship's communication system, the mission control center makes first contact.
“Orion-II, this is Houston. Launch successful. Spacecraft confirmed en route. Status?”
“Houston, this is Commander Scott Russell, Orion-II. We’re hearing you loud and clear. Integrity of the Crew Module confirmed. Everyone is well. Spacecraft en route.”
At that moment, Frank says: “All systems are operating as expected. Opening of solar panels confirmed. We are at full load capacity and the Orion-II is doing well.”
Everyone at the control center applauds. The launch had been a success.
“Orion-II crew, on behalf of everyone at the control center, as well as everyone on Earth listening to this broadcast, we wish you a great trip.”
Inside the ship, the crew smiles confidently. The launch had been a success. In the distance, a small, bright spot in the vast space before them moves farther and farther away, until it is swallowed up by the great darkness of the universe.
“So, colleagues, this is it,” exclaims Frank. “Allison, you can open your eyes now, we're en route,” he says, joking with his colleague and provoking a timid smile.
“I hope you don’t plan on joking around like that for the next five days,” she responds, trying to calm down about the long trip ahead before they would arrive at the jump point.
It would take them five days to arrive at the location where they would create the wormhole, then five days in Draco, and five days to return. A relatively short mission.
The spaceship kept getting farther and farther from Earth, moving deeper and deeper into total and utter darkness. A single, insignificant point in the middle of nowhere.
After the first few euphoric hours, the crew fell quiet. Silence emerged as they ran out of topics. When they weren’t doing their routine checks, they listened to music, wrote in diaries or read books. Through the window, the landscape hardly changed at all. All they could see was a small sunbeam that moved around the interior of the capsule, a sign that the Orion-II was stable and in slight rotation.
The ship was no longer visible from Earth.
And in four more days, Earth wouldn’t be visible from the spacecraft, either.
Image 04 - SLS on the platform awaiting the launch. This system consists of two rockets (boosters) as the first stage, and a large central stage containing four main engines. At the top, the Orion-II spacecraft. The SLS is approximately as tall as a 30-story building.
(credits and details on the final page)
Image 05 - Orion-II Spaceship (with its rings still stowed) setting out on the Stellarium-12 mission.
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Chapter 6
They were only hours away from completing the first five days of the trip, and were getting close to the point at which they would activate the accelerator and perform the jump. Russell steered the ship, inverting their position. Then, he activated the engines, reducing the ship’s speed and leaving it in an almost static trajectory in relation to Earth.
The control center in Houston asked the Orion-II to begin the procedure to stabilize the ship and prepare for the jump.
“Disconnect Communication Module,” said Russell.
“Confirmed,” responded Frank.
“Moving away... 50 feet... 150 feet... 300 feet... 600 feet... 800 feet... stabilizing... stabilization confirmed, communicator 1,000 feet away and aligned with the Orion-II.”
The Communication Module could be considered a “luxury” that the NASA had allowed itself. They were very far away from Earth, and very little could be seen in real time. NASA wanted to make sure everything went according to plan, so, they developed a module that would film the Orion-II from a distance. The module also measured the gravity generated by the ship. That way, the control center could follow, with live images, what was going on outside of the spacecraft. However, once the Orion-II jumped, the module would no longer have a purpose, and would thus be left floating in space.
“Congratulations, Russell, everything’s going well,” joked Allison.
“Stowing solar panels and initiating procedure to position rings,” said Frank.
Inside the ship, they could hear the engines squeaking as the vibration of those long arms echoed inside the capsule. Two huge hoops unfolded and positioned themselves around the Orion-II. The Communication Module, floating 1,000 feet away from the ship, sent pictures of the action.
“Houston, this is Orion-II, do you copy?”
“Go ahead, Orion-II.”
“Communication Module functioning. Spacecraft in position. Accelerator rings open. Solar panels stowed. All systems up and running. Fuel at 70%. Oxygen supply at 90%. Do you confirm these numbers?”
“Orion-II, everything matches up. Mission proceeding as expected. We have a visual of the Orion-II. Communication Module sending sharp images. Module’s gravitational sensors are calibrated. You are authorized to go ahead with the dark matter acceleration procedure.”
The crew fell silent for about 30 seconds. Now, for the first time ever, they would start the accelerators that would transform the ship into a black hole. Despite knowing the jump itself would only last a few milliseconds—and that it was totally safe—they didn't like the idea of being in the center of a physical phenomenon that they barely understood.
“Commander?” Allison said, breaking the silence, “it’s time to activate the accelerator.”
Russell was hesitant. For the first time since starting out on the trip, he felt afraid—afraid enough to consider aborting the mission. Everything had gone well up until that point, and, perhaps because of that, he had a bad feeling about moving forward.
On his previous missions, the commander had always been in complete control of the ship. This time around, he was extremely familiar with the route, knew the risks, and was also great at improvising. But, still, on this mission, he was dealing with something beyond his comprehension. He would be traveling to another galaxy without activating any kind of thruster, without having to perform a single maneuver. Maybe that's why he felt like he was not fully in control; and, consequently, he hesitated.
“Initiate jump,” commanded Russell, finally.
“Accelerators on, countdown commenced. Ten minutes to the creation of the wormhole,” announced Frank.
“Houston, jump devices activated. We’re counting down,” said Russell in communication with the control center.
“Orion-II, good luck and have a safe trip,” said Houston in their final message to the crew.
The astronauts were fully attentive. They frantically monitored three screens. The first showed the countdown itself. The second was the image sent from the camera of the Communication Module, which showed the Orion-II as seen from a distance. And the third one was the gravitational reading being captured by the Communication Module.
The accelerators generated an intense gravitational field around the spaceship. Inside, absolute tranquility. It was like being in the center of a hurricane; the interior was completely calm, while outside, an invisible whirlwind of dark matter was accelerating, creating a
virtual gravity not ever imagined by any human being.
After the first five minutes, the gravitational sensors began to indicate a disturbance. One minute later, the gravity more than doubled. And, after another minute, it was 100 times greater than previously. The rate at which the gravity around them increased was more than exponential. With two minutes left, Allison asked Frank: “What keeps the Communication Module from being attracted to us, given the gravity we’re generating?”
“Actually, it is being pulled toward us. Its thrusters are already at 80%, keeping it from coming this way,” replied the engineer.
With one minute left before the jump, the brightness of the stars seemed distorted. Suddenly, it was as if those lights were dancing, painting strokes on the horizon. They had already seen this phenomenon through the probes. It meant they were about to become a singularity, a black hole. The starlight, which had previously been very clear, was now completely distorted.
Frank observed the spectacle, amazed. He was perplexed as he witnessed the creation of something that physicists, for decades, had only been able to argue in theory. He thought about how every atom in his body, in a few fractions of a second, would be in two different points of the universe at the same time. Space-time was being bent at their exact location. He was fully aware of how small, insignificant, and, at the same time, precious that moment was.
In Houston, the same phenomenon was observed by the control center as they received the live transmission by the Communication Module. The spacecraft, which earlier had been clearly visible, started to become blurry... until it almost disappeared. That's when, to everyone’s surprise, the image became sharp again.
Inside the Orion-II, the countdown had reached zero. A green light on the accelerator panel confirmed the process had been completed. The crew looked at each other uncertainty all over their faces.
“Is that it? Did we jump?” asked Frank.
“I'm going to start capturing images to see if we are in Draco,” said Allison.
“That won’t be necessary,” Russell responded. “If we were in Draco, we wouldn’t be able to see ourselves on the camera, right?”
“Right... we’re still in the same place. We didn’t jump,” confirmed Frank, spotting the Communication Module through the window.
“Orion-II, this is Houston. Status?”
“Houston, this is Orion-II. All good in here. Spacecraft structure intact. Systems running smoothly. Jump procedure executed. Confirmed that wormhole was not created,” reported Russell.
“Correction, Orion-II,” said Houston, “the wormhole was created. However, the probability of failure has been confirmed. Prepare for second attempt.”
“Yes, Russell,” said Allison, “that’s one of the first things you learned in training. In fact, that was the training I gave, remember?” she asked, while Russell nodded his head.
Every time the accelerator is activated, gravity increases exponentially until the ship literally turns into a black hole. The wormhole is created, space is bent, and, for fractions of a second, the ship is connected with another galaxy. However, when the system turns off and stops concentrating gravity, when the wormholes ceases to exist, there is a 50% chance of the ship being on one side, but also a 50% chance of it being on the other side. There is no way of knowing whether the wormhole will close and leave the ship where it is, or leave it on the other side of the hole. The quantum physics of this process were completely unknown.
Russell knew all of this. Allison’s question was unnecessary. He was, however, hopeful that something had actually gone wrong. The commander was confused. His gut told him not to continue, despite all of the data and equipment readings on the Orion-II indicating that everything was going according to plan.
He continued to feel conflicted, unable to tell whether what he felt was really his gut, or just fear. Meanwhile, the commander responded:
“Yes, Dr. Scheffer. I remember. Let's initiate the second attempt,” he commanded, while Frank activated the accelerator again.
“Countdown commenced,” said Frank, “10 minutes to the jump.
Once again, the gravity around them starts to increase. The clock ticks, and the crew remains tense. With less than a minute left before the jump, the lights outside the ship start to become distorted again. The counter shows the final seconds before the actuation... three... two... one... a green light appears on the panel, announcing that the process has been executed. The light from the stars immediately ceases to look distorted. Their eyes move to the panel, and they realize that the image captured by the Communication Module is no longer there. Frank looks out the window and doesn’t see the module. The gravity sensor doesn’t show any readings, confirming that it is not receiving data from the neighboring module.
“Houston, this is Orion-II. Do you copy?”
There is no response on the other end, leaving Russell surprised to think that they might have actually performed the jump.
“Houston, this is Commander Scott Russell, Orion-II. Do you copy?” the astronaut repeats, to no response.
“Initiating reading from cameras one, three and five. Activating telescope,” informs Allison.
“Okay, it looks like it worked, it looks like we really jumped,” says Frank. “The Communication Module isn’t there anymore. Houston isn’t responding... and, before the jump, I could see the sun out of the corner of that window,” he said, pointing to the left. “The sun isn’t there anymore. So, the way I see it, there are two possibilities: either we’re all dead,” he says with an easy-going tone, “or we jumped through the wormhole and we’re at a different point in the universe.”
“You’re right, but you’re also wrong,” exclaims Allison, looking at the images. “We are indeed at another point in the universe, but you’re wrong in saying that the sun isn’t there anymore. It is there, in the same place as before.”
“But I can only see stars there now... are you saying that the sun is one of them?” asks Frank.
“Yes, it’s probably one of the ones in that corner,” says Allison, pointing to what looks like an amalgamation of stars. “Now, our sun is just another spot in the sky. You can even see what appears to be one of the spirals of our Milky Way.”
The astronauts look through the window with an air of admiration, still trying to see the sun or even Earth, as they had been able to do earlier, but which is now impossible.
“We’re not home, anymore. We’re in Draco. I’ve just confirmed it. The jump was a success. Now, we must continue with the mission... the first step is to locate the Valkiria star,” concludes the astronomer.
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” says Russell, interrupting Allison as he looks through one of the windows and points to a red giant star very close to them.
Impressed by the star, they all observe in silence. A red giant has taken over the landscape. They have never seen anything like it, not even in photos. Through the windows, even with the ship’s filters, they can feel its heat and all the magnificence of its brightness.
Image 06 – Inside of the Orion-II.
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Chapter 7
Houston was overwhelmed with joy. But with such added tension, it was a different feeling from any other previous mission. The images sent by the Communication Module showed the Orion-II disappearing right in front of their eyes inside a cloud of distortion. Cheers and applause gave way to congratulations and handshakes. NASA confirmed the jump had been successful.
In 1969, NASA had managed to place the first astronauts on the moon, a feat that had yet to be repeated by any other nation on Earth. In 1990, the agency had launched the Hubble telescope, responsible for a large part of humanity’s understanding of the universe to date. In 1997, it sent the first probe to explore the surface of Mars, the Pathfinder. A few years later, in 2000, NASA sent the first astronauts to the recently constructed International Space Station (ISS). Finally, in 2030, they accomplished the greatest historic feat up unt
il that point: the first astronauts traveled to Mars.
People would remember 2036, however, as the year in which the first human beings went through a wormhole and arrived in another galaxy. The agency was experiencing a moment of great achievement.
Nonetheless, once the jump to Draco was complete, Houston settled in for a long wait. Since they didn’t have any type of communication with the ship, the control center had no other choice but to wait. They monitored the images and data sent by the Communication Module around the clock. They expected the crew to return in five days.
After the initial excitement, the second day of waiting at the control center was more restrained.
On the third day, that joy was still evident, but a certain monotony had set in.
On the fourth day, the tension came back. By the next day, finally, the five days of waiting were over. Everyone was on standby, waiting for the three pioneers to return to the solar system. The module broadcasted live, but there was nothing more than a dark void. The controllers were distressed, which, in a certain sense, was to be expected.
But on the sixth, seventh and eighth days, the situation remained unchanged.
The mission commander in Houston, senior director Dr. Terry Jones, woke up every two hours during the night to receive status updates from the controllers. During the day, he spent hours staring at the panel which displayed the information sent by the module. He kept this routine up for one week. Then, he started waking up every four hours... until he stopped waking up at all.
It had already been 20 days since the mission launch. Fifteen days since the jump. The team’s morale and energy were low after such a long time with no news. The media pressured everyone from the director of NASA to the President of the United States, but there was little to be said. The agency just kept waiting for them to return.
Stellarium (Origins): A Space-Time Adventure to the Ends of our Universe Page 4