“On it, boss,” Lin said, moving to calculate the burn times for all three ships as well as the final vector that would decide at what orbital velocity they would move to, exiting the low Earth orbit and taking one around the sun that would cross both Mars’ and Earth’s orbits.
Several more minutes passed, and data was updated. Both Chon and Lin looked at him apprehensively, and Chong seemed glued to his monitor, most likely trying to measure the heat output, as he was a thermo-engineer as well as their mechanical.
Hun found himself standing and watching the timer count up, and he felt a presence behind him. It was Zhou who stood close to him, watching. The officer spoke first. “What is it, Director Lee?”
“What do you mean?” Hun tried to ask casually.
“You and your staff . . . it’s obvious that something is wrong.”
“There’s nothing wrong with our mission or crew,” Hun said, ignoring the obvious.
Zhou nodded. “Then it has to do with the Americans.”
Hun realized that their awe and fear must have been noticeable if not nearly palpable to the strict military liaison officer that worked with them. It was no use hiding it; he had to simply get it out. “The American ship . . .” Hun struggled for a moment.
Zhou tried to help. “The American ship . . . yes . . .”
“The burn has passed eleven minutes,” Hun said, continuing to watch the ship’s trajectory as it altered and headed away from the Earth at a steepening curve.
“So?” the colonel asked.
“Maybe it’s nothing,” Hun said, taking a moment to remove his eyes from the screen and look at Colonel Zhou, assessing the man’s mood.
The other man nodded and then looked back at the main screen, but stayed at Hun’s side. Several more minutes went by, and the activity died down a bit until General Wang entered the room and walked over to Hun and Zhou.
“So they have finally pulled the trigger,” Wang said.
“Yes, sir,” Zhou said a bit stiffly and formerly, but that could be expected considering the man’s rank and situation. “I’ve inputted the codes into the main computer, and we are ready to go as well, sir.”
“I see,” Wang said. “Let me check with our director.”
Hun looked at the man and then realized his staff was watching them. Lin couldn’t help herself. “Seventeen minutes, sir, and counting.”
Wang looked confused. “What does she mean?”
Hun didn’t know how to say it, so he had to blurt it out, and it really wasn’t what the general wanted to hear before they had even started the mission. “The Americans will arrive first.”
Wang’s eyes widened, and for a moment, Hun thought the man would order him executed on the spot. “How is this possible?”
Hun pointed to the trajectory that was being updated each minute from the extended burn. “They are acquiring a delta-v that will take them on an exit vector of thirty-two degrees.”
That didn’t help Wang. “What does that mean?”
“They are taking a more direct path to Mars than we can.”
Chon didn’t help when he yelled out, “One hundred twelve days, sir.”
“What is he talking about now?” Wang asked, getting frustrated.
“Burn out at seventeen twenty-five,” Lin said.
Wang stood silently, but his hands were clenched into two fists held tightly at his side. Hun took a deep breath and tried one more time. “The Americans burned their rockets for nearly seventeen and a half minutes, acquiring enough speed to exit the Earth’s orbit at thirty-two degrees, putting them at Mars in one hundred and twelve days . . . sir.”
Hun let his words sink in, as he knew the general had been briefed on nearly all of their transit times, including the one-way trips, and they weren’t even close to a hundred and twelve days. The general seemed to relax for a second before saying one word that wasn’t exactly part of the Chinese military’s repertoire of words. “Shit.”
*****
Vostochny Cosmodrome
Siberia, Russia
In the near future, Year 4, Day 62
Vlad had called Dmitry three times, waking him the first. For the last five hours, he had watched as the American ship, the Red Horizon, exited its earth orbit and shot out toward Mars on an aggressive vector that would place it and the red planet in the same location in one hundred and twelve days. The number boggled his mind.
He watched as his team worked at finding a solution to the problem, though he knew what it was going to be. Their carefully timed trip there and back would most likely now be extended by over five hundred days in the sheer attempt to keep up with the Americans by expending nearly all of their fuel, including the return portion allocated for them to make the trip back within the narrow nine-month mission window. Now, they would have to, in most likelihood, burn most of their propellant in order to keep up with the American ship.
Even now, the large ship was nearing its closest approach to their ship, the Red Star, still sitting at the Earth-moon Lagrange point one. They had been making preparations for departure themselves and were basically ready, but that did not reduce the actual tension they faced when it finally happened, especially in such fashion.
Yosef, one of his chief engineers who worked closely with Alex, walked over to where Vlad was seated at the rear of the control center. “Damn fast ship,” the man said.
“Da,” Vlad agreed. “I’m surprised they didn’t boost behind the moon for a slight assist. It is in the right position.”
“We thought about that too, boss. The trajectory would be beneficial if they were transiting at a slower speed; otherwise at this speed, the flight path behind the moon would be more troublesome than it would be worth, considering the lateral forces that would be in play. We’re gathering the data now and will have it to you in the next five minutes.”
“How’s the crew?” Vlad asked.
“Holding up, excited to be sure. They’ve been on standby for nearly a week, so it will be good to get this underway.”
“More like hurry up and wait,” Vlad commented.
Yosef chuckled. “Of course, nothing like spending four months waiting around in a tin can. They’ll be fine, though, as long as Yuri and Olga behave themselves.”
“I’ve made it clear what the expectation was.” Vlad looked at the man.
“Agreed, though the crew is up to you. I’m just a wrench turner, so I can only comment with any degree of accuracy on the ship, and our Red Star is as ready as he’s going to be,” Yosef said, using the traditional he for a Russian ship instead of the Western usage of she.
“So did we miscalculate their fuel usage or their fuel resupply?” Vlad asked.
“Most likely a bit of both,” Yosef said. “They may have burned less than we calculated chasing after their shuttle, or we simply didn’t have a good estimate of their rocket’s burn rate. It could be that we underestimated the size of their tanks as well, though that is less likely, as we can detail those visually to within ten-percent accuracy.”
“So they managed to get more fuel back to their ship as well,” Vlad speculated.
“Yes, we know they were taking fuel from their lunar orbitals as well as some of their shuttles that were supporting their moon base, but seriously, we calculated that at no more than fifteen to eighteen percent of what they had already spent. It’s just difficult to calculate with the minimal data we have.”
“I agree with you, Yosef, but either way, their burn was impressive, especially considering the tonnage that their ship masses. It would require a lot of fuel to achieve that delta and vector.”
“I don’t think Moscow can be happy about this,” the engineer said, his bottom lip curling slightly.
“No. Speaking of which, I’ll need to go there to debrief in person as soon as we have our launch plan ready for execution,” Vlad said.
“We better go soon, if at all,” Yosef said.
Before Vlad could answer, a flight technician hollered across the floor
. “Incoming message from the Americans.”
“What channel?” Vlad asked, looking at his own monitor and not seeing the frequency active for the Americans. He noticed Irina entering the room and standing at the rear, her hands clutching one another as they clenched and relaxed. He started to allow his thoughts to wonder about the phone call from the American NASA director the day before, and the one-sided discussion with the old, crazy babushka. No, he needed to put that out of his mind for a moment and focus.
“Our channel, sir,” the technician said.
“That’s crazy,” Yosef remarked, and Alex entered the room and walked over to observe at his bosses’ console.
“Right on time, Alex,” Vlad said, turning to give the man a quick nod. “We have some sort of communication from the Americans.”
“What frequency?” Alex asked.
“Ours.” Vlad repeated what his staff had told him. He moved the cursor over to their frequency and activated the speaker, unplugging his headphones so that it was audible for all three men. Olga was speaking in mid-sentence.
“—you that he’s occupied at dis moment. You no call now.”
Alex looked at the other two men. “When did Olga learn English?”
“She doesn’t speak it,” Yosef said, confusion on his face.
The radio came across, and an American female voice spoke, music blaring in the background. “He’s there listening. Just put him on, Olga.”
Vlad explained quickly. “She learned it after working with the Americans four years ago. Thought she should know it if Yuri knew it.”
“Ah,” both of Vlad’s workers said in unison.
“But what was that music?” Vlad asked, and the other two men could only shrug.
“Forget the music, what does the American want?” Alex asked.
Yuri’s voice came over the radio. “Commander Temshenko here. We’re a little busy right now, Commander Monroe. What can I do for you?”
“Well, he’s polite,” Yosef said, shrugging slightly and pleased to have a positive comment to make.
The American wasn’t so polite. “About damn time, Yuri. Remember what you said to me four years ago?”
There was an awkward pause as the airwave went silent for a moment, and then Yuri responded. “I don’t think this is the time or the place to—”
The American cut him off, hitting her push-to-talk and transmitting over his signal. “Well, I remember, and when we get to Mars first, I’ll keep a light on for you.”
Apparently, Olga remembered something as well. “You suxa, poshol von na huey.”
All three men were stunned by the profanity, but the American turned up her music for a moment, and the lyrics could be heard easily. I can’t drive fifty-five . . .
Then the American started to say something. “Olga, you can kiss my—”
The frequency went dead, and a technician called out, “Signal terminated at source, sir.”
“Damn,” Vlad said.
Chapter 18
Dreams
NASA Space Command
Houston, Texas
In the near future, Year 4, Day 62
“Signal terminated, transmitter disabled, Richard,” Lisa said from her console, trying hard to suppress a grin.
“Thank you, Lisa,” Rock said, turning to face Mr. Smith, who was fuming at his side.
“What the hell was that?” Smith said, tilting his head toward their main screen, an indication that he did not approve of how the commander of the Red Horizon had behaved.
Rock sighed. He knew that there would be intense media coverage as well as detailed scrutiny of everything his crew did during the launch, so it was most unwelcome what Julie Monroe had done, though he could only speculate at the motivation at this time. He had ordered the ship’s radio transmitter locked, and they had managed to take control of it remotely at the most opportunistic moment possible.
“I’ll take care of it,” Rock said, and Smith turned, walking into the hallway after pulling his cell phone from his hip holster.
Marge walked over to where Rock stood at the side of his console. “That was close.”
Rock smiled at her for a moment. “Yeah, I’m sure there will still be some explaining to do, but let’s hope the worst is behind us. How are things going with Doctor Navari?”
“We have another meeting tomorrow, and I’ve spent some time looking over our data so far, though I can’t help but get this feeling that we’re looking at it from the wrong perspective.”
“How so?” Rock asked.
“Well, for one thing, we don’t have a motive for why the DNA signature was there in the first place.”
“Wasn’t that to help us defeat diseases, increase our lifespans, and so on?”
“That is the most commonly held belief, apart from the doomsayers,” Marge said.
“You don’t have to tell me about them,” Rock said, referring to the myriad of conspiracy theorists who had overwhelmed the internet in the first year following the revelation that humankind was not alone, or at least wasn’t the only intelligent species in the universe.
“Yes, things have died down, and I don’t think the coding is a virus to kill us or wipe us out. Our advancements in decoding the DNA genome was well documented long before we found this alien code,” Marge said. “This is only the tip of the iceberg.”
“With the genome?” Rock asked.
“With everything,” Marge said. “Where are the aliens? How many people were hurt in the panic that followed the discovery?”
Rock nodded. “Those were some bad times, yes, but things have settled down considerably since then. Didn’t the president’s chief science advisor put out a statement to the effect that the aliens could all be dead, or wiped out, from unknown causes, and the only thing left are the signs of their civilization, or some such?”
“That’s one of many theories,” Marge said. “I think the bigger unknowns are that we can’t date the alien artifact, and we can’t decode anything other than our own human genome, so unless the aliens are exactly like us and they colonized our planet, then it won’t make sense, and before you say it, we already know about evolution, so that puts the first part of this into speculation territory.”
“We should work on that,” Rock said. “I mean, understanding what you’re getting at, the context, probably would help us a great deal in understanding the significance of the find.”
“That’s why we need to get to Mars and get our hands on more of their technology or simply the things that they crafted in order to learn more about them culturally, scientifically, and socially even,” Marge said.
Rock understood the argument. He had been a part of the early discussions regarding the fact that the Chinese seemed perfectly content to destroy the alien technology before allowing anyone else to access it before they did. “Well, if our launch today is any indication, then we’ll succeed there and perhaps learn something that will shed light on the entire matter.”
“Wow, that was close,” Jack said, walking over to them and looking at the monitors on the main screen.
“You’re referring to Jules?” Marge asked.
“Yeah, Lisa and I were watching Smith closely, and he didn’t seem too happy with the situation.”
“What’s Lisa doing?” Marge asked.
“She’s in a private chat now with Jules, explaining why we took control of her transmitter.” Jack looked at Lisa, who was sitting nearby at her console, hunched over, head down, and pressing one hand against her headset. “Is she going to be in trouble?”
Rock shook his head. “No, we’re not going down that route. She seemed to be put off by something that had occurred between her and the Russian commander years ago. Let’s just hope that she got it out of her system for now.”
“I understood that they had a good working relationship on their return trip when she was onboard their spacecraft,” Marge said.
“She did, but there were other dynamics going on back then, and this other cosmon
aut of theirs . . .” Rock searched for her name again.
“Olga,” both Jack and Marge said.
“Yes, this Olga, seems to have an issue with our own Commander Monroe as well. I’ll handle it with the higher ups; you make sure that the team focuses on the work at hand.”
“What work?’ Jack asked sarcastically. Everyone knew that despite the many system checks, health and welfare routines, as well as their exercising and mission scenario briefings, it was really going to be nearly four months of waiting before anything meaningful happened.
“That’s my point,” Rock said. “I want all twelve of them busy up there with so many things to do that they won’t have time for personal issues. Am I clear?”
“Of course, Rock,” Marge said. “We have a schedule for them down to the last minute.”
“Yeah,” Jack said, “everything except when to take a leak.”
“All right,” Rock began. “We won’t let this mission devolve down the maturity scale. I want things to be as tight as they can be. Let’s make sure this happens from here on out. I also want updates on what the Chinese and the Russians cook up to counter our first move.”
“Won’t that be in Mr. Smith’s hands?” Jack asked.
“Not completely,” Rock said. “Smith can help us with some serious intel—that much is a given—but we can best assess what they do from their own launch vector and escape velocity from right here. I want their trajectories plotted down to the exact hour of arrival so that we know how much time we’ll have to work with up there before they arrive.”
“You’re positive they can’t pull something to arrive first?” Jack asked.
Marge answered for Rock. “Less than one percent chance, and even that is being overly optimistic based on their fuel loads and propulsion system.”
“What if our good Mr. Smith was incorrect in the data that they provided to us?” Jack asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Marge explained. “We’ve gone over this a dozen times. You’ve been there for every briefing. They don’t have the ability to boost at the same delta that we do.”
Red Horizon: The Truth of Discovery (Discovery Series Book 2) Page 17