Initiation Series: Series One Compilation (Terran Chronicles)

by James Jackson

  Chapter Two - Incoming

  Location:

  Australian Square Kilometre Array Pathfinder (ASKAP)

  315 KM North East of Geraldton, Western Australia.

  Beep... Beep... Beep...

  “Joe, go see what the hell that's all about, will ya, mate?” Andrew is busy with reports and requests from the many people that call this array home.

  “Yeah, no worries.” Joe replies as he rolls his chair over to one of many consoles that operate the newly completed radio telescope array. Software bugs have been rampant, not to mention the many hardware problems that inevitably surfaced from such a major endeavor. These two men have been working tirelessly together for the better part of a year getting the facility running properly.

  “I thought we’d fixed all the bugs.” Joe ponders aloud. He sighs and rubs his tired light brown eyes as he slides his chair to a stop in front of the offending terminal. “So much for a brand-new state of the art facility.” Joe mutters to no one in particular.

  “Um, Andrew.” Joe’s demeanor changes a little. “You’d better come look at this mate. I think we may have something... actually its many somethings!”

  “Okay. Hey can you pull that up on the new 3-D modeling computer? Be there in a sec, mate.”

  Scheduling array time for the various project groups is giving Andrew a headache. He almost welcomes the interruption. Andrew stands up and stretches to his full six feet as he leaves his office. With his very thin build, he seems almost skeletal in comparison to Joe, the slightly stocky engineer who only stands at five feet seven inches. The two men, when standing together, seem to exaggerate each other's features, much to the amusement of some of their co-workers. But no one can deny their abilities, or the friendship that has developed between this odd-looking pair.

  Now standing together, both men stare at a large blank screen, waiting for the information to feed through. Andrew's oceanic blue eyes dart from monitor to monitor then back again to focus on this one main screen, waiting. They both keep staring at the blank screen, one of many belonging to this modern facility. The data travels to a supercomputer in Perth, where it gets converted into images in almost real time. That is the theory anyway, as time drags on for what seems like an eternity. Just as they are about to consign this to yet another software glitch, a single dot appears, and it is moving. Soon, it is joined by more small dots, and they, too, are moving. Andrew starts to run his fingers through his short, fair hair as he and Joe stare at these animated dots. This is not a software glitch; this is something else.

  “Andrew, can you align the array so we can get a better look at this while I try cleaning up the static we’re getting with these readings?” His voice is tinged with concern as he looks at the dozens of moving dots on the screen before them.

  Andrew hurriedly taps commands into a nearby computer terminal. The nighttime desert comes alive as the thirty-six antennae that make up the array slowly turn. As the array completes its cycle the static clears revealing more dots, many more dots. The beep… beep… beep… continues unabated from a nearby terminal, and is ignored for the time being.

  “Hey, great,” hollers Joe, “that static is not static at all; it's just little meteoroids, no bigger than a hand. The dots are the larger objects and look to be about five meters in size. This can't be right though. According to these readings, the objects are less than a day out. How can we have missed this meteor shower?”

  Andrew, now at yet another console, relaxes a little as more data comes in. He states with obvious relief, “These objects are so small that all they will do is make a great light show, should any come our way.”

  Joe is still frowning as he sits down again in his chair. Sliding his chair from terminal to terminal, he looks at one screen, then another, and occasionally types commands on various keyboards. Andrew watches as data and images are displayed. A printer starts clattering, Joe grabs the printout and starts making notes on it. Andrew watches, knowing not to interfere with Joe when he gets on one of his personal missions. He just waits as he wonders what Joe is up to.

  Minutes later, Joe looks up and says with a mixture of fear and anxiety, “These asteroids and meteoroids are all wrong; look at these density figures. According to this data, these are some hard buggers. They’re hard enough to damage, or even destroy, any satellites they run into, and perhaps even cause some ground impacts, especially the larger ones.”

  With Joe's attention focused heavily on the data at hand, Andrew is the first to notice the 3-D view.

  “Umm, Joe,” says Andrew slowly, as the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise. “Did you say this was picked up by our detection or collision systems?”

  Joe looks up wondering why Andrew is just standing there fixated. He follows his eyes to a single screen and then to the offending terminal. Beep... Beep... Beep…

  “Oh, shit! Collision!” Joe says loudly.” We’ve gotta make some calls...” The two engineers, however, can only stare in bewilderment at the screen now filled with hundreds upon hundreds of dots, “lots of calls. We’re gonna wake some people up tonight, mate.”

  Joe pauses, and then asks, “Andrew, who do we call? I mean who do we call first? This is big, really big!”

  “Well, mate,” Andrew replies with real concern in his voice, “we should call our Prime Minister, America, Europe... hell, we’ve gotta call everyone on the books.” Andrew gets galvanized into action, and rips his eyes away from the blazing screen. “I am going to call AOC first, to find out if the Yanks have spotted this yet, and to see what they think.”

  Moving the array has interrupted quite a few projects, causing members of the various science teams to become very annoyed. A few of these scientists head for the control room to confront Andrew and Joe. Others join them, though more out of curiosity than annoyance, as it is not like these folks to brazenly interfere as they have just done. All are dumbfounded as they enter the control room to see both men almost frantic, moving quickly from terminal to terminal. One terminal is beeping, another has a screen ablaze with moving dots, while others display incomprehensible data. It takes a short time for the magnitude of what is happening to sink in. Jaws drop as those watching begin to realize that every single dot is an incoming asteroid or smaller meteor.

  In the coldness of space, thousands of objects hurtle closer and closer to Earth. Where these dense rocks originated from is unknown, as they seem to have just appeared out of nowhere. In all of history there is no record anywhere of a meteor shower of this magnitude, and they are all heading here, to Earth.

  Location:

  Array Operations Center (AOC)

  80 KM West of Socorro, New Mexico

  Ring... Ring... Ring...

  “AOC, Director Barbara speaking.” She says formally, flicking her shoulder length auburn hair back away from her face. She does not like to be bothered by unannounced calls.

  “G'day, mate. Ughh, I mean. G'day miss, this is Joe,” he stammers. “We need you to point your array at something we found. It’s, well, it's a lot of objects, we're going to lose them soon and you need to...”

  Interrupting Joe, Barbara continues quite formally as she narrows her pale grey eyes, the way she does when annoyed. She almost glares at the telephone as she unleashes a little wrath in her voice. “Is this some joke? Where are you calling from? How did you get this number? Do you know that I am the director of a very busy facility? I do not take kindly to pranks or demands. You have seconds before I report this intrusion to the authorities.”

  Joe takes a deep breath and says, “I am calling from Australia, ASKAP to be exact.”

  “Oh,” says Barbara a lot more relaxed, “our Aussie mates down under? Well, why didn't you say so?” She sits back, reclining and rocking comfortably in her executive chair, and waits.

  Joe, talking a little slower now, continues, “We don't have much time. About twenty minutes ago, our alarms went off, our collision alarms. There are no less than two thousand meteors and some seventy or s
o asteroids about five meters in diameter, due to impact in less than twenty-four hours.”

  “Joe, Joe, Joe,” She says in quite a motherly fashion. “Five meters, that makes them what, about sixteen feet in diameter? All they will do is create a light show as they burn up in the atmosphere. Surely, you guys know that, and the smaller ones, well, what could they possibly do? Hmm. Besides, the array is booked solid for months. We can't just point it at some curiosity you folks down under have found.”

  Joe, becoming annoyed with Barbara's condescending tone and manner says, “Listen up. These readings I have here show that these meteors and asteroids are unusually dense, and they’re not following a parabolic trajectory. Just point your damn array at them will ya? We’re about to lose tracking.”

  Getting irritated at being lectured, Barbara speaks with surety. “Now I know you’re joking. They’re not parabolic, coming straight at us, and twenty-four hours out. The odds of that happening are billions, even trillions to one, and you say there are thousands of these objects?”

  A rustling over the line is followed by a pause, then some whispered voices are heard. Barbara considers hanging up as the seconds drag on, but her curiosity has been aroused by this unexpected call.

  “Barbara, my name is Andrew. I am the Deputy Director of ASKAP. Our world is in trouble. Our collision software tells us that a lot of satellites are in the path of this mix of meteors and asteroids. I have already woken up our Prime Minster, who is calling your President even as we speak. We don't have time to waste. Please, just point your array at the coordinates we have for you, and pray that we are just a victim of a massive software glitch, or even a hacker. Hell, I would take being hacked over these readings being real any day. Time is a luxury we don’t have. Good day.”

  The click of Andrew hanging up irritates and perplexes Barbara. Putting the phone down in annoyance, she flicks through an old-style Rolodex. None of these computer-based directories for her. She quickly finds, and stops, at ASKAP. Deputy Director Andrew Jensen and Chief Engineer Joe Fields are two of a few names that stare back at her. A small chill works its way up her spine as she picks up the phone again, to make her own calls, just to be sure. Maybe they have found something, probably space junk, she thinks.

  Within an hour, many of the world’s government controlled arrays and telescopes now point at these incoming objects. Leading scientists gather data, plans are set in motion, but time is short, as thousands of objects hurtle, unabated toward planet Earth.

  Closer and closer they come, and yet no alert has gone out to the public. Newscasters around the world are focused on other concerns, such as the latest posturing by North Korea, and the rise and fall of various stock markets. This is the biggest news story in history, and the media is completely oblivious to the approaching threat.

  With more questions raised than answers found, additional scientists are assigned to the many concerning questions. Will they burn up or not? And if not, where will they hit? Where are they from? Why are reports of their density such an issue? Soon, most of the concern starts to focus on other, more compelling issues, such as repairing or replacing lost satellites, casualty projections, and planning for rebuilding should any asteroids impact. Also, why did we just discover these meteors and asteroids now? So far though, no one seems to be considering the bigger picture, or asking the right questions, and facing the tough answers.

  Meanwhile, these objects get ever closer to Earth, in what promises to be an unforgettable event for humanity.

  Location:

  North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD)

  Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado Springs, Colorado

  The DEFCON status board switches from blue to green.

  “Sir, all stations report DEFCON Four readiness.” The young lieutenant is quite energized by the increased alert status.

  General Steven Walker, fifty-four years of age and standing his full five feet eleven inches, looks around the control room, his blue eyes gauging everyone. He is a heavy-set man, but he exercises regularly, and still carries some decent muscle tone.

  “Very well, I want all senior staff in my office immediately.” Walker orders impassively.

  The general watches as a number of uniformed men and women leave their stations and head to his office. He knows that department heads are being summoned from other parts of the base, thus, he has a moment to consider his words. Those left behind, can only wonder what has caused this increase in status as the senior staff heads out. A few moments later, the general also leaves, his face an emotionless mask below his short graying hair.

  General Walker looks around the room at his ensemble of men and women, all sitting quietly. They too are wondering what is happening. The betting pool is heavily in favor of this being simply a drill. He is not supposed to know about the betting pools, but nevertheless, he wishes that it was truly a drill. That would be easier to take.

  With a stern, commanding voice that makes people listen, General Walker begins; “About three hours ago, the Australians detected a large number of small objects on a collision course with Earth. Many of these objects are reportedly going to collide with some, if not all, of our satellites in orbit.”

  The General pauses to let that information sink in. This is his style; you have to let the facts be absorbed, if you want your people to really listen and understand. He makes eye contact with as many in the room as is possible. Having everyone's undivided attention, he continues; “Ordinarily, objects of the size detected would harmlessly bounce off our atmosphere, or burn up upon entry. However, the folks down under have convinced our folks that these objects are more dense than usual, therefore, ground impacts are likely from the larger objects.”

  General Walker pauses once again as small folders are handed out. They contain every shred of information available, but it is still only a few scant pages. He adds, “This one is real, folks, and we have been called in to see about options. We do this now, no breaks. The first impact is in about twenty hours. Read the file. I know that it’s short, too short, but it’s all we have to go on.”

  The rustling of pages and quiet voices fill the room as everyone looks at the data sheets. The information is discredited at first, but, as time goes by, the disbelief turns to genuine alarm. There is much debate over the figures presented. They talk and talk about the validity of the data, then the accuracy of the trajectories. They continue to talk, letting precious time slip by. Finally, after much discussion, the group comes to a consensus.

  Reconvening the meeting, the lead scientific advisor, one of the younger men in the group, has been selected as the spokesman. He looks around the room as he stands; he’s not completely sure of himself and the situation, but forges ahead. “General Walker, sir, if this information is correct and not some joke or test, we may have a real problem. We don't even know if nuclear weapons can stop these objects.” The speaker looks at his colleagues for supporting gestures, and gets them. “But, sir, we feel that we should at least try.”

  General Walker is pondering these events himself, sorting the various facts in his own mind. An impending day-long massive meteor shower, just discovered, with the first impacts expected in less than twenty hours. He wonders about the odds of this being a natural event over something else. How did our deep space tracking satellites completely miss this? His military mind has already made its decision regarding his recommendations to the President. He replies, “Very well, I shall give the President our recommendations. You are dismissed.”

  Once the room is empty he makes the call to the President, setting in motion a chain of events that could have far reaching consequences.

  Location:

  KGB Headquarters

  Minsk, Russia

  Minsk is a city with great history, and many secrets. Officially, the city is in Belarus, and not Russian not all. Unofficially the city is still the seat of power for Russia’s feared Committee for State Security, or KGB as they are better known. Having a secret headquarters in anoth
er country, a close ally, has many benefits. Terrorists have attacked the official headquarters many times over the past few years, but none have been near this building.

  The meeting room is filled with men that wield political power like a weapon. Most of them are sitting at a huge wooden table, watching quietly, as Igor and Pavel once again have differing and vocal views on today's issue. These two hardly ever agree on anything, and are known to antagonize each other almost as though it were a sport.

  Igor, a short, fat, Ukrainian, is so worked up that flecks of spittle escape his mouth as he shouts. “Are we seriously going to let the Americans launch all these missiles without us even, as they say, 'batting an eyelid?' Where is common sense, what do they take us for, fools? Who are they really targeting, huh? Who?”

  Pavel, the taller, slimmer, and more centered of the two, responds calmly. “Igor, Igor, we have also been tracking these little asteroids as well. The westerners say they are tough little rocks, yes? And yet our own scientists are trying to postulate the origins of these interlopers. It matters not to me where they come from, but more importantly where they are going? Can our scientists at least give us that?”

  “My old friend, you are being deceived; we are all being led like fools. This is a deception. I say we strike while we can.” Igor slams his hand on the table, emphasizing his words.

  “Strike at…” Pavel is interrupted as the large double doors to the room are thrust open. A breeze seems to follow in the wake of the door’s movement.

  “Who dares…” Igor's powerful voice suddenly fades, he blanches when he recognizes the intruder. He continues, but his manner is quite subservient now. “I extend my most humble apologies to you, Mr. President. I had no idea you were coming when we spoke earlier. I would have made plans for...” He is quieted by a single small hand gesture from this newcomer. The President’s cloak is still flowing from the speed of his entrance as he walks quickly toward the table. The men around the table all stand in respect for their leader.