The Solar Sea

by David Lee Summers

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  Chapter 17

  Drifting toward Jupiter

  As the yearlong transit from Mars to Jupiter neared its end, Neb O'Connell and Lisa Henry made their way to the central hub to look at the biggest planet in the solar system. Aristarchus was now close enough to the planet and their angle of approach was such that they could just make out the frail, solitary ring encircling the planet. Neb noticed Lisa looked at the solitary ring encircling her finger. “Are you having second thoughts about the wedding?"

  She looked up at him and smiled reassuringly. “Not second thoughts really, just a few concerns.” She looked out the window at the brown, white, and red planet beyond. “What are our plans after this mission. After all, you live in New Mexico and I live in Alaska. Where do we settle?"

  "I assumed I'd be working for Quinn Corp after the mission was over.” Neb gave a little shrug. “My days at the VLA were numbered.” When she looked up at him with a creased brow, he quickly amended his words. “I should say, the VLA's days are numbered. If I returned there, I'd just find myself out of work in about five or ten years."

  "So, did Alonzo say you would be working at Quinn Corp?"

  Neb nodded. “With the experience from this mission, perhaps you could get a job there, too."

  "Working for Quinn Corp would probably mean sitting in an office all day.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “But maybe I could work as an assistant for Dr. Cristof. That would at least put us in the same state."

  Neb and Lisa fell silent and both stared out at the planet for a little while longer. The great red spot, a storm that had been brewing for several centuries, was just rotating into view. He thought about his mother who had looked very pale in her last video and expressed her disappointment she couldn't attend her son's wedding in person. “Our careers are not your big worry, are they?” he asked after a few minutes.

  "It sounds kind of silly ... especially since I never really wanted a big church wedding and all, and I certainly didn't want to be married in one of those big silly white dresses, but it just occurred to me that I didn't pack a single dress of any kind for this trip."

  "I like you as you are.” Neb smiled at her. “I think you look great in coveralls."

  She looked down and sighed. “Thanks, but I at least want to look pretty and feminine for my wedding."

  "I thought you didn't care about silly princess weddings and all that."

  She looked up and met his eyes. “It's not that. I just don't want to look like an auto mechanic.” She snorted and looked out at Jupiter. “Unfortunately, I have my doubts that Natalie Freeman or Vanda Berko even own dresses and if they do, why would they have brought them along?"

  "What about Myra?” asked Neb innocently.

  Lisa laughed. “If you haven't noticed I'm a bit bigger around the middle than she is. Even if she did bring a dress, it'd probably kill me to try to squeeze into it."

  Neb sighed. “We'll work out something.” Then he smiled wickedly. “Hey, I just remembered, Angus MacDonald owns a kilt. He's about your size."

  Lisa punched Neb in the arm. “You are so strange sometimes.” Then she pulled him close, giving him a hug. “I suppose that's why I love you."

  * * * *

  When Vanda Berko and Angus MacDonald started their pool, taking guesses about the origin of the Martian disk, it was met with much amusement and a few people put their guesses in. Once it was known alien life really was responsible for the disk, interest in the pool picked up. At the end of each meal, people would wash their dishes and then step over to the chart and place their guess into the jar.

  Angus watched when Daryl LaRue wrote ‘Betelgeuse’ on one of the slips of paper. The cook shook his head. “Don't you know that you can't have life at Betelgeuse?"

  "Why not?” asked LaRue.

  "It's a red supergiant,” said the cook. “If there was a planet with life, it would have been swallowed up centuries ago."

  LaRue shrugged. “Well ... maybe they evolved at a planet near Betelgeuse and then left before the sun expanded."

  "Maybe,” said Angus, “but you still can't enter Betelgeuse into the pool."

  "Why not?” pressed LaRue.

  "Because I already guessed it."

  * * * *

  On Earth, the president of the United States sat down at his desk with a cup of coffee and several morning newspapers. He sighed as he opened the New York Times. Legitimate newspapers were starting to look like tabloids. There were reports of car crashes happening because someone thought they saw an extraterrestrial spaceship or murders occurring because someone believed the aliens had spoken to them. The headline that caught the president's eye was almost as bad. “Aliens speak to whales,” it announced. Natalie Freeman had been reporting the progress of Myra Lee and her Earthbound colleagues in translating the alien disk they found on Mars. So the news didn't surprise him. In fact, he had security agencies keeping tabs on Cristof and Harmer's work in case it proved to be an issue. The president snorted and nearly turned the page when a thought occurred to him.

  He put the paper down and picked up the phone. He pushed the speed dial button for Diana Aguilar's office. “Diana,” said Van der Wald, “what kind of fuel do you suppose aliens would use?"

  * * * *

  Thomas Alonzo Quinn sat in the hub of the Aristarchus, preparing to control the ship's entry into Jupiter's orbit. This stage of the flight was crucial and he wanted to see what was going on outside the ship with his own eyes. If he got it right, the ship would get ten orbits of the gas giant planet, then be primed to enter into a hyperbolic orbit that would slingshot the sailing ship onward to Saturn at a speed that would get them there in a little under six months. If he got the calculations wrong, their flight would be slowed so much, they would be better off turning around and going home to Earth.

  Pilot's console in the hub displayed information about Jupiter's most unpredictable feature, its bow shock—the place where the solar wind collided head-on with Jupiter's own intense magnetic field like warm air and cold air colliding over Kansas to create a tornado. The last few months of the journey, the solar wind had been a bit more intense than normal. It was not the primary force pushing Aristarchus, but Pilot realized that the outflow of charged particles from the sun was contributing more to their motion than predicted. He tried to tell himself that was the source of the vibration he knew he could feel yet the techs could not measure. Pilot took several deep breaths as the ship approached the bow shock, telling himself several small, unmanned spacecraft had done the very maneuver he hoped to accomplish. There was no reason he should be afraid.

  He began a countdown, “Ten, nine, eight.... “When he got to five, his hands drifted over the sail controls, ready to adjust course to compensate for the bow shock, if needed. When he got to three, there was a loud bang. The ship hit the bow shock unexpectedly early.

  Lights flickered on and off intermittently on the console. Before hitting the bow shock, Jupiter seemed to stand still. Now, it was easy to tell they were moving toward the planet. Even though the motion appeared slow, the dial on Pilot's console confirmed what he now realized, they were careening into the planet. Gently, he eased the sails around, trying to bring the ship into orbit. As he did, the ship began to shake violently, rattling his teeth. He was slowing the ship, but not fast enough. Jupiter's gravitational field, the collision of charged particles from the sun and Jupiter, along with photon pressure from both sources were causing the sails to vibrate at their resonant frequency.

  "The masts are reaching critical stress,” called Neb O'Connell from C-and-C. “If you don't back off the sails, they're going to snap."

  "If I back off the sails, we'll go sailing right into the planet!” said Pilot through gritted teeth. “LaRue, give me some thrust! Help me out."

  The ship's thrusters fired. If anything, the ship vibrated even more.

  "There's a stress fracture developing on the number three sail.” There was a hint of panic
in Neb's voice. “We've got to do something quick or the ship's going to fly apart."

  Pilot looked at the readout on his console and suddenly had a thought. He put his hands on the sail controls and locked his gaze on the clock on his console, counting down seconds.

  "Prepare to jettison number three sail,” called Jefferson from C-and-C. “LaRue, stand by on thruster control. Get Berko to the towing shuttle, now."

  "No! You don't have time for all that. It's too late!” said Pilot.

  "I'm not going to let this ship fall into the planet,” said Jefferson, threateningly.

  Without another word, Pilot commanded the sails to turn ninety degrees from where they were. As the sails turned, the ship shuddered hard and he almost bounced into the wall. All of the console's indicators moved into the red. Holding onto the console so hard, his knuckles turned white, he discerned something just a little hopeful. The planet began to visibly slow. As the sails reached position, the vibrations settled down.

  After several achingly slow minutes, the planet drifted to the side. They were no longer plunging toward Jupiter. He counted down on his clock again, then moved the sails forty-five degrees back to normal. The console indicators crawled back into the yellow zones. One or two remained red. The ship was damaged. The question was, could it be repaired?

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  Chapter 18

  Damage Control

  In command and control, Jonathan Jefferson's emotions warred with one another. He was ecstatic to be alive, yet furious with Pilot for trying such a crazy stunt with the sail controls. Likewise, he wanted to go down to the planet, yet he also worried about the condition of the ship. He looked over at Neb O'Connell, who sat at his console, visibly shaking. “Neb, what's the sail status?” The captain knew he needed to give the technician something productive to think about.

  "Number three sail appears to have suffered serious structural damage,” said Neb, a little timidly. He checked the readouts on his console. “We may also have some damage on the number eight sail. I'm getting indeterminate readings from one of the sensors."

  "Could be the sensor itself is damaged,” offered Daryl LaRue.

  "Better get me a visual,” said Jefferson. “Check the scopes and see how the sail is doing."

  "Right away, sir.” LaRue turned to his intercom.

  Jefferson noticed Dr. Garcia had left the life support station. He called the infirmary. “Doctor, are you there?"

  "Yes, sir,” came the prompt response. “Along with about five wounded. Nothing serious, just some bumps and bruises and one minor concussion, but she's showing no major symptoms."

  "Who?"

  "Lisa Henry, sir,” said the doctor.

  Neb O'Connell stood up. “Can I go down and see her?"

  The captain waved him back into his seat. “Later, son. I need you at your post. The doc says she's all right. I'll let you go down as soon as things are a bit less critical."

  LaRue looked up from his console. “Sir, the tech has just reported that there's no visible damage to sail number eight."

  Pilot descended the ladder into C-and-C and strode across to the captain. “I've just been running some calculations, I think we can still salvage most of our time at Jupiter if we act fast.” Jefferson glared at Pilot who heaved an exasperated sigh. “You ordered Berko to the towing shuttle. Have her launch immediately. I'll send her the coordinates to pull us to."

  "What about the stress fracture on the number three sail?” asked the captain.

  "If it's not a complete break, it'll make little difference to the operation of the ship. We'll have Berko unhook after she's done with the towing operation and evaluate the situation."

  "I'll want to have words with you once we're in the clear,” growled Jefferson, coldly.

  "Understood,” said Pilot, hotly. “Now launch the shuttle. You're wasting time."

  The captain pursed his lips, but then called Berko and gave the order to launch. Pilot nodded and then stepped over to his console where he sent the instructions.

  * * * *

  Vanda Berko lifted the tow shuttle from its bay and accelerated at the slowest rate the tiny craft would allow. She felt the resistance as the tow cable pulled taut behind. She saw the instructions from Pilot flash onto her console. She pulled the joystick back and a little to the right, ever-so-gently pulling the larger craft behind her onto a new course. Though Aristarchus had its own thruster control, its steering was somewhat limited. Pilot needed the ship placed in a very particular location. The ship was actually moving quite fast, but it needed to be in a higher orbit, otherwise they wouldn't be able to perform the slingshot maneuver that would send them on to Saturn.

  Looking out the window, Vanda caught her breath. She passed near the red and yellow moon Io. One of the great volcanoes on the surface was erupting, spewing a cloud of sulfur high over the moon where it spread out like a golden fountain and rained back down to the surface. She towed the Aristarchus out beyond the orbit of Io. Once she arrived at Pilot's target location, she disengaged the towrope's magnetic clamps and reeled it in. She pushed forward on the joystick, so the shuttle moved out, further ahead of the giant ship.

  "Vanda,” came the voice of Myra Lee. “The captain says he'd like you to take a look at the number three sail to see how bad that stress fracture is. Neb says it's about two miles in from the tip. I'm sending a schematic now."

  "Acknowledged.” Berko maneuvered the shuttle around in a wide arc, coming up behind the Aristarchus. Activating the keel thrusters, she moved three miles out from the hub, so she was at the same level as the damaged part of the sail. She then matched speed and watched as the sails rotated in front of her. It was soon apparent which was the damaged sail. She executed a long spiral, keeping her in one place relative to the sail and evaluated it carefully.

  "I see the fracture,” she reported. “It doesn't appear to have broken all the way through. I'll take some pictures, so you all can decide the best course of action. If needed, I think we could construct a patch from some melding straps and metalized fabric. But I'm not even sure that's absolutely necessary. I'd be inclined to leave it alone. If we need, we can repair en route."

  "Thanks much,” came the captain's voice from the intercom. “Bring the shuttle home."

  * * * *

  In C-and-C, LaRue stepped up to Pilot. “I have to admit that maneuver you executed was pretty clever,” he said. “I would never have thought of using Jupiter's own magnetosphere as an alternate ‘wind’ to save the ship."

  Pilot looked down at the deck. “I always planned to use the magnetosphere to get us into the orbit we needed. Thing is, we came up on the bow shock sooner than I expected. It caught me by surprise."

  The captain stepped up to Pilot. “Let's talk.” He looked around to LaRue. “You have the bridge. We'll be right out in the corridor."

  As Jefferson turned his back, Pilot rolled his eyes and followed the captain out into the corridor. There, Jefferson turned on Pilot, pushing his finger into the other man's chest. “You may be Thomas Alonzo Quinn, son of the most powerful man on Earth, but you hired me to be captain of this space vessel. The course of action I took would have guaranteed our safety. The course of action you took could have ripped the sails right off the ship, preventing us from returning home."

  Pilot took a deep breath. “Congratulations, Captain Jefferson, you figured out who I really am. How long have you known?"

  "That's beside the point,” said Jefferson. “What matters is that in countermanding my orders, you put this ship in more danger than necessary."

  "Your actions would have forced a return to Earth. My actions put us in a position where we can still salvage this mission.” Pilot took two steps down the corridor, away from the captain's accusing finger and stare, then stood straight. “Since you know who I am, you probably know that this ship and this mission are my dream. They have been ever since I was nine years old. I can't let you jeopardize my entire reason for living."

/>   The captain gritted his teeth, took one step forward, and punched Quinn, leaving him sprawled out on the deck with a bloody nose. “I don't care who you are. Your dream doesn't give you the right to take matters into your own hands, to kill every man and woman on this vessel because you want to save the mission. You hired me to be the captain, to keep this crew together and because of my expertise in space. I can't do that job if you keep interfering."

  Pilot wiped blood from his nose. A single tear escaped his eye. He wiped it angrily away, leaving a bloody smear on his face. “You're right, of course. I'm sorry."

  Jefferson reached out his hand and helped Pilot to his feet. “LaRue is right. What really matters is that you saved the ship. Just be aware I won't tolerate you putting your dream ahead of the ship's safety again. Understand?"

  "I understand.” Thomas Alonzo Quinn sighed, then straightened his coveralls. “How did you figure out who I am?"

  Jefferson took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I saw your picture on a website."

  "What website?” Quinn's brow furrowed.

  "It was a biography of your father."

  Pilot closed his eyes and shook his head. “I never thought about.... “He sighed and looked up at Jefferson. “Does it bother you that I haven't finished college?"

  "If it did, I would have confronted you about it sooner.” The captain ran his fingers through his white hair. “What matters to me is your ability—and you've proven that by building this ship."

  "Thank you,” said Pilot.

  Jefferson put his hands in the pockets of his coveralls and looked to the deck. “When I was twenty, I was at the Air Force academy learning to fly planes. If I had taken a plane and did what you did, I would have been booted out of the military. My career would have been over.” He looked into Pilot's eyes. “Just because you're Thomas Quinn and you built this ship doesn't mean that you aren't responsible for your actions."