Ariticle Six

by C. T. Christensen

  Article Six

  By C. T. Christensen

  Text copyright © 2015 Charles T. Christensen

  All Rights Reserved

  www.ourwriteplace.com

  The Earth is a quiet and stable place now with a population of only around six hundred million. There are only five cities on the entire planet that have a population of one million or more; modern communication and transportation systems have eliminated the need for close proximity. There are resources in abundance for everyone with near total recycling and mining operations all over the solar system. Earth exports food and specialized technology to the rest of humanity out among the stars and receives their products in return. It can be said that the only problem Earth has now is how to hang on to its population; the pull of the exotic wonders of the universe has spread humanity far and wide since 2105.

  As you descend from the mid-Pacific parking orbit to the Tampa Port Facility, you only have to look north as you start over the Gulf to see where it all began.

  Forty-five kilometers north of Brownsville and five kilometers east of old highway 77 are the former grounds of the Harrison-Lake Energy Research Facility. It can be reached by air or the TEX12 cycle lane. By far, the most popular part of the exhibit is the emersion booths along the edge of the landscaped crater where the Isolator once stood. You enter one of the spherical booths and press the blue button next to the door. The transparency of the booth fades and dims to the darkness of that night 196 years ago.

  #

  It is 12:01 AM on the 8th of August 2062; the only lights are those of the research facility, but there is the occasional flash of lightening in the distant clouds to the east. The 30 meter diameter ball of the Isolator sits on its single support structure like a golf ball; the ground before you is level on that night. Flood lights illuminate the Isolator and the wheeled stairway up which three people are climbing. An area of the booth to your left changes to the interior of the Isolator; an area to your right changes to the interior of the monitor building 500 meters away from the Isolator.

  Within that cramped space that is the control room of the Isolator, Doctor Richard Lake, Doctor Elizabeth Wooley, and Arnold Bellman take their seats. The control room of the monitor building is crowded with military and government representatives that are here to watch the first step to the stars. Colonel Edna Salazar commands the monitoring operation.

  “Okay, Dick, the hatch is sealed and the stairs are clear.”

  “Thanks Edna. Arny, how are you doing?”

  Arnold Bellman finished scanning the screens above his panel, “Accumulators are at 100 percent, batteries are charged, environmental systems are online, all thru-hulls are sealed, and we are ready to drop externals, Doc.”

  “Liz, how about you?”

  “AG system check is complete and is in stand-by mode. Circuit integrity check on the field generator is complete and ready to activate. Isolator control system is operating at 81 percent and holding. I believe we are ready to go, Richard.”

  “Okay, Liz; Edna, we’re ready.”

  “You have a go from here, Dick.”

  “Alright, here we go; switching to internal power.”

  Doctor Lake hit the switch that transferred power input to the internal battery systems. When a correct transfer was indicated, he reached for the next switch.

  “Dropping the external hook-ups.”

  Arny looked through the only thru-hull transparent port in the Isolator next to his panel to watch the external power cables drop away, “External connections are clear.” he confirmed.

  “Lifting now.”

  This command required a tap on the screen. It energized the lift ring that ran around the equator of the Isolator inside the hull. The anti-gravity effect lifted the Isolator 10 meters away from the ground support structure.

  The purpose of this experiment was to test the feasibility of isolating a spaceship from the limitations of Einstienian space-time. The math that indicated this possibility was a spin-off from the work done to develop the anti-gravity system that now removed the Isolator from any contact with other physical structures. The theorist’s consensus agreed with computer modeling, the projected effect would be a loss of EM, and possibly, visual contact when the isolator field generator was activated.

  Doctor Lake tapped on the screen again, “Dumping the accumulators.”

  Arny’s post was nearest the inner bulkhead that housed the generator system, “Doc, I’m getting some odd visual distortions near the--”

  #

  What happened at this point was estimated to be in the 100 kiloton range but lacked the thermal and radiation pulse and radioactive fallout of a classic nuclear event. The monitor building at 500 meters from the Isolator and the main Harrison-Lake campus at a distance of one kilometer were totally destroyed. The recordings that are presented in the emersion booths survived only because of the backup system in the third subbasement of the main building. Damage to surrounding communities drove the death toll to 652, and included 14 in a few of the taller buildings in Brownsville.

  Further experimentation into anything that resembled isolation theory was banned from the surface of the Earth with great haste. It took six years to build an orbital facility and begin experiments at the Sun-Earth L5 point, and another 37 years and five lives before the first controllable use of the Harrison-Lake Isolator Drive was accomplished.

  With the door now open, humanity exploded into the galaxy and found room and wealth beyond the wildest calculation. Thousands of Isolator ships were built and a thriving trade and transport system spread with the wave of humanity. Along the way, preconceptions fell away as no evidence of other intelligent life was found. Serious thought about what procedures would be followed at first contact faded into the giddy haze of exploration.

  When a scout ship from the frontier planet Archer found them, expansion in that sector just . . . stopped.

  Planet Archer - 3 June 2258 (Earth Standard) - 0852 hours (local)

  Admiral Governor-General Wills Reynolds took the stairs two and sometimes three at a time and emerged from the transit station with a smile on his face. Not bad for 86 Earth Standard years, he thought.

  The number three exit from the underground rail system faced Temple Bay across the broad expanse of the walkway that separated the core of Michigan City from the kilometers of black sand beaches surrounding the bay that had been formed by a massive volcano several million years ago. He walked to the heavy railing as he always did and breathed deeply of the crisp salt air that was carried by the on-shore breeze.

  There was a veritable fleet of the small Bailey-class catamarans already active in the bay this morning, and the brightly colored sails and hulls stood out sharply against the deep blues and greens of the bay waters. Just standing there soaking in the colors, the smell, the puffy clouds, and the warmth of the G4 primary through the cool breeze never failed to wrap his mind in a gentle isolation that excluded all worries--until his gaze wandered southward.

  The south end of Temple Bay was a short, rocky peninsula upon which the last colony ship to arrive at Archer, the Weasel, was parked, and had been for the last 15 standard years. It was a highly compressed, oblate spheroid, 500 meters in diameter, 200 meters high, and it destroyed the scenic view. The Rhinos were the biggest class of ships ever built that could land on a planet. They hauled big loads of colonists to the stars and were a classic example of no-frills transportation; they were not fast, they were not luxurious, and they were not pretty. What they were was cheap, easy to work on, and roomy with a normal passenger loading of 260,000 to 300,000. Amazingly, there had been no major accidents involving them, probably because they didn’t push the envelope in any direction.

  Sight of the Weasel brought Governor Reynolds out of
his reverie with an unpleasant jolt. “God, I’d love to get rid of that thing.” he said to himself--just like he always did.

  Turning toward the headquarters building abruptly reminded him of another irritant, and he pulled his sunglasses out of his sleeve pocket. The main core of Michigan City--buildings, railings, streets, and walkways--had all been built to a standard pattern from polymerized carbonate slurry that had been cast into needed shapes. The result was a material that was durable, fast and easy to work with, and looked like marble; it was white, and it glared in the sun.

  #

  Nanci Lang was sitting at the information desk, as usual, and got a happy expression when he came through the entrance, “Governor, do you know where the heavy wood construction equipment is stored? I have someone on the com that needs to lumber-up a stand of trees and says it’s not at Storage 2 where it used to be.”

  Wills walked around to the side of Nanci’s desk so he could see the screen and the face on it, “It was all moved out to the new poly-carb facility at the end of Track 8 a month ago. That looks to be the most likely location for a new housing project, and we needed the space at Storage 2 for other stuff.”

  The man on the screen brightened at the news, “Ah, that explains it. Okay, thanks Governor, I’ll run the logs over there.”

  Nanci cut the connection and turned to him, “So, how was your vacation?”

  He belonged to a flying club that built minimalist, old-style sailplanes out of modern materials; flying one was like sitting in the sky with nothing around you. He smiled and struck a heroic pose, “You are looking at the new altitude record holder of the Archer Eagles; I have full GPS verification of 20,166 meters above Mean Sea Level over the Piper Range.”

  Nanci did not like heights; her eyes got real wide at that number, “With all due respect Admiral Governor-General, Sir, you’re nuts.”

  It wasn’t like he had never heard similar sentiments when people found out what he did for “fun.” He laughed and headed down the hall to his office.

  #

  Commander Cicely Copeland was going through another box of old paper records in her continuing--and, seemingly, never ending--project to digitize the old paper records from the first years of the colonization of Archer.

  “Aren’t you finished with that stuff yet?” It was his standard question whenever he saw her reading papers.

  “Almost.” That was her standard reply.

  She lifted her head out of the box, “Did you crack the record?”

  He picked up one of the papers that were spread across the conference table, “Corn fertility rates for the north end of Sampson Valley - 2220.” He put the report back where he had found it. CeCe was anal about her self-inflicted project and he was careful not to tread on it no matter what he thought of it.

  “20,166 meters.”

  He crossed the large room to his office as CeCe threw a threat at his back, “You just wait until two months from now when I get out to Piper. I weigh 30 kilos less than you; I’ll own that record.”

  He stopped at the doorway and turned a narrow-eyed calculating look back at her, “Twenty kilos.”

  “Twenty-five!” was the defensive retort.

  He was still grinning as he slid aside the glass door that opened onto the patio above the picnic area facing the Bay.

  He turned back to his desk and called to CeCe, “Anything critical come up?”

  He already knew the answer to that; if anything critical had developed he would have been notified within minutes no matter where he was on the planet. But, it was part of a long established routine that had become more of a hopeful plea than a request for the daily list of activities and problems to solve.

  She wandered into his office and started tapping on her pad, “Just the usual weddings at weekend and the dedication of a winery on Marks Island in three days.”

  He brightened at that, “Oh, I’d forgotten about that. Send a memo around the building and schedule a floater to pick us up. Make sure the pilot doesn’t drink this time.”

  “Yes, sir. Also, the Building Board has put a hold on the T8 project. There doesn’t appear to be sufficient demand for a project of that size; seems that construction in the smaller population centers is enough for what is laughingly called our current growth rate.”

  She lowered the pad, “Since Forest, we’re a nice place to visit but no one wants to live here. I’ve heard Wexton-Hanna is relocating their branch to Barrimore.”

  Wills sat down facing the tranquil scene of Temple Bay and leaned back, “You can’t blame them; it’s a wonder they’ve hung on this long.”

  He swung his chair back toward CeCe, “So, how are Jeff and the kids?”

  She brightened as one of her favorite subjects came up, “Jeffery spends almost all of his time in his shop. He just got a big order from Earth for a conference table and forty matching chairs made of Archer Rosewood. Andy and Arlene are growing like weeds, running through the woods around the house like they were born there, and doing well in school. So far, so good.”

  After she had arrived on Archer as Lieutenant Cicely James, it didn’t take her long to start chewing on a young construction engineer and woodworker for his wanton destruction of the pristine woodlands of Archer. When he had finally managed to get a word in, he showed her that a tree only lives a certain number of years, and that a mature tree nearing the end of its life can be made into something of great beauty that can last another century or two. They were married a year later.

  Wills and CeCe just stared out the open glass wall for a minute, absorbing the beauty of the view and the silence that filled the building and grounds. Finally, Wills sat upright and pushed himself to his feet, “Well, I’ve put in my day at the office. I’m going to wander around town and see if I can find something that needs my attention. I suppose I’ll wind up at Stoker’s office and see if he has anything critical.”

  They both smiled at that; “critical” was a word used more in jest than in serious discussion for the last fifteen years. Wills almost made it to the office door when his pad started beeping. He stopped, stuck a finger in the air, and grinned, “Ooh, something critical; either that or my wife needs me to pick up something on the way home.”

  He pulled his com pad out of the belt pouch and flipped it open; his eyebrows went up, and he looked at CeCe, “It’s Stoker!”

  She moved closer as he accepted the call, “How’re things, Doc?”

  Doctor Roland Stoker had an anxious look on his face; it was the first time in the fourteen years that Doctor Stoker had been on Archer that Wills had seen that expression.

  “Governor, the Santana just broke out and transmitted the latest Forest Monitor recordings; you’d better get over here.”

  Years of being a figurehead governor of what had become a planetary backwater and mild tourist attraction slowed his response time, “Ahhh . . . something’s happened?”

  “Governor, we’re still analyzing the data, but it looks like it might be time.”

  His mind finally focused and a long unused sense of urgency and clarity took over, “I’ll be right there.” He snapped the pad shut and took off down the hallway at a run.

  “I’m coming too.” yelled CeCe, and took off after him.

  Nanci could only gape in surprise as they ran past her and out to the floater-bike parking area. She hadn’t seen anyone run in this building in--she couldn’t remember.

  Wills grabbed the nearest floater-bike, checked the charge, and unplugged it. He was swerving around the nearest tree as CeCe got to the next bike. Everyone they passed stared in surprise as the Governor and his top aide zipped through the city toward the spaceport well above the customary speed limit and over any stretch of open ground that shortened their route.

  #

  The buildings at the spaceport were made of the same faux marble as the rest of Michigan City. The non-standard addition attached to the back of the admin building housed Doctor Stoker’s team; it was the last thing constructed at the spac
eport.

  Wills found Doctor Stoker and the other three members of his team in the main analysis room staring at the large central screen where, what he recognized as a stellar function analysis from the Forest Solar Watch System, was displayed. He walked up next to Stoker who grunted in acknowledgement but said nothing. The display was saying it all.

  The bottom right of the screen had an emissions spectrum with a flashing red border. To the left was a looping ten hour magnetic field graphic. The scrolling data stream that covered the top of the screen looked almost normal--for Forest--but there were occasional red circled areas. What caught Wills’ attention was the emissions spectrum with the abnormal lines in the green and yellow regions.

  “Doc, is that carbon?”

  “Yes,” Doctor Stoker reached to point at a small area of the magnetic field graphic, “it came from here.”

  Aside from the usual dense magnetic lines displayed around the highly active sunspot environment of the G3 Forest primary, there was a small but extremely powerful magnetic field orbiting the star deep inside its photosphere.

  “Doc, how does a middle-aged G3 star with billions of years of hydrogen left start fusing carbon?”

  Doctor Stoker turned away from the display and sat on the edge of the nearest desk. He looked at Wills with a worried expression, “The Anomaly has dropped another 5,000 kilometers into the photosphere, and its magnetic field is starting to exert a local pinch that is enough to increase temperatures to the required level. But that isn’t the big problem.” He pointed at the magnetic line graphic, “Look carefully at the magnetogram.”

  The display of the roiling magnetic fields around the star was playing through a ten hour loop. Doc Stoker’s point was obvious; the Anomaly was dragging a massive magnetic disruption behind it as it orbited inside the photosphere in about 2.7 standard hours. Wills had seen dozens of these data displays in the last fifteen years; this one was frightening.

  He retrieved a dusty memory, turned to face Stoker, and repeated an oft rehearsed--but never used--formal statement, “Doctor Roland Stoker, under Article Six in the Statement of Procedures Regarding the Planet Forest and its Inhabitants, you have the authority to order all available resources on and around the stellar vicinity of the planet Archer to organize an immediate evacuation of Forest. Do you wish to invoke Article Six at this time?”