by Paul G White
Shenna sighed. “Humans are so similar to the Sha’lee,” she opined. “Many who were offered the opportunity to explore the galaxy had no wish to leave Sha’lee’an. I sense that it is the same with humans, but I believe we shall be able to crew the Comora many times over with people who have the necessary skills. At this moment, Captain Lessil is drawing up a list of the professions he would like to have on board – I believe, very much in line with the make-up of the original complement of his ship. And although,” she added with a smile, “the human skills and professions are likely to differ somewhat from those of Sha’lee’an, in essence they will be the same. During the journey we all, both Sha’lee and human, will have much to learn from each other.”
“I can’t argue with that’,” Makeman told her with a grin.
*
Jean-Luc Gossart sat beside his younger sister, Emilie between their parents, Paul and Hilary. Across a strangely-shaped desk in the spacious office sat Shenna and Phil Makeman. Jean-Luc’s gaze seemed fixated upon the tiny, slim figure of Shenna. His parents wore troubled frowns; they had accepted the Sha’lee invitation to journey to the stars aboard the Comora on the promise that their son would receive treatment to cure his autism, but now they were entertaining second thoughts. To their knowledge, there was no such treatment available on Earth and they wished to ensure that any alien medical procedures were viable for human beings and would not leave Jean-Luc worse off than before.
“We can appreciate your concern,” Makeman assured them, “but I was present when Captain Lessil was successfully operated on here on this ship. At the time of the disaster long ago, the captain was thrown about by the tidal wave and suffered pretty severe brain damage, which necessitated his being placed in cold sleep in order to save his life. When our friends began the revival process, there was an area of our captain’s brain that required surgery. An injection of specially programmed surgical nanomachines solved the problem and now Captain Lessil is fully recovered.” Makeman smiled. “Mr and Mrs Gossart, Jean-Luc will be in the very best of hands. Our Sha’lee friends have surgical techniques way in advance of current human levels, and Hela will monitor the whole procedure as if Jean-Luc were one of her own.”
Hilary Gossart raised her eyebrows a fraction. “Hela? Who is Hela?”
A soft voice answered from all around, “I am Hela, and I am the Comora’s artificial intelligence. I ensure that all the ship’s systems work flawlessly.”
Makeman added with a certain pride, “As she has done for sixty-five million years.”
Without taking his eyes off Shenna, Jean-Luc asked the tiny Sha’lee astronomer in English, “What are surgical nanomachines?”
“I think Hela can show you better than I can, Jean-Luc,” Shenna replied. “Hela?”
“Yes, Astronomer Shenna.”
“Please demonstrate for everyone, in words and images from normal to microscopic, what nanomachines are and what they can do.”
A hologram formed in the middle of Captain Lessil’s desk, depicting a syringe filled with a greyish liquid. The image expanded until they were looking at a multitude of swirling dots; Hela’s calm tones provided a continuous explanation of what they were seeing. The process of expansion continued until the dots resolved into tiny shapes, each with appendages of varying shape. Eventually, the hologram focused on one of the nanomachines, which expanded to fill the whole surface of the desk. There were four arms attached to a rounded body: a clamp; a laser; and two simple propulsion mechanisms. Hela explained that the form of the nanomachines would vary, dependent upon the required function.
Paul Gossart whistled through his teeth. “And these machines operated on Captain Lessil? Do they remain in his body?” He was imagining the ship’s captain weighted down with microscopic metallic machines.
Hela chuckled, and the Gossarts found it a little strange that an artificial intelligence could possess a sense of humour. “No, Paul Gossart, the nanomachines are programmable biological entities, which quickly degrade and pass from the system by normal processes once their task is complete.
But Gossart was still worried. “All your experience with these nanomachines is in relation to Sha’lee, no?”
“Yes.”
Shenna caught the sense of worry in Paul Gossart’s thoughts and she interceded. “I am a medic, Mr Gossart, and nothing will be done unless I am present. Hela has mapped and recorded many human brains and nervous systems within the confines of this ship, including that of Jean-Luc. As a precaution, she has also mapped all his family, especially the child, Emilie for comparison purposes, and she is confident that Jean-Luc’s condition will hold no surprises. She has identified certain anomalies in Jean-Luc’s brain and is confident that the surgical and neurological nanomachines will produce a complete cure for his condition. In fact—” she hesitated, “—in fact his telepathic ability will improve considerably as a by-product of the operation. He will become a perfectly normal boy – perhaps even better than normal.”
Paul and Hilary Gossart regarded each other for a few moments and Hilary nodded. “Do you wish this operation, Jean-Luc?” Paul asked his son.
“Yes, Papa. Yes, Mama.” He stared fiercely at Shenna. “I am ready.”
The rows of cold sleep units were empty and dormant as they entered the huge room. The nearest rows were dominated by the small number of units designated for the ship’s captain and his officers, but any one of the hundreds of units filling the spacious enclosure could double as a medical environment. All contained the necessary life support, and the sensors of each one were connected to the nervous system of the Comora – and, therefore, to Hela.
“Which unit would you like to use, Jean-Luc?” Shenna asked the boy, who was staring in open-mouthed amazement at the row upon row of shiny ovoid bubbles.
Jean-Luc prised his fingers from his mother’s firm gasp and walked over and placed his hand on the unit which stood on a plinth, raised slightly above the level of all the others. “This one.”
“A good choice,” Shenna announced. “That is Captain Lessil’s personal cold sleep environment. Hela will now prepare a charge of nanomachines for the operation.” Shenna was silent for a moment before continuing, “You will experience no pain, Jean-Luc, but you will sleep while the nanomachines work to restructure your brain. We will be here by your side when you awaken tomorrow morning. Do you have any questions?”
Jean-Luc shook his head.
“Then please enter the sleep unit whilst the nanomachines are being prepared.”
The lid of the unit rose towards the vertical and Paul Gossart helped his son climb inside. Hilary fussed around the other side of the unit trying to make Jean-Luc comfortable, but the padding had already moulded itself to her son’s exact form. Soothing vibrations within the unit eased the young patient into a deep and dreamless sleep.
A door dilated and Astronomer Parel entered the cold sleep room.
Paul Gossart’s eyebrows raised infinitesimally in query.
“I am a second medic for the procedure,” Parel assured him. “Hela, is the injection prepared?”
In reply a receptacle opened in the base of the unit, displaying two syringes of grey liquid. Parel took one of the syringes and handed the other to his mate, Shenna, who walked around to the other side of the unit and stood beside the patient’s head.
In a synchronised movement, they each touched their syringe to Jean-Luc’s neck behind and below his ears, and the charges of nanomachines entered his flesh. Jean-Luc’s eyes moved rapidly behind his lids for a few seconds and then stilled.
“Now we must wait until tomorrow,” Shenna announced.
“In that case, I will stay with him until he awakens,” Hilary replied.
Paul Gossart placed his arm around their daughter. “We will stay, also.”
Phil Makeman grinned. “I’ll have someone bring you some food and something comfortable to sleep on. It’s a long time until morning.”
At 06:05 Phil Makeman and Shenna were awakened by H
ela with the news that Jean-Luc was minutes from regaining consciousness following his operation. They each dressed quickly and met at the entrance to the cold sleep area at 06:20. Phil peered inside the spacious room and saw Jean-Luc’s parents and younger sister fast asleep in their day clothes on temporary beds, close to Jean-Luc’s sleep unit.
Phil stepped out of line of sight and asked Hela to wake the sleepers but not the patient. A soft tone issued from the air around them and they stirred. Finally Hilary sat up as Phil knocked and entered with Shenna by his side.
“Did you sleep well?” Shenna enquired.
“Thank you, yes,” Hilary replied. “The temporary arrangements were surprisingly comfortable.”
Shenna smiled. “Hela has informed us that Jean-Luc is ready to awaken and all her monitors indicate that the procedure was successful. Before Jean-Luc awakens, do you wish to freshen up?”
Paul Gossart gave the tiny Sha’lee a look of approval. “You are very kind. The first time our son sees us with unclouded eyes and mind, we should be at our best.”
Makeman showed them to a washing facility and demonstrated the alien plumbing. Minutes later all three returned to Jean-Luc’s bedside feeling eminently presentable. “We’re ready,” Hilary announced.
Jean-Luc’s eyelids fluttered momentarily and then his eyes opened. He gazed around, with eyes that were afire with animation that had been absent all his life. His gaze fell on his family, and he said, “Hello Mama . . . Papa. Hello Emilie. I am very thirsty; can I have some water, please?”
Hilary Gossart immediately burst into tears and leaned into the sleep unit to hug her son. “Is it safe for Jean-Luc to sit up?” she asked Shenna.
“Hela is confident that your son is completely recovered,” she replied. “He is free to step out of the sleep unit as soon as it is low enough.”
The shiny ovoid unit slowly sank to the level of its raised plinth and the youngster waited until its motion ceased before alighting.
Makeman handed Jean-Luc a beaker of pink liquid. “Drink this,” he said, “it will give you an appetite. Then we’ll go to the ship’s refectory and get some breakfast. I’ll bet everyone else is ready for something to eat.” He glanced at the boy’s family; their expressions mirrored their joy at seeing Jean-Luc whole, both physically and mentally. I’m fortunate, indeed, he thought, to be part of the Sha’lee Resurrection.
And Jean-Luc smiled as he intercepted the thought with a totally clear mind. So am I, he said in his mind, and Phil Makeman grinned as he and Shenna led them to the Comora’s refectory.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Pan-STARRS Telescope Array, Mount Haleakalā, Maui, Hawaii 20th March 2029, 2.03am
Terri Costigan stared at the series of images, tracking a tiny point of light at four positions in its orbit around the sun, each separated by a period of two hours and a little over two-hundred thousand kilometres. She ran the sequence back to the previous night and entered a complex series of instructions into the computer to plot a projected course for twenty-four hours hence. Carefully, she overlaid the resulting images and swore softly at what she saw. Everything she knew told her that the images should coincide; but the actual position was at variance from the previously calculated orbit by a small, but measurable factor. Terri picked up the phone beside her station and pressed a sequence of numbers.
The sleepy voice of Project Chief, Carl Hanson, issued from the earpiece. “Carl here. This had better be important at two-thirty in the morning.”
Terri took a deep breath. “I think you ought to get over here, Carl. I think there may be a problem with 99942 Apophis, because current scans are showing a change of course. I haven’t had time to run the figures through the mainframe to predict how it will affect 99942’s near-Earth passage, but I think you might have to reallocate telescope and computer time so we can see what’s happening for sure.”
Hanson was instantly awake. 99942 Apophis was a three-hundred and twenty-five-metre wide asteroid, which was scheduled to pass within twenty-thousand miles of Earth on Friday 13th April, twenty-four days hence. Even the slightest alteration in its orbit held the potential to change a ‘near-miss’ fly-by to certain impact with Earth . . . or a miss by an even wider margin than anticipated. An impact anywhere on Earth by the four hundred megaton asteroid could kill millions, perhaps even billions, of human beings and send civilisation into chaos.
“Check everything you know so far,” he told the astronomer, “and I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”
Gill Hanson, raised herself sleepily onto one elbow on her pillow. “Problems, Carl?”
Hanson leaned over and gave her a peck on her forehead. “Nothing for you to worry about, Hon. Just a couple of technical problems at the array, and I should be back before breakfast.” No sense in alarming his wife at this early stage, especially since nothing had been checked and verified yet.
He was still pulling a fleece over his head as he scurried down the low steps of his home to his battered twenty-year-old Jeep Cherokee, which stood on the driveway in front of his garage. Hanson waved the ignition key in the general direction of the Cherokee and pressed the button to open the doors, and as the ‘plip’ sounded he wrenched open the driver’s door and climbed in. Slotting the key in the ignition, he fired up the big four-litre diesel and engaged ‘drive’. He was already rolling into the dark roadway as he snapped his safety belt into position and toggled the headlights.
“I hope to God, Terri’s made some kind of mistake,” he growled to himself as he hit the accelerator and headed out, at swiftly increasing pace, on the half-hour journey to the Pan-STARRS array.
In his heart he hoped that the young astronomer had misread the situation in some way, but his head told him that such a scenario was extremely unlikely. Terri Costigan had already proved herself to be a talented and reliable member of the Pan-STARRS team, and had so far displayed no tendency towards error in her work. He spent the whole of the journey thinking about how a multi-megaton asteroid could have changed course, and by the time he arrived at the peak of Mount Haleakalā, he had reached the conclusion that the only agent could have been a collision with an undetected, perhaps smaller, asteroid. Even so, he had no intention of accepting Terri Costigan’s discovery until he had verified it himself, by both observation and computation.
His headlights lit up the light dusting of snow around the four telescope domes as Hanson pulled into his parking space, and he was instantly glad that he’d had the foresight to don the fleece as protection against the cold. Even though Maui was in the tropics, the night air could be bitterly cold at an elevation of more than three-thousand metres. As with all large reflector telescopes, the interiors of the domes were kept at ambient temperature to avoid image degradation, caused by the formation of a boundary layer of warmer air over the optical surface of the mirrors. Although he would be working in a more comfortable environment, separate from the great optical telescopes themselves, Hanson suspected that at some time during the next few hours he would have to leave the relative warmth of the astronomers’ work suite to carry out equipment checks. The whole affair was too important to leave even the slightest detail to chance.
Terri Costigan looked up from her work as Hanson pushed open the door and entered the computer suite. “Sorry about the call-out, Carl,” she apologised, “but I’m sure you’ll understand why I wasn’t prepared to take any chances in the circumstances.”
Hanson grunted non-committedly and reached for a small stack of printouts on the desk beside his colleague. “These the latest positions of Apophis?”
“Yes. I’ve been imaging every five minutes since I called you, and comparing each new image with the previous known orbit. It’s not looking good. As you can see here on the latest image, 99942 is more than fifty arc seconds away from its anticipated course. I’ve begun to track the asteroid back to the point of course change but I haven’t got there yet. When I do, I should be able to calculate a new orbit . . . but I’ll need someone to do back-up wo
rk on the data.”
“Leave that to me. I’ll get in touch with Jeff Tollemeyer at Siding Springs. He’s got the whole night ahead of him.” Hanson consulted an electronic memo pad and keyed a number into the satellite phone. He waited impatiently for more than twenty seconds and then said, “Jeff Tollemeyer, Siding Springs?” The answer was affirmative and Hanson continued, “Carl Hanson at Pan-STARRS. Yeah, it’s good to know you’re not still drunk from the last shindig we attended.” He winced and stared into the earpiece of the phone. “It’s lucky I didn’t have you on speakerphone, my friend,” he cautioned, “’cause I have a lady here with me.” He listened to the reply for a few seconds more and then interrupted the flow. “Look, Jeff,” he said, “I can’t stop to trade insults. There’s more important business cooking . . . yeah . . . OK. Tell me, you’re on duty something after twenty-one hundred hours your time, aren’t you? Yes? We need you to run a thorough check on 99942 Apophis. Yes . . . it looks like there’s been a fairly radical change of orbit. No . . . can’t say exactly when, but it’s currently more than fifty arc seconds away from its calculated position.”
Terri heard Tollemeyer’s whistle issue from the telephone, followed by an incredulous, “You sure about that, Mate?”
“Nothing’s precise at the moment, Jeff, although one of my staff has been monitoring the situation since the early hours. I can email you all the data and images we’ve accumulated so far, if you feel it’ll help . . . you think so? Right, it’ll be on its way within ten minutes.”
Hanson listened for a few more seconds then said, “Yeah, you too, Jeff. And I’ll look forward to the next shindig.” He dropped the handset into its rack and added darkly, “If there is one after April thirteenth."
Siding Springs was the first of a number of telescope facilities Hanson contacted over the next two hours. Finally, he dropped the telephone into the rack, looked at the large wall clock and sighed. The clock had reached almost five forty. “Well, Terri,” he groaned, “so much for my promise to be home for breakfast. Can you rustle up a couple of mugs of coffee?”