Overture

by Mark Wandrey

  As the report progressed, NASA relayed telemetry from both the interceptor part of Excalibur, now more than a million miles from LM-245, and from the missile platform only ten thousand miles away and closing at hundreds of miles per second.

  “We’re informed the missiles will launch any second,” the reporter stated. “This will occur in three parts. First, one missile will launch, aimed for a dead-center impact. Ten seconds later, two more will launch, aimed to impact on one side. NASA hopes the blast will create a shift in the asteroid’s course. Finally, the last missile will launch. It’s hoped this final missile will only need to impact a large piece left after the first three explosions. For this reason, it won’t launch until the last moment, 10 seconds prior to the platform encountering LM-245.”

  “Jesus,” Mindy said. Samantha and Alexis were there with her in her hotel room, along with a slightly older man named Jorge, who was on the inland logistics team. He moved equipment from the airport to the portal village. A month ago, he’d been driving trucks transporting nuclear fuel rods, so Mindy guessed he got this job because he already had clearance.

  “What?” Samantha asked, her hands spasmodically grasping and releasing the arm of the chair she sat in.

  “That last missile, just 10 seconds before impact. That’s point-blank firing.”

  “Yeah, but that’s easy for NASA, yes?” asked Jorge, his accent becoming more pronounced as he got more nervous.

  “They’ve never done something like this,” Mindy reminded them. They all knew she was a space expert, which was why they were there. Most of the village teams who slept in their hotel were blissfully unaware of exactly what this event meant. On the screen, there was a flash and the first missile flew away, momentarily whiting out the picture. Mindy could see the platform’s reaction jets firing to counter the rocket’s acceleration.

  “There it goes!” Alexis said, jumping off the couch and pointing.

  “Go, baby, go,” Mindy urged the missile under her breath. The image turned to the probe, still far away. A camera zoomed in enough for them to see the bright exhaust of the rocket as it boosted away. Mindy knew enough about the Minuteman III to tell that NASA had removed the first stage. They had designed it for liftoff and the nozzles would not be optimal for deep space flight. The second stage only burned for 20 seconds, and after ten the next two rockets launched simultaneously, one on each side of the platform.

  No more commentary came from her guests. Alexis remained standing. She had her left hand balled into a fist, and she was biting her thumb. Samantha balanced on the edge of the easy chair, her eyes wide, and her mouth hanging slightly open. Jorge was on the couch and looked like he was watching a gripping TV show rather than a life and death live broadcast. Mindy sat on the bed, trying to remain calm, but filled with dread. Among those in her profession, there wasn’t much doubt that something had diverted LM-245. Those who knew about the portals were aware the situation was more sinister than everyone else imagined. Opinions varied from competing aliens trying to kill or save humanity. Mindy tried to avoid guesses. Astronomers preferred facts, and those missiles were hard facts.

  “The first impact and detonation should occur in seconds,” the announcer said. The image from the platform went black, replaced by a NASA/JPL logo. “The camera on the platform has been intentionally shut off to avoid damage from the nuclear bomb’s flash.” The view from the probe returned. Three little white pinpoints moved across the vast blackness of deep space. “We’ll let you listen to the feed from NASA.”

  “Alpha is on track,” another voice said in that familiar, informative tone the NASA mission controllers always seemed to have. “Detonation in three, two,” There was a brilliant flash as the first weapon detonated. “We have a detonation,” the controller said. The screen blanked out as the flash became too bright. “We’ll reacquire telemetry from the probe any second.” Time passed. As soon as the image returned, there were two flashes and it was gone again. “Secondary diverter weapons have detonated. Standby, we are reviewing telemetry.”

  The telemetry appeared on the screen. Mindy knew they’d show it because charts and graphs were reassuring to the public. However, unlike the public, she could understand a lot of the data. The central track was the asteroid’s course. A blue line followed it, with detonations marked to indicate effects. Multiple deviations existed as ‘expected results.’ The track of the asteroid appeared completely unchanged.

  “We have a lot of backscatter from debris,” the NASA commentator reported. The TV anchorman quickly cut the feed.

  “It appears NASA is saying the asteroid has been damaged.” He stopped talking so the audience could hear the expert.

  “We have confirmation of a debris cloud. T-minus 20 seconds to final launch.”

  “NASA determined the first three rockets were insufficient and are going to try one more time.” The view returned to the probe. The picture was blurry with debris from three huge nuclear detonations. In the center was the asteroid, only it didn’t look like it used to. It was now a gleaming point, reflecting the sunlight. “We’re not sure what the flashing is,” the commentator continued, “perhaps the asteroid is on fire.”

  “In space?” Jorge said with a laugh. Mindy nodded in agreement; the idea was ludicrous.

  The camera the probe was using to observe the asteroid changed, and a better view popped up. It centered on the platform with its sole remaining missile. On the screen in Mindy’s room, it looked like a child’s Lego spacecraft. NASA came back over the audio.

  “T-minus 5…4…3…2…ignition.” On the TV, the final Minuteman III ignited and streaked away from the platform. “We have target acquisition.” The camera flipped to the wider view. The asteroid was more visible, the debris cloud expanding in vacuum at an incredible rate. The missile impacts had transformed the asteroid. It looked like a gleaming wedge, or dart, slowly spinning. The sunlight seemed to scintillate on the surface. It had become something very different, and imminently more sinister.

  “What the fuck is it?” Samantha asked, giving voice to what millions were wondering. Mindy opened her mouth to say something when there was a flash. It was like a green lightning bolt. A brilliant stutter of light connected the asteroid to the missile, which was only detectable by the glowing exhaust plume. There were half a dozen flashes in the space of a single heartbeat, and the missile became a rolling ball of fire. In an instant, the void quenched the explosion.

  “Something appears to have happened,” the commentator said. The green lightning flashed again, this time targeting the empty missile platform. It fell apart like a dandelion blown by a child, a thousand pieces spinning away. Then the nearly expended booster motors fired for a split second. A moment later, NASA cut its feed, and left the commentator staring at the camera, slack jawed. “We…we’re waiting to get some indication of what we just saw from NASA.”

  “Did the asteroid shoot down that missile?” Alexis asked.

  “It isn’t an asteroid, is it?” Jorge said. They sat in silence for long moments while the anchorman made sad noises. “Is it?” Jorge pleaded. After a few moments, the special coverage ended, and the network returned to a preempted morning talk show. The subject matter of the day was the high price of summer swimwear, and it was painfully obvious that the hosts were unaware of what had just happened.

  * * *

  Much to Mindy’s surprise, no one wanted to talk about the morning’s events on the way to work, or after they arrived, either. Even her new friends, Alexis and Samantha, walked in a sullen silence and, as soon as they arrived, became completely engrossed in work that had only consumed a small percentage of their time the day before. Denial is the first stage, she thought as they avoided her gaze.

  Mindy had more than enough to occupy her mind. She had only begun to learn about her new job, a boring operation which required her to acquire items and have them moved to various storage facilities on Manhattan. This left her a lot of time to do other things, such as analyzing numbers
she’d seen on the Excalibur intercept hours before.

  The telemetry data chart stayed up until NASA cut their feed, so there was a lot of data there. She found images of it on the internet. The versions people had recorded and posted matched the numbers she memorized almost perfectly. Using that data, she created a profile of the asteroid’s reaction to the three nuclear detonations.

  Nothing. That was the reaction. There hadn’t been enough movement to register. It didn’t surprise her that the head-on impact had no effect. In fact, she was amazed NASA had tried such a maneuver. It smacked of desperation, pure crazy, or both. By her estimates, hitting a 2-trillion-ton asteroid with a megaton of force, placed perfectly, only yielded a delta-v of 0.4-0.5m/s. Even if they achieved the best scenario of 0.5m/s, it would take two and a half months to change the point of impact by half a planetary diameter, changing a direct hit to a near miss. LM-245 was due to hit Earth in 11 days.

  It appeared that NASA had been trying for demolition—blow the asteroid into pieces and hope a lot of it burned up—but, they hadn’t known the composition of the asteroid before attacking it. She circled back to desperate or crazy. She was leaning toward the former.

  The biggest problem she had was not knowing what happened after they cut the feed. The nuclear assault was only the first part of their plan; the second part was landing the probe and using it to boost the asteroid.

  “Asteroid,” she said. That was the real issue. It wasn’t an asteroid. It looked more like a needle, a dart, or an arrow head. It was shiny, like liquid metal or polished steel. The connection to the portal was undeniable. The fact that NASA cut the feed was further validation. She considered sending an email to Osgood or Skinner, then decided against it as it probably wasn’t a good move. All she could do was wait.

  * * *

  Volant looked at the email he’d just received. Outside his command post in the camp, the sun was already below Central Park West. The sounds of sirens never went away now; the city was on a low boil, even with all traffic onto and off the island restricted to public transportation. Since the broadcast that morning, the entire nation was holding its breath. In times of crisis the government usually made soothing announcements on the TV or radio. “Don’t Panic.” “Everything is under control.” This time, there was utter silence. He hadn’t seen Osgood or Skinner since yesterday. NASA had just face planted in front of the entire world. Worse, they’d just televised what looked like humanity’s first space battle, and it looked like mankind lost.

  The email contained five words: “Operation Bifrost is a go.” That was it, then. There was no going back. He laughed and shut the laptop screen. He had stocked the little fridge in his trailer with ice-cold imported beer. He grabbed one, popped the top with a church key hanging on the fridge, and took a long swig. He savored the brew as it cooled his insides, taking a moment to enjoy the pleasure the simple act gave him. He knew there weren’t going to be many more moments like this in the next 11 days.

  “Here’s to you,” he said, raising the beer toward space. “Here’s to asteroids and fucking aliens.” There was a tap on his door. “Yeah?” he asked. The door popped open, and a junior agent stuck his head in.

  “Director, NASA is having a press conference.” Volant grunted, put the beer down and grabbed the remote control on his desk. The agent closed the door as the TV came on. Volant didn’t have to search for it, it was on every channel. A handsome middle-aged man was in the middle of his spiel, a huge monitor behind him showing blurry images from earlier that day.

  “—we can understand why the broadcasts from the Excalibur probe may have been confusing, even misleading to some. We’ve never photographed a live nuclear detonation in space, let alone multiple.”

  Volant laughed out loud and took a drink. He admired the sheer gall it took to try and put the shit back in the horse after what a billion people saw hours ago. The image behind the reporter changed and the man pointed with a stylus.

  “We’ve been analyzing the data, and we now believe what you are seeing is nickel iron from LM-245 which was flash-melted by a nuclear detonation. Further, some very powerful gamma ray bursts were reflected back at the missile launching system.” The screen showed the shiny object, though not nearly as clearly as before. He remembered it had shape in the original broadcast; he’d thought it looked like a needle. “The burst of highly energized radiation we saw likely triggered the detonation of the final Minuteman III’s warhead.” Volant finished his beer and dug out another. He wished he had some popcorn.

  “What about the probe?” he heard a reporter yelling over the din of the other reporters. “Did it land on the asteroid as planned?” Volant again admired the stagecraft underway. It was no accident the public could hear that reporter.

  “Yes,” the speaker said. The image changed to a highly pixilated view of a rocky, pocked, and strangely twisted alien landscape. “The nuclear blasts generated a great deal of radiation, so we are having difficulty getting clear telemetry from the probe. However, we do know it landed and locked down, and is firing its engine.”

  “Will it succeed?” Another voice managed to penetrate the cacophonous roar of the crowd. “Can it save Earth?”

  “We believe there is a good chance. The initial detonations imparted more than five meters per second of delta-v. That wasn’t enough to push the asteroid off course sufficiently. However, with the additional thrust of the Excalibur probe’s ion engine, we think we’re going to make it.” The unseen crowd of reporters loudly called out questions. Volant sipped his beer and listened, becoming increasingly certain there were no actual reporters present at the press conference. The man held up his hands and it got quiet far too quickly. “We’ll know more in 48 hours, after we’ve observed the data and seen how LM-245 responds to the thrust.”

  The image switched to an anchorwoman in NYC who began her obligatory review of what they’d been listening to. Volant flicked the TV off and glanced at his computer. He had major concerns about whether this ploy would buy them a few hours. He knew there were multiple power bases that would make a play for the portal. He answered to one of those groups. NASA, under Skinner represented another. Volant finished his second beer and opened his laptop to start sending emails. The object heading for Earth was a beautiful, fragile machine spinning faster and faster. He didn’t intend to be one of those who was here after it was all over, because it looked like there wouldn’t be anything left.

  * * *

  Osgood finished the beer he’d been nursing while reading the reports from Houston. If anything, the filtered telemetry was much worse than what the world saw on TV. He shook his head thinking about it. What fool considered it a good idea to televise, live, the most decisive event in human history? Even a 20-minute delay would have been enough. But no, they had to broadcast it live.

  As the report said, the probe was on the surface of LM-245 and thrusting at maximum output. For more than 12 hours, the prototype ion propulsion drive had pushed with considerable force, driven by the probe’s nuclear power cell. What the televised report didn’t say was that officials already knew the result of the probe’s efforts. Nothing.

  The motor produced a steady, appreciable amount of thrust. Even at the largest estimates of the asteroid’s weight, the probe should have imparted some measurable amount of delta-v. But, there was no sign of movement. How could it be worse? The nuclear weapons hadn’t imparted any either. Several megatons of force, all direct hits, hadn’t managed to shift the rock even a tenth of a meter per second. He flipped to the data page and read the estimates. To have shown no response to the explosions, the asteroid would have had to weigh more than a hundred trillion tons. The data page also had several high-definition, false-color images of the asteroid, or rather, what was inside the asteroid.

  Radar images of the debris showed the missiles had blown away billions of tons of rock, revealing the core. It looked like a top, or a needle, or any number of other things. None of those should have been inside an asteroid
floating around the solar system since its creation. It was shiny, perfectly shaped, and ominous, especially since all those trillions of tons were in an object no more than a mile long, and eight hundred to a thousand feet wide.

  “Neutronium,” he said, surprising himself with a word that was nowhere in the report. No one at NASA would risk their career to suggest such a thing. Yet, what else that small could weight so much? He put aside the last of the report, the section that talked about the destruction of the platform. It concluded that the green flashes were high energy lasers, or perhaps particle beams. “Asteroid,” he snorted. It wasn’t a damned asteroid. “We’ve been murdered,” he said, putting the beer down and standing up to stretch.

  The sun was just setting outside; it was later than he thought. The light from inside the portal dome cast a circle across the metallic grating the army put down when the grass started turning to mud. He walked across to the dome, unconsciously holding up his pass for the two NSA agents to scan with their ID wands. They beeped, assuring the soldiers he was indeed who he appeared to be, and he passed inside. No one was in the dome. A couple of computer screens glowed with charts and graphs, and a plethora of empty cups and bowls on the tables were the sole signs that anyone had been there recently.

  Osgood crossed to just below the dais and looked at the pearly surface. “Compared to the asteroid artifact, you are a simple mystery,” he said. “Of course, you’re linked. Only a fool would think otherwise.” The portal remained silent. He grunted and walked over to glance at the computer display. It was another laser reflective study on the dais. The materials team continued to doggedly try and understand the mechanisms of the portal. The dome wall, a few feet away, suddenly glowed, revealing his shadow. He jumped slightly and turned.