Oceanworlds

  “My body is lighter and—”

  “No, Tweety—Commander. The decision was agreed a week ago and it’s final.”

  The mission never considered an emergency that could require tossing Shackleton before Earth’s re-entry. It was too much outside the scope of what was reasonable. And even so, each of the Dragons allowed the mounting of up to five seats. Caird had two and the other carried three. But then again, the mission never considered it would lose one of them the way it did …

  Sergei helped to fasten Sophia into her seat.

  He glanced at the improvised webbing attached to the floor fast enough for Sophia not to notice. The beating will be brutal—but at least it will keep the 220-pound mass of flesh, me, from free-floating inside Caird. The contraption would secure him to the capsule’s floor. Or that’s the plan at least. This wasn’t to prevent a collision with the other two passengers but to avoid shifting the vehicle’s center of mass. Because once Caird entered the atmosphere, the steering needed to save the capsule from burning would be that of a surfer riding a mammoth wave: minimal, precise, with no margin for error. As for the moment of impact … it will be a car crash without a seatbelt.

  “See you two in a minute,” Sergei said, as he climbed out of Caird.

  The override of the safety procedure meant Shackleton’s hatch was already open to space. Within seconds Sergei disengaged Caird from the mechanical arm—too safe, meaning too slow, for this emergency separation. Using his right hand to push against it, he slowly drove the five tons of hardware with minor bumping past the cargo door.

  The familiarity of the South Pacific Ocean, which he had flown over thousands of times before, did not detract from it being the most ravishing and anticipated sight of his life. I’m home. Well, almost. The soft yellow reflection of the Sun on the ocean while the whole planet reeled under him, or the flat clouds of all shapes and sizes that formed their own shadow on the waters below, made it look like ice fragments expelled from Antarctica. He was no longer a cosmonaut but a 23-year-old Russian Federation Air Force lieutenant feeling the vertigo before jumping out as paratrooper for the first time.

  The reverie was cut short when Sergei felt Shackleton’s quivering as it started to interact with the still ultra-thin atmosphere. Damn! We should have separated already.

  Sergei clung to Caird’s hull, his sole connection to life, and using his legs propelled the capsule and himself away from Shackleton.

  As he accessed the capsule’s inside, he heard Sophia scream. He turned to see Shackleton rushing toward them.

  KOLKATA, INDIA

  There was no practical reason for most of the 68,000 people crowding the Eden Gardens cricket stadium to be there. For the majority, the single screen at the opposite end of the grandstand looked smaller than a smartphone display and at an angle. But as with thousands of other stadiums around the world, people had flocked to it in search of community.

  A clang shut off Caird’s live transmission.

  The entire stadium gasped.

  Seconds later the broadcast resumed, replacing Caird’s fisheye view of the three passengers with a confused frenzy at Mission Control.

  After two harrowing minutes, one controller shouted to Nitha Sharma, “FLIGHT, I have Caird on the line!”

  The atmosphere had thumped the two spaceships against one another. All critical systems seemed normal except for Caird’s long-range antenna. For the moment, Caird and Mission Control were communicating by relay through Shackleton.

  The stadium screen showed Nitha rushing over to CAPCOM’s desk and murmuring, “And what happens when Shack disintegrates?” while the world eavesdropped.

  Given Caird’s circumstances and speed, its re-entry trajectory was unplanned and impossible to predict. The only way for the rest of the world to know where they would touch down was via radio. Without it the capsule would become the proverbial needle in the giant South Pacific Ocean haystack.

  After minutes of riveting brainstorming in front of the world—in the form of shouting and verbal sparring between mission specialists—CAPCOM summarized the situation, “Their signal reach is that of a cellphone, maybe fifty miles in open sky if we’re lucky. If all airplanes tune to the S Band in the 2.52 to 2.67 GHz frequency, well, we could create a synthetic worldwide telecom web. And then if an airplane intercepts their communication, we can use it as a triangulation device to figure out their approximate landing area …”

  “That’s an awful lot of ifs,” said Nitha.

  UPPER ATMOSPHERE

  “What do you see, Tweety?” Sergei asked, flat against the floor and bundled in webbing between the two seats.

  Sophia strained her neck to see through one window. “Blue. Unvarying blue except for some cloud ribbons—wait, I see a thin strip of white at the very end …”

  “Antarctica,” he said. This is not great, he thought. This is very far from great. They were at about seventy-five miles of altitude, still well above the Karman line, the arbitrarily defined edge of space. Their vantage point covered hundreds of miles in all directions and yet everything Sophia was seeing was liquid or frozen water. Cut off from the world and falling into the ocean all but guarantees being lost, drifting forever. If Yi was here, the absurdity of the situation would not have escaped him. Another thing troubling him was the thump against Shackleton. It was slow—yes but what’s worse? Being hit by one hundred tennis balls at 160 mph or a train at 3 mph? It was slow but Shack’s twenty times heavier than Caird. If the ablative shield suffered damage, we’re toast.

  As it began diving into the atmosphere at 8.2 miles per second, Caird shattered the record for the fastest re-entry speed ever achieved by a man-made object. Within seconds the scant air molecules thickened and the capsule started vibrating. The gentleness degenerated faster than Sergei expected into a spinning earthquake. He couldn’t see Sophia’s face but her limbs shuddered as if undergoing electric shock. Meanwhile, Shackleton—entering the atmosphere out of position—was probably breaking up. So long, Shack, you get to be buried in the sky—

  “Is this normal!?” shouted Sophia.

  Before he could answer, giant sledgehammers started raining down on Caird from all directions. The g-forces became brutal and the makeshift webbing keeping him in place felt like piano wire as his body strained against it. The wrenching in multiple directions was pummeling their bodies, accelerating their bones faster than their flesh. Like watching a punch to a boxer’s face in slow motion. He grew distressed thinking about Derya. His heart and internal organs are being battered by his own ribcage.

  The tumbling lessened as the air drag stabilized the capsule, but the g-force surged well past the worst he had ever experienced, his vision blurred, and he quickly forgot about Derya as his body entered survival mode. Their speed was such that the air slamming into Caird bounced backward and collided with more air, heating it to 4,000 degrees Fahrenheit, 40 percent of the Sun’s surface temperature, breaking apart the chemical bonds in air molecules and creating an electrically charged plasma surrounding the vehicle. The sparks flashing past the windows soon became a torrent of fire turning them opaque and then completely black. Sergei smelled smoke. Something has gone awfully wrong.

  And then the crushing compression gradually eased, the drogue parachute eventually deployed, and deceleration gave way to gravity.

  At four miles high the three main parachutes unfurled, whipping and spinning Caird. The jumping up and down stabilized and the capsule soon hung tautly. The canopies had slowed down the descent to thirteen miles per hour. Six minutes until touchdown.

  Sergei’s head spun and a crippling lumbago settled in. “Is he still breathing?” he slurred. He noticed the burned layers covering the windows had partially peeled off, allowing blinding daylight inside.

  Seconds went by before Sophia replied, “Yes.”

  The silence of exhaustion settled over Caird—Sergei could hear the breeze outside—but there was no time to waste. He counted to fifteen twice before mustering his st
rength.

  “Tweety, what are you seeing outside the window?” And after a few quiet seconds passed, “Tweety! I need you back here. Focus. There’s no time.”

  “Ocean … we won’t land, we’ll splash.”

  We won’t splash. We’ll drown. The abnormal burning smell could mean Caird’s buoyancy was compromised. “Look out the other windows. Same?”

  “No! White in two of the five. Antarctica?”

  “I think so—I need you to activate the radio distress signal. Do it now.”

  37,000 FEET OVER MARIE BYRD LAND, ANTARCTICA

  The aircrew and 200-plus passengers were on the edge of their seats in anticipation for what was happening somewhere above their heads. It had been an easy flight. Besides a few minutes of turbulence, the airliner had been gliding on a feathery cushion of air. That day they also got the infrequent bonus of an unbeatable view: wind and weather had pushed the flight path deep south, over the edge of West Antarctica.

  They were flying over the nearly unknown Marie Byrd Land in West Antarctica, to the east of the Ross Ice Shelf. Because of its remoteness—even by Antarctic standards—it remained the largest unclaimed territory on Earth, bigger than France, Germany, and Spain combined. The transition from the interior to the coastline was abrupt: the magnificent white uniformity developed three deep stretch marks and was soon after severed into the blue ocean, where seven years prior stood a piece of ice the size of Portugal.

  “—ayday, Mayday, Mayday. This is Caird falling down some———Antarc—”

  The first officer gaped at the captain in disbelief, who hadn’t yet processed what was happening.

  His voice didn’t carry the expected composure when he answered. “This is Qantas Flight 27 from Sydney to Santiago …” he stopped, barely able to continue, “welcome home, Caird.”

  For the couple of minutes before the connection with Caird dropped, they served as relay between Sophia on board Caird and Nitha in Mission Control. Both captain and first officer alternated between staring at the cockpit speakers and at each other while the soundbites doubled through their headphones with the slightly delayed worldwide transmission.

  After reconfirming Caird’s coordinates for the third time a triumphant Nitha said, “From earthling to earthling, this exact instant is the absolute zenith of my life.”

  When it was over, the captain opened the intercom to the cabin to announce, “Good evening, passengers. This is your captain speaking … yes, that airplane was us.”

  MARIE BYRD LAND, ANTARCTICA

  A miniscule ellipsis floating down against the cloudless sky became three red canopies ferrying a small, cone-shaped capsule.

  “—and now what do you see!?” Sergei shouted.

  Sophia saw the ice shelf in two of the windows and a frigid ocean populated by icebergs in the other three as Caird disappeared under the white, 300-foot-tall cliffs. She prepared for the splash by clenching her teeth to prevent biting off her tongue. Sergei, was the only thought that crossed her mind while a jarring rear-end collision took her breath away, followed by four hard bounces as the five tons of metal and flesh came to a full stop. Not water? She saw the canopies drape gracefully to the ground.

  There were no sounds on board.

  “Sergei! Derya!” she cried in terror. If Serezha didn’t break his back, it’s a miracle—and Derya’s is made of splintered porcelain as it is.

  Sergei answered right away. She turned her head to a motionless Derya, who tried replying to Sophia’s calls, but only wheezes would come out. Too debilitated to move, she looked through the windows: the ocean extended limitlessly a mile or so from the stable pack ice on which they had landed, while the ice cliffs towered above them 1,000 feet in the other direction.

  Sergei managed to kneel despite that old acquaintance, gravity. Helping himself up with both hands, he stood up by Derya’s side and carefully removed his friend’s helmet. Derya tried to say something and Sergei neared his ear.

  “It’s cold outside, brother,” Sergei replied. “The rescue team should be here in five to eight hours.”

  Sergei opened the hatch and struggled out into the daylight. The forgotten cornucopia of smells, pungent seaweed above all, made him lightheaded. The sweetest smell I’ve ever experienced, he thought. He dropped to his knees and dug his hands into a patch of snow that he took to his mouth and rubbed on his face. There was so much light around he kept his eyes almost shut and yet they still hurt. He didn’t mind one bit. Never forget this moment.

  He turned over to look at Caird, scorched but still in one piece.

  Extricating Derya out of the capsule took Sergei and Sophia a long time.

  He had worsened dramatically. They rested him on the ice over pieces of fabric they had ripped out of Caird as insulation, and against their better judgment agreed to his increasingly delirious plea to take off his spacesuit. His body was an emaciated rag doll. Even in the cold evening his body was overheating. Once he fell asleep, they covered him in blankets and rested his head on Sophia’s legs. For the coming hours he drifted in and out of consciousness, inching toward the dark alley, the eternal void.

  Derya woke up abruptly and screamed, “I can’t see! I’m blind! Help me, please help me, Sophia!”

  An overcome Sophia stared down at a pair of eyes with a terrified, unfocused gaze that made her and the world around them transparent.

  Exhausted, Derya’s head fell back into Sophia’s lap and he soon slid back into a fitful slumber. She caressed his forehead, which seemed to appease him.

  Perhaps fifteen minutes had gone by when his lost eyes sprung open wide once more. “I’m going to die,” he said, with a serenity that made it all the more tragic. But the fear soon clenched back, “I don’t want to go! Serezha, grab me. Keep me here. Don’t let it take me!”

  He only calmed down once he saw blurry shapes coming to their rescue.

  “I’m going to sleep now,” he finally said, peacefully.

  Sophia kissed his forehead while Sergei made a superhuman effort not to break down in front of him, “See you soon my friend.”

  He faded away forever.

  Sophia and Sergei weren’t alone: seven curious emperor penguins had left the colony she had identified earlier. They waddled past the canopies, halting and then walking a little more, uttering calls that sounded like a dirge.

  Sergei grabbed Sophia’s hand. She stood up. A long embrace placated the sobbing and became, unpredictably, a kiss.

  81 | New Frontiers

  38 years later, October 2071

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  It’s a crisp autumn morning as father and son walk past the entrance of Arlington National Cemetery.

  “—it’s one of my staples whenever family visits, hon,” they overhear a middle-aged woman telling a pair of tourists, “must, must see are the Kennedy graves, the Shackleton Memorial, the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, and Arlington House.”

  “That sounds about right, Billy,” says the father. “We nail those four and then run back to the hotel to pick up Mom.”

  Leaves from lime green to walnut brown decorate the avenue of oaks, maples, and elms—the darkest are also starting to color the ground—their soft tremor blending with the peaceful silence of the tens of thousands of white headstones.

  “Dad, did you know there are twenty-eight astronauts buried here in Arlington?” says Billy while looking at a garland of white roses resting over the sober grave of John F. Kennedy.

  “I did not know that,” answers his father while turning around to contemplate the view of the Lincoln Memorial and Washington Monument beyond the Arlington Memorial Bridge.

  “Did you at least know one of them is Buzz Aldrin, the second man to set foot on the Moon?”

  “Got me there too, junior.”

  Billy shakes his head disapprovingly.

  He then looks up, searching for Earth’s natural satellite, and finds it northwest. The hand of humankind is conspicuous even in daylight and even in its first quarter phase:
a succession of minute black rectangles stretching across its lower third like a broken line on a roadway. In eight years, giant solar developments will encircle the Moon, allowing 24/7 solar power to Artemis, its first and so far only city.

  Sophia and Sergei were instrumental in convincing billions to finance the city’s development through individual contributions instead of government funds, which made Artemis a sovereign state—and the one with the strongest territorial claims over vast swathes of the Moon. For two decades, while her husband favored the privacy of their dacha northeast of Saint Petersburg for raising their kids, Sophia embarked on an extraordinarily successful career as a biochemist. Yet in 2057 the couple left Earth as Mars settlers, where Sophia became—predictably—the planet’s first Prime Minister. Seven years later, while leading an expedition into a deep Martian lava tube, Sergei disappeared. At his funeral, Sophia said, “We both went to Saturn, but only one of us truly returned to Earth. We left our cradle again and only then, on Mars, Serezha finally found home.”

  Only nineteen more years, Billy daydreams. By the time I’m 30 years old, I’ll have my PhD in Electrical Engineering from Harvard, I’ll be a retired NASA astronaut, I’ll have spent a few years working for SpaceX, and I’ll teach at Stanford. Two years later, I’ll meet my future wife—we’ll really love each other more than life itself. And at 35 I will depart to, uh, Neptune! And then nothing bad happens and we just live there on its moon Triton with our daughter for ever and ever.

  “Dad! See, I told you!” Billy shouts indignantly. He had overheard every other visitor talk excitedly about it, but his father kept saying it would be too much of a coincidence.

  “What are we talking about here?” his father asks absent-mindedly.

  “Belinda, Dad! Belinda is here visiting Jimmy’s memorial!”