by Allen Steele
“Sorry. Didn’t think to make any.” Harker kicked himself for neglecting to do this. He’d rushed these people out of Deck B before they were fully awake; the least he could have done was make their jobs a little easier. “Give us a fix on our position and heading and prepare for turnaround, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Simone sighed as she settled behind her console, but went to work without any more complaints. Pushing aside his lapboard, Harker stood up, intending to head for the alcove where the coffeemaker was located. An irritated grunt from Arkady brought him up short. “Having a problem?” he asked.
Arkady responded with a string of Russian obscenities. “Sorry, sir, but this…this makes no sense.” He waved an impatient hand at his screen. “According to this, we’ve lost downlink with Mare Muscoviense.”
Harker froze. “What are you…?”
“Just as I said, sir.” Arkady gestured at his screen. “According to the log, the last transmission we sent home was June 3, 2288, at 1335 GMT…”
“Just before we went into biostasis.” Harker quickly walked over to the com station. “What was sent?”
“Routine status report. See?” Arkady moved the cursor to an icon at the bottom of the screen and clicked it. Several pages of data expanded to fill a window; Harker saw nothing unusual, only technical information that the ship’s AI sent back as part of its normal telemetry. “And that’s it…nothing since.”
“Oh, for the love of…” Harker checked the sudden impulse to push Arkady out of the way and take over the station himself. His communications officer knew his job; if Arkady said something was wrong, Harker had to trust his judgment. “And we haven’t received anything?” he asked, even though he knew this was a pointless question.
Arkady shook his head. Of course not; once Galileo went into cruise mode, any return messages transmitted via laser from the lunar farside would still be on their way. “So why can’t we send…?”
“That’s just it.” Turning around in his chair, Arkady punched in another command, then pointed at his screen. “See? The LCP is out of alignment. We’ve lost track of Mare Muscoviense. I can transmit, of course, but…”
“They won’t receive.” From behind them, Simone quickly worked her board. “Galileo’s on correct trajectory, just as programmed, but I’m finding the same thing Arkady has. The LCP no longer has a lock on the Moon.”
Harker felt the blood drain from his face. He clutched the back of Arkady’s chair, trying to steady himself. The laser communications platform depended upon the AI maintaining a precise fix upon the Moon’s stellar location; if that lock was disturbed by even a few degrees, then no telemetry could be transmitted. For all intents and purposes, at least for those back home, Galileo was lost.
“I don’t know how this could have happened.” There was a high-pitched note of desperation in Arkady’s voice as he continued to type instructions into his comp. “Solar wind might have thrown the platform out of alignment. Perhaps bow shock when we passed through the heliopause…”
“No. The LCP is designed to compensate for those factors.” Harker clenched his fists as he stood upright. Something else caused the com system to go down. He had more than a suspicion as to what it was. He took a deep breath, slowly released it. “All right, then, we’re just going to have to deal with it. Simone, set us up for the turnaround maneuver. Once we’re on course for rendezvous with Spindrift, relay our new bearings to Arkady.” He tapped the com officer on the shoulder. “Soon as you get the data from her, do your best to reestablish a fix…”
“Do you realize how hard that’s going to be?” There was hopelessness in Arkady’s eyes as he looked up at him. “I mean, this isn’t like trying to find Earth through a telescope. If I can’t achieve an exact—”
“Just do it.” Harker was done with patience and understanding; time to play the role of first officer. “I don’t care how long it takes. Get it done.” He let out his breath. “You know your jobs. Now go to work. I’ll make coffee.”
Arkady and Simone seemed to share a look between them. Then, without another word, they turned back to their consoles. No longer were they tired and wrung out; the success or failure of the expedition hung in the balance. Harker watched them for another moment, then fulfilled his side of the bargain. He went off to make coffee.
Now we know what Ian did before we went to sleep, he thought. And I think I know why.
“Main engine cutoff in five seconds, on my mark.” Lawrence studied the status panel on his lapboard. “Mark.”
“Aye. sir.” Flipping open the cover of the engine ignition switch, Simone turned the key to STANDBY. A quick look at her console to confirm that everything was as it should be, then she gripped the handle of the thrust control bar. “MECO in five…four…three…two…one…”
She slowly pulled down the bar, and the omnipresent rumble of the fusion drive gradually faded away, followed by a eerie silence that hadn’t been heard since the Galileo departed from the Kuiper Belt. For an instant, Harker felt himself rise slightly from his seat before the AI automatically adjusted the Millis-Clement field to compensate for the lack of thrust. He watched as Simone switched the key to the SAFE position, then toggled a couple of switches on her board.
“Main engine down and safed,” she reported, not looking back at the captain. “Ready to initiate turnaround sequence, on your mark.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant Monet.” Once again, Lawrence checked his screen. It seemed to Harker that he was almost reluctant to issue the next order, as obvious as it might be. He glanced nervously at his first officer, as if seeking confirmation. Harker was tempted to pretend ignorance, but instead he nodded in agreement. Lawrence looked away again. “Mark.”
“On a ten-second count,” Harker quietly added. “Sound general quarters.”
“Aye, sir. Mark on ten seconds.” Simone pushed a button that caused a bell to ring four times, then she typed a set of commands into her keyboard before settling back into her seat and hitching her harness around herself. “Ten…nine…eight…”
Harker looked around the command center, making sure that the rest of the flight crew had secured themselves. Through the open hatch leading to the observation center, he could hear Rauchle yelling for everyone to strap down. Harker smiled to himself. Turnaround wasn’t that big of a deal, really, unless you’d never done it before.
“Three…two…one…” Simone touched a button on her board. “Commencing turnaround maneuver.”
A faint vibration as the RCS fired, then the deck seemed to tilt upward beneath their feet. Through the windows, Harker saw the stars slowly slide away as Galileo commenced a 180-degree yaw that would realign its bow with its direction of flight. With the Millis-Clement field active, there was no perceptible change in the ship’s artificial gravity; nonetheless, for everyone aboard, there was a sensation that they were aboard an enormous centrifuge. Gripping his armrests, Harker pretended that this was just a carnival ride.
Another shudder passed through the hull as the RCS fired again. “Turnaround maneuver complete,” Simone said. “Galileo maintaining course.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant Monet,” Lawrence said. “Well done.” A compliment that, while not unearned, wasn’t without some irony; like hyperspace insertion, the turnaround had been computer-controlled, its logistics too precise to be left to fallible human reflexes. The captain wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, then unclasped his harness. “Well done, all of you,” he said, rising from his chair. “I’ll be in my quarters if you need to see me.”
From the corner of his eye, Harker saw puzzled looks pass across the faces of the flight crew. Galileo was just over a hundred thousand kilometers from Spindrift; although they couldn’t see it yet, nonetheless their destination was close enough that the science team would soon be able to commence its initial survey. Hell of a time for the commanding officer to take a nap.
“Actually, sir, there’s another matter that needs to be attended to.” Harke
r turned around in his seat. “The loss of signal with Mare Muscoviense…”
“I’m aware of that, Mr. Harker.” Lawrence’s response came as an impatient snap. “Unfortunate, but something we’ll just have to work around.” He looked at Arkady. “Mr. Rusic, now that we’re on course for rendezvous, please begin recalibrating the LCP. Report to me once this is done.”
“Yes, Captain. At once.” There was no mistaking the insolent tone of Arkady’s voice. Unlike Simone’s job, his task couldn’t be accomplished with a preprogrammed command. Recalibration of the laser communication platform was something that would take several days to perform, and only then if he got lucky and managed to get a precise fix on the Moon’s position. With less than a half a degree of error to spare, Arkady had his work cut out for him.
“Be that as it may, sir,” Harker went on, “I’d like to discuss the circumstances of—”
“You have the conn, Mr. Harker. Call me if there are any problems.” Lawrence barely looked at him as he headed for the access shaft. “Carry on.”
The captain shut the hatch behind him, leaving behind a command center that had gone quiet. His abrupt departure hadn’t gone unnoticed; no one was paying attention to his console, instead they all stared after him in astonishment.
“Like losing contact with Earth isn’t a problem,” Arkady murmured.
Right now, Arkady’s droll sense of humor was the last thing Harker needed. He shot the com officer a harsh glance, then touched his headset. “Emily, you copy?” he asked, shielding the mike wand with his hand and keeping his voice low. “What did you find down there?”
A moment passed, then he heard her voice: “Same as before. Nuke’s still in place, nothing about it seems different. Did you have a chat with the captain?”
“Tried to. Claimed it was an accident, then left the deck like he had to take a dump.” Harker rubbed the back of his neck. “C’mon back up then. We’ll talk about this later.” He clicked off, then unfastened his harness and rose from his chair. “I’m going over to the OC to see what the brain trust has found,” he said to no one in particular. “Toni…?”
“I’ll handle things here.” She was already getting up from her station.
“Thanks.” He turned and headed for the hatch leading to the observation center.
As he expected, the science team was already on the job. Kaufmann had taken the middle seat at the center console in the semicircular compartment, with Rauchle to his right and Cruz to his left; they’d raised the telescope and lidar arrays from the service module and were using them to acquire Spindrift. Cole stood behind them, watching over their shoulders as they worked, while Sinclair leaned against a nearby bulkhead, nursing a cup of coffee as he silently observed everything being said and done. Which didn’t seem like very much; the scientists quietly murmured among themselves, their hands busy at the keyboards as their eyes swept across the screens.
The only person who didn’t appear to be occupied was Ramirez. Sitting by himself at the far end of the compartment, he gazed out the window beside him, listening to everything that was going on yet removed from it just the same. Harker hadn’t felt much empathy for him when he’d joined the expedition, and the incident in his cabin hadn’t done much to raise his opinion of the man. Yet Emily had apparently come to respect Ramirez a bit more—after all, he’d confided in her when he didn’t have to—and if Emcee was willing to trust him, Harker supposed that he had to as well. Or at least relax his suspicions somewhat.
Ramirez apparently caught Harker’s reflection in the window, because he looked around as he walked over to him. “Ted…good to see you again. Sleep well?”
“Like a baby. It’s waking up that’s murder.” Harker cocked his head toward the rest of the team. “Decided not to join the party?”
“Toby thinks I’m the type who’d dance around with a lampshade on his head.” Ramirez shrugged. “Or something like that. In any case, he’s made it clear to me that my input isn’t necessary unless…well, necessary.”
Harker felt a surge of anger. Looking over his shoulder, he caught Rauchle’s eye as the team leader glanced up from his console. A cold stare in response, then Rauchle returned his attention to the screen before him. “He shouldn’t do that,” Harker said quietly. “You’re the astrobiologist. You should be…”
“Quite right. I should…but I’m not, and that’s all there is to it, yes?” A dejected smile. “Still have my pipe? I could use a smoke just now.”
“Maybe later.” Harker sat down in the chair next to him. “I didn’t get a chance to say so before,” he said, dropping his voice to a near whisper, “but…well, thanks. Thanks for coming clean with Emily.”
“Sure.” Once again, Ramirez gazed out the window, only this time he seemed more nervous. Raising a hand to his mouth, his absently gnawed at his fingernails. “She’s your lady, isn’t she? I mean, you two are an item, right?”
Something in the way he asked stirred the hair on the back of Harker’s neck. “Yes, she is. And I’d prefer if you didn’t…”
“Oh, no. No, no, no.” Ramirez looked straight at him. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get your back up like that. It’s just…” His face turned red, and he hastily looked away. “You’re a lucky man. If you don’t know that already, then you should.”
Oh, hell, Harker thought. Does he have a crush on…?
“Got it!” Kaufmann yelled. “We’ve got it!”
The rest of the team let out a collective cheer and began pounding each other on the back. Ramirez sprang to his feet, rushed over to the console; Harker followed him as he pushed his way past Cole and Sinclair to squeeze in behind Rauchle. Sinclair started to object, but stopped when Harker blocked him with his arm and quietly shook his head. The astrobiologist had more right to be there than the political officer.
Peering over Cruz’s shoulder, Harker examined the console’s center screen. Displayed upon it was a thin crescent that dimly reflected the wan light of the distant sun. For a moment, Harker thought he was looking at Eris again, yet the crosshatches overlaid upon the image made it clear that the object was much smaller than that minor planet, its albedo considerably lower.
“Distance, 95,867 kilometers,” Kaufmann said, once everyone quieted down. “Just about where we thought it would be.” He glanced up at Harker and smiled. “My compliments to your navigator. She put us almost exactly where…”
“Never mind that now,” Rauchle grumbled. “Get us a better resolution.”
“Patience, Toby, patience.” Grasping the joystick of the optical telescope’s remote manipulator, Kaufmann carefully centered the bull’s-eye upon Spindrift, then turned a knob to zoom in. The image grew larger, then refocused. They could see that it was iron grey, the color of an old bridge girder, its surface wrinkled with rills and small ridges, pockmarked by countless craters both large and small.
“Thank you.” Cruz was already tapping at his keyboard. “Initiating spectrographic analysis now.” On his screen, columns of figures appeared, began to scroll upward; bending closer, the astrogeologist carefully studied the readout. “Iron…magnesium…carbon and carbon silicates…oxidized iron…surface traces of frozen carbon dioxide…”
“No sign of the secondary object,” Ramirez said. “Where is it?”
“Haven’t spotted it yet.” Kaufmann gently moved the telescope to the left, bringing the curvature of Spindrift’s visible horizon into view. “Perhaps it’s orbiting on the far side, but…”
“A planetary transient.” Rauchle’s expression was sour with disgust. “A rogue, nothing more.” He glared at Harker. “Thank you for the exciting ride, first officer, but there’s little here that we couldn’t have seen if we’d stayed in the Kuiper—”
“Robert, look here.” Ignoring Rauchle, Cruz tapped Kaufmann on the shoulder, drawing the physicist’s attention to his screen. “See that percentage of carbon dioxide? Don’t you think it’s rather high for a metallic body?”
Kaufmann studied the screen for a mom
ent, slowly nodded. “The ratio is high, yes. Frozen-out atmosphere?”
“I thought so, too, but see here…” Cruz typed another command into his keyboard; his screen changed to display bar graphs of different elements and compounds. “Look at that spike,” he continued, pointing to an orange bar that rose a little higher than most. “Not evenly spread out, like it would be if it was atmospheric in origin, but instead concentrated in certain places.”
“Vented from the interior?” Rauchle’s brow furrowed. “Seismic activity, perhaps…”
“From a rogue?” Cruz glanced at Rauchle. The team leader folded his arms together but otherwise remained silent. “I doubt it. Can you give us an infrared image?”
Without a word, Kaufmann entered a prompt into the telescope command. The visual image of Spindrift disappeared, to be replaced by a false-color IR display. Now it appeared as a complete sphere, brown, with splotches of red, blue, silver…
Harker heard Ramirez gasp. Looking around, he saw that the astrobiologist was staring at the screen. Everyone else had gone silent as well; no one said anything as they, too, noticed the pattern of orange circles that described a semicircular line across Spindrift’s surface. An almost perfect arc of longitude, stretching from pole to pole.
“That can’t be natural,” Ramirez murmured. “That’s not something that…”
“Hold it. Wait a second.” Kaufmann held up a hand. “Getting something else.”
Without bothering to explain, he pushed the IR image to one corner of the screen. Cruz and Rauchle angrily protested as the visible-light image of Spindrift reappeared, but Kaufmann paid no attention to them; using the joystick, he pulled back from the close-up until Spindrift resumed the same appearance as it had before.
Harker saw what had drawn Kaufmann’s attention: a small circular object, coming into view just beyond the limb of the rogue. Ramirez pointed to it, but Kaufman was already tracking it with the telescope. He centered the crosshairs upon the satellite, then zoomed in. It took a moment for the telescope to focus, but when it did, Harker felt his heart skip a beat.