by Bob Goddard
The Ark was already descending towards the outer layers of Earth’s atmosphere. Christakis had executed a long, gentle burn to slow them during their last pass around the far side of the planet. Now the automated flight control was turning the giant craft to face forward, pitching it up 40 degrees ready for their fiery entry into Earth’s gaseous envelope.
So far the flight had been text-book perfect, but Christakis knew that plunging into the atmosphere would be the decisive part of the flight. It had been the biggest challenge for all the unmanned craft they’d sent to Earth and they still couldn’t be sure the Ark’s aerodynamics would perform exactly the way they had predicted.
The technicians had spent countless hours in a purpose-built wind tunnel deep inside Mt Malapert testing dozens of different lifting-body designs in a variety of air densities and wind speeds. But it was not like flying the ship for real. That was the problem with developing an aircraft on the Moon. The only way to test it was to throw it at the Earth and see what happened.
They had extracted all the help they could get from their data bank. The story went that the colony’s first Governor had persuaded her father to upload all their original data resources during the last few days before Comet Santos struck. Thank goodness she did. Without the technical details of the Shenlong Spaceplane and an even earlier craft called a Space Shuttle, they would have been completely in the dark. Building a vehicle to fly safely through Earth’s atmosphere would have taken decades longer.
Christakis had a lot to thank that former Governor for, even though she died three years before he was born. She set up the Sokolova Cosmonaut Training School which produced brilliant pilot instructors, such as Ngaio Griffiths, who had taught him all he knew. The next hour would reveal whether it was enough. Whether he, the great-grandson of a tourist who was marooned on the Moon seventy years ago, had what it takes.
He settled back and strapped himself into the tilting cradle-seat. It would cushion him during the atmospheric deceleration that would peak at 3g or 18 times the force of gravity he was used to on the Moon. The rest of the Ark’s human cargo were lying in their pods, stacked horizontally either side of the narrow aisle behind him. They would enter the Earth’s atmosphere flat on their backs in their beehive-like cocoons, much like the livestock in the tubes further aft. The latter, a dozen sheep and a dozen goats, were under sedation for the trip and would awaken on another world, all being well. Two hundred fertilised chicken eggs were cushioned in their incubator tube and beneath them were pods crammed with tools and equipment.
A quick scan of the screens showed the craft was now correctly oriented and aligned for the entry corridor, an invisible tube down which it must plunge exactly if it was to reach its designated landing spot. Speed was 7.3 kilometres per second, a cool 26,280 kilometres per hour, precisely as planned. Any faster and it would skip off the top of the atmosphere like a stone on a pond. Any slower and it would drop too steeply and burn up. Time to entry 90 seconds.
“Armstrong Base, this is the Ark on target and ready for atmosphere entry.” He spoke calmly despite the thumping in his chest.
“Ark, you are cleared for atmosphere entry. All systems green and good to go. The hopes and dreams of the whole human race fly with you today. Radio blackout in less than 60 seconds. Good luck Chris.”
“Thank you Armstrong. See you on the other side. Ark out.”
The bubble of ionised air – a ball of incandescent plasma – created by the compression of the atmosphere by the hurtling craft would prevent radio transmissions for around 30 minutes. There was nothing to do now but wait for the wild ride to begin.
* * * * *
Moon, 2156: Thursday, 11th November
Ngaio smiled at the Mission Controller, Davis Jansen, but it didn’t stop her pulse from racing or her stomach tying itself in knots. She hadn’t felt this nervous since her first solo flight in the LTV.
After Monday’s faultless launch of the Ark she told herself that she shouldn’t worry about this final phase of the mission. But now, standing in the Flight Control Centre at Armstrong, her palms were sweating. As one of the long-term tutors of the Ark’s captain, she was needed for this critical stage. Piloting the ship full of colonists down to the Earth’s surface would come with full support from the Moon’s top cosmonauts.
Everything had gone smoothly so far. The ship had performed its manoeuvres and de-orbit burn perfectly. It was descending through the entry corridor exactly as planned. But it hadn’t encountered the Earth’s atmosphere yet. Despite exhaustive computer modelling and three unmanned missions using autonomous scale models of the Ark, there was still so much they didn’t know.
Ngaio had been one of the few who argued for a delay. They needed more information, more experience of the peculiar forces they would encounter in the Earth’s atmosphere, she said. To risk a hundred lives at this stage was reckless.
But her caution had been outvoted by six to one in Parliament. Emotive speeches by much younger ministers had won the day. Hadn’t they waited long enough? Weren’t three unmanned landings proof they could do it? Wasn’t it their duty and their destiny to return to Earth without further delay?
And so here they were. Three months after that fateful vote the training had been completed, the Ark had been checked and double-checked, the equipment, seeds and livestock had all been packed aboard. Three days ago, after tearful farewells from their families, the colonists had waved cheerily before filing on to the Ark and wriggling into their plass capsules.
None of them knew what the flight would be like. None of them knew what they would find when they landed. But all were fired up by the stories and vids of a former life on the mighty blue planet. They were the chosen, the lucky ones, the blessed people who would replant humanity back on the rich soil of Earth. They would get to swim in its oceans, walk on its beaches, explore its grasslands and forests. Nobody doubted they were returning to a Garden of Eden.
There were few of the Moon’s 21,349 inhabitants who wouldn’t swap places with the colonists, whatever the risks. And today, in Sokolova City and Armstrong Base, in Cooper City and the remote mining camps in between, all would be watching their screens to witness the final stage of this historic flight. All were yearning to see their fellow Lunies set foot on planet Earth.
* * * * *
Earth Atmosphere, 2156: Thursday, 11th November
Christakis had watched every video and every animation in the data bank and experienced hundreds of simulations in training. The computer would control the craft but there was a manual override if needed. He hoped he wouldn’t have to touch the controls until the fiery part of the descent was over. Then their speed would be around 1300 kilometres per hour and he could fly the Ark down to the surface. It would be an unpowered, gliding descent, slowing all the way, but he still had enough fuel for a 13-second burn if needed.
At an altitude of 125 kilometres the Ark’s computer began to speak softly into the right ears of Christakis and the colonists. “Entry to Earth’s atmosphere will commence in twelve seconds. Ten, nine, eight…”
It was a last chance for those lying weightless in their plass tubes to check their body-form cushions were behind their backs ready for gravity to take hold. Christakis gave one last tightening tug on his straps.
“…three, two, one. Atmospheric entry commenced.”
Christakis had left his helmet visor open so he could hear any sounds from inside the ship, but there was nothing. He checked the screens to see if the external cams were picking up any signs of heating. Nothing. The rearward view from the tip of the tail showed the massive planet turning slowly below, blue ocean partly obscured by clouds and the bright glint of ice far off to the right.
These close-up views of Earth had been the highlight of the voyage. Their one-and-a-half orbits around the Moon had been fascinating but the incredible beauty and majesty of Earth were breathtaking. It was hard to imagine that in around 50 minutes they would be landing on the surface of this spectacular blue
world.
He prayed, not for the first time, that he would be able to set their cumbersome ship down gently on the sands of Suriname after skating over the shallow sea. There were skids built into the hull of the Ark and wingtip fins for stability. But it was all untried and untested. He had only one chance to get it right.
“Deceleration zero point one gee.”
He could feel his body settling into the chair which had tilted so he was facing the cabin ceiling. His screens and controls were attached to the chair and rotated with him, giving the odd sensation of flying backwards. He checked the screens again for signs of heating and there it was, a faint glow on the leading edges of wings and fins, brightening all the time. Below, to the right, were the green mountains of southern Mexico and Guatemala.
“Deceleration zero point two gee.”
Still no sound, but they were only in the thinnest top layer so far. Christakis felt an invisible hand on his chest, pushing him back into his seat as the air braking began. It reminded him of Earth’s massive gravity that they would soon have to cope with, not for an hour or two like their centrifuge training, but day and night, for the rest of their lives. He hoped the experts were right and they would adapt to a life of endless heaviness without too much suffering. Despite all their training, bodies born on the Moon were frail compared to their Earthly ancestors.
He also thought about the equipment they had brought to set up the colony. There were tools for digging the soil to plant their seeds, for cutting trees to build shelters and fires, pots and pans for cooking, nets to trap fish, desalinators to provide drinking water. Plus comprehensive medical stores. All packed into tubes at the back of the cabin.
“Deceleration zero point three gee.”
There was a faint tremor now as the Ark ploughed into denser air and a wisp of fire was visible in their wake. All systems green. He focussed on keeping his breathing steady as his body settled more heavily in his seat.
They had been trained in the use of this equipment they would need on planet Earth. They had practised digging and sowing seeds, lighting fires and cooking, even lessons on how to saw wood using a precious piece of timber from the Sokolova City Arboretum. They were all excited at the prospect of identifying plants they could eat and catching and cooking their first Earth meal. Although they had brought with them dried foods for a month, they were confident they could hunt and gather enough to survive until their first crops grew.
“Deceleration zero point five gee.”
Slight noise due to vibration. Head feeling heavy, just like training in the centrifuge. Nothing to worry about.
Their probes had confirmed the shallow sea where they were headed was warm enough to swim in. There should be plentiful fish and birdlife. It would be a paradise. They just had to make it through these next few minutes.
“Deceleration zero point nine gee.”
Rattling noises and mild shaking now. And a swirling stream of bright fire trailing behind the Ark. All systems green. Trust the ship. It will hold together. It was designed, built and tested for this.
“Deceleration one point four gee.”
Head feeling heavy. Shaking getting worse. All systems green. Ship can take it. Plass tube inside titanium fuselage. Fireproof ceramic tiles on top of insulating skin. Keep breathing.
“Deceleration one point nine gee.”
Over the violent rattling a high pitched scream rose then stopped abruptly. One of the colonists had passed out. All systems green. Reassure them. He forced his finger upward to tap his screen: “Don’t panic back there,” he said in a shaking voice. “This is what we trained for. Everything is fine.” He switched to ‘transmit only’. He could do without further feedback from his passengers.
“Deceleration two point five gee.”
Getting hard to breathe now. Rattling and heavy vibration plus odd swaying motion. All systems green. Exterior cams show a raging fire spitting incandescent sparks. Almost max gees now.
“Deceleration three point two gee.”
Hell! Thought three gees was max! Hands plastered against chest. Can’t raise them. All systems green. No! Wait! One’s turned red! Craft rolling to left.
“Deceleration three point five gee. Unscheduled left roll. Correcting flight plan.”
Gasping, rasping breath. Can’t reach the controls only inches away. Noise and shaking extreme. What the hell’s happening?
“Deceleration three point nine gee. Left roll halted. Reducing pitch.”
What? No! Too fast to level out now. Can’t stop it. No, no, no, no, no!
“Deceleration three point eight gee. Pitch stable at 30 degrees. Track modified.”
Damn it! We’re off course. Banking hard left. Speed indicator, blur of flickering numbers becoming readable. Dipped below 6,000 kph.
“Deceleration three point one gee. Pitch stable. Track modified.”
Where are we going? He strained to reach a finger to the right hand screen and tapped the chart icon. Oh God, we’re heading north instead of south-east! The blip on the chart was moving steadily up the eastern end of the Caribbean Sea, tracing a left turn towards Puerto Rico. No, no, NO!
“Deceleration two point one gee. Pitch stable. Track modified.”
He grasped the controls, selected Manual and felt the ship lurch as the joystick came alive in his hand and tried to force itself to the left. It took both hands to keep it central, but he couldn’t right the Ark and stop the turn. 4,200 kph. Too fast. He punched Auto and the ship calmed as the computer took control again.
“Deceleration one point nine gee. Roll reversed. Pitch stable. Track stable.”
The blip on the chart was now headed due north passing Guadeloupe. On this heading they’d wind up in the Atlantic Ocean. Altitude 30 kilometres. Speed 3,600 kph.
“Deceleration one point seven gee. Pitch stable. Track stable.”
Too late to turn back for Suriname. Christakis selected a new destination on the north coast of the Dominican Republic and punched it in. Immediately he felt his body go light as the computer pitched the Ark’s nose downward, then heavy as it banked into a left turn. Speed 3,100 kph. The rattling was diminishing.
“New destination selected. Turn initiated. Glide mode.”
The blip on the chart was turning left as they flew over St Kitts & Nevis, heading for the British Virgin Isles. Speed 2,800 kph. They had enough speed, but did they have enough height? Altitude 26 kilometres.
“Destination shortfall 80 kilometres.”
Hell! Christakis zoomed in on the chart and saw the coast off the Dominican Republic was rugged and rocky. He needed a long sandy beach. Perhaps Armstrong Base could find it quicker? Would they pick up his transmissions at this speed now the fiery glow around the ship was gone?
“Armstrong, this is the Ark. We need a new place to set down. Are you tracking me? Can you supply, over?”
Nothing. Not even a fizz of static. We do still have an aerial, don’t we? Christakis tapped his screen and an external cam showed a view of the tail fin. It didn’t look right. He zoomed in. The leading edge which contained the comms aerial and transponder was completely missing. Damn! How did that happen?
He checked the other external views and discovered, to his horror, that the tip of the starboard wing, complete with its landing-strut fin, was also missing. It had been torn or burned off during atmospheric entry. No wonder the craft had rolled and changed direction.
“Altitude 23 kilometres. Speed 2,500 kph. Destination shortfall 80 kilometres.”
This was no good. Christakis switched to manual and found himself fighting a bucking and twisting monster. The autopilot had quicker reactions and stronger muscles than he did, that was obvious. He hoped his instincts might make the difference in glide ratio. Finally he had the Ark under control and raised the nose a touch.
“Altitude 20 kilometres. Speed 1,900kph. Destination shortfall 10 kilometres.”
That was better, but he still had to find somewhere to land. Somewhere smooth and soft, wi
th shallow water and a sandy beach. Further ahead and to the right on the chart were the Turks and Caicos Islands, with a long stretch of sand and shallows to the south. He made that the new destination and banked gently right.
“New destination selected. Altitude 17 kilometres. Speed 1,400 kph. Destination shortfall 170 kilometres.”
He would need every drop of the remaining fuel. A 13-second burn should add another 165 kilometres, according to the flight computer. He prayed his flying skills would allow him to tease the other 5 ks out of the Ark. Otherwise, they’d all be swimming. Time to warn his passengers they were going to get another kick in the pants.
“This is Captain Christakis. We have a new destination everyone! The Ark decided to make a left turn during our descent, so we are going to go visit some tropical islands. To reach them I’m going to use the last of our fuel so prepare yourselves for a final 13-second burn. In five, four, three, two, one, now.”
He lit the main engine and felt his chair tilt and smack him in the back. He counted the seconds as the ship roared and shook. He had reached fifteen when the rocket motor fell silent leaving a shriek from the air tearing at the broken tail fin and wing.
“Altitude 17 kilometres. Speed 1,800 kph. Destination shortfall 2 kilometres.”
The blip on the chart was now passing Puerto Rico heading north west over the North Atlantic Ocean. There was nothing but reefs, sandbars and open water below them. He had to make this damaged craft fly better somehow. As gently as he could, he teased the nose up another degree, then another, willing his ship to glide those extra klicks. And he switched off the computer’s audible prompts. He could see what he had to do without being nagged.
The next few minutes were spent making minute adjustments, teasing fractions of a degree in glide path gains from the Ark as it slowed and descended through increasingly dense layers of air. With one screen showing a live picture of the ocean below, their destination only a smudge on the horizon, and the other providing a chart view and flight data, Christakis nursed his ship through the sky.