by Peter Damon
James felt the disappointment of an idea gone south and stared morosely at the screen.
“Granularity,” Professor Hardy suggested, looking at the image over his shoulder and pointing to the bottom of the large monitor.
James glanced through the settings the graphic was using, and cried out as he saw there was a slide bar to select to what level of detail was to be used. He blushed and hurriedly used the mouse to make changes to the sliding scales, dragging them over from their smallest setting to obtain their highest, then pressed the Enter key again.
The image changed, renewing itself from the top of the screen downwards, 5 millimetres at a time. Half way down the large screen, a new line was seen, and with every new pass, the line grew, disclosing a cone shaped anomaly on the flat bed of space-time.
James began to grin, and then laugh. The dean left him to it, dialling a number on his iPhone to quietly but urgently pass details to others, then sit back to sigh with satisfaction and begin drinking his cold coffee. They now not only had a means of tracking the craft, they knew that Freedom One was in all probability the cause of the asteroid movement. Furthermore, possibly, the tell-tale anomaly that it created would tell scientists something more about how it operated, another chance to obtain their own version.
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Michael heard the lock on the door operate a moment before he pushed on it, and it opened to allow him into the large office beyond. He waved towards Oliver, seated at his large desk, five monitors arranged in front of it while a sensitive touch surface on the desk acted as both keyboard and mouse.
“How’s things?” he asked, competing against Holst’s Venus, the bringer of peace, coming from the speakers around the room. He strode across the room to the drink dispenser to make himself a cup of tea.
“Apparently they’ve worked out how to see us,” Oliver told him, turning down the music.
“Really? I didn’t know they couldn’t,” Michael chuckled.
“Really Michael? We’re coated in a black rubber surface and our propulsion gives off no heat,” Oliver remarked.
That was all true, Michael reflected. He just hadn’t considered the implications. “So what are they using?” he asked, sitting down at one of the other stations. The pressure on the chair automatically woke the monitors and touch screen, while the RFID chip under his skin told the logic which files to open and what the last visual presentation was. As always, the news headlines were front and centre, scrolling slowly forward as new entries were added.
“Professor Graves explained it to me. Seems we’re slightly altering space-time by having gravity, and they’re now able to find even small occurrences of gravity, as long as they’re not too far out, anyway,” Oliver explained.
“Do we plan to do anything about it?” Michael asked.
“I don’t think so. Actually, I think the professors were rather pleased that they had found us,” Oliver admitted. “It probably supports their latest theory, anyway,” he added.
Michael nodded. If you weren’t able to run the test yourself, have someone else run it without them knowing you wanted them to.
Oliver saw Michael become engrossed in the news feed from earth and smiled to himself, raising the volume on the music before he returned his attention to his own monitors.
March 27th.
Allan had sought the quickest and most direct route out of the Asteroid Belt, and lifted Freedom One from the ecliptic plane to leave the ship hovering in empty space, free from any risk of collision as he and everyone else waited tensely for the silence of anticipation to end.
Amidships, well protected by the rest of the ship’s structure, the surgery had its lights dimmed and Bach’s Suit No 3 in D Major BWV 1068 was playing, Heather’s choice.
The meeting room was full, with most of the crew preferring to wait with others, than to wait in their rooms, and a further six individuals on earth chewed on their fingers and pretended they had nothing on their minds while waiting for the latest news from the ship.
“Will it be long?” Thomas asked of Don, his index fingernail chewed to the quick.
Don laughed and shook his head. Glen leant over to begin telling them anecdotes from his own experience with the birth of Diane, their daughter. She listened, not having heard them before, holding her mother’s arm as it encircled her shoulders.
Mother and daughter had been worried about moving onto the ship at first, each for very different reasons. Pat had worried at the risks such a hostile environment would place them in, and about Diane’s continued education. Diane had a tendency to shirk school-work, a fact her parents knew and guarded against with something akin to religious fervour. Diane, meanwhile, had worried over losing all her friends, her way of life; Saturday nights, sleep-overs and summer afternoons by the pool.
Somewhere during the four months in outer-space they had each lost their concerns. Quite the opposite, in fact, Pat reflected, watching her husband talk to the twins about fatherhood. If she had any concerns now, it was what a return to earth would bring. The return threatened the close family unit they had formed, not only the three of them, but the close friendships they had formed with so many of the crew. The crew were the best of tutors for Diane, boring theory becoming very real practical advice in an environment where their life-support was paramount. Geography, mathematics, history and physics took real meaning for everyone on board. Far from being the only student on board, Diane was continually challenged by the spacemen-travellers who seemed driven into becoming more than they had been.
“Is that true, Mom?” Diane asked her mother.
“Sorry, Hon; I wasn’t listening. But if your father says so,” she smiled.
Diane rolled her eyes and grinned timidly as both her parents laughed at her. They had set her a task; to pass her final SSAT tests. If she got good marks, then they’d let her begin spaceman training, and that meant getting a spacesuit. With the tall, bald headed captain as her math’s coach, she couldn’t fail.
Two monitors on the facing wall woke up. Gail smiled from one of them while a small baby, only her face visible within the cocoon of blankets, was shown blissfully asleep in the other.
“Say hello to Wendy-Claire,” Gail grinned. “Mother and baby are doing well, so you can all get back to work,” she told them.
The room filled with cries of delight and Michael appeared, looking worn out but grinning brightly to have his hand shaken and his back pummelled, to repeat the story of the birth to anyone who would listen. Oliver helped him return to his quarters for a few hours sleep, and then he returned to his desk to update his journal. Robert Fuller’s book may be the first to document the ARC from the inside, but Oliver’s would be the more comprehensive tome, when he finally decided it was time to publish.
April 20th.
James was somewhat in awe as the helicopter turned, allowing him to see the ship they were approaching. He’d never have anticipated being carried by a large naval helicopter to one of the most iconic ships in the US Navy. And yet, there he was.
The USS Enterprise was the ninth ship to bear that name, and like its predecessor, was the largest of its class. Two destroyers flanked the large aircraft-carrier while, out on the horizon, another three destroyers kept pace, ensuring the security of both the ship and the crew as it moved at a leisurely pace northward, off the shore of California.
James’s life had changed significantly since his meeting with Professor Hardy. Now, still studying for his doctorate, he was heading a team of six other students, some of which had been at Cambridge and had actually visited the ARC.
His awe of them had abated as they began working on the core data coming from the GAIS observatory. James had found himself having to explain in a detail he found mundane.
Outside his new offices on the UA campus, he moved with the flow, going where he was directed, waiting for the shoves that sent him off in new directions. The only time he felt in charge of his own future was when he was in front of a monitor, making improvem
ents to the software that analysed the signal responses from the GAIS telescope, using his team to refine the imagery until it focused only on the specific gravity signature that was the Freedom One craft. His understanding of gravity was growing in leaps and bounds as he monitored Freedom One’s movements. For leisure, he looked at the data coming from the GAIS telescope in Chile where the focus was the very heart of the galaxy as they strived to learn more about how it had been formed.
The helicopter landed in a rush of noise and activity, the large door at the side of the helicopter opening while ground crew worked to lock the helicopter’s wheels down to the deck of the ship.
Once again James was in the hands of others, propelled out of the helicopter to be guided, head down, towards an entrance, the noise becoming suddenly muted with the closure of the steel door behind him.
“Welcome aboard, Sir,” A man his own age smiled and nodded, his uniform identifying him as a lieutenant in the US Navy. “If you’ll follow me please.”
They stepped through at least a dozen more doors, and turned at a right-angle at least four times. James doubted he’d be able to find his way off the ship unless someone led him out, and sighed when a normal looking wooden door was opened, and the meeting room beckoned from beyond.
General Pat Mears was already seated, large thick eyebrows pulled down into hard ridges over eyes set in a scowl. They had met through video conferences, the large man bullishly requiring information to help him decide on what course the USA should take. Beside him sat David Brookes, the project manager from NASA, a small man with a shining pate, large glasses fixed permanently to the hook of his nose, five pens in the breast pocket of his short-sleeved shirt. More surprising was Joanna Bradworth’s presence; the President’s Chief of Staff. James wondered if it was her presence that was the cause of the meeting’s change of venue.
With aides and assistants, James was one of six around the table. As soon as he was seated, the room lights were dimmed and an image of outer-space appeared.
James nodded, already aware of what was about to be said.
“Optical observatories confirm; another comet is on its way towards earth,” General Mears said, his voice full of anger.
“It’s an asteroid, General, not a comet. And I can confirm, Freedom One was in the vicinity of that asteroid immediately prior to it suddenly changing course to head towards earth,” James told the meeting.
General Mears sighed. “So do we know, either way, whether they’re intended to hit earth or not?” he asked.
“Our trajectory modelling isn’t that good yet,” Brookes told him. “We need a few more weeks to be precise, and even then, we can’t anticipate whether they’re planning to make any alteration later on. Their propulsion method changes the ball-game quite considerably; they don’t have to conserve fuel,” he pointed out.
“I can’t wait that long. We have three large meteors heading towards earth,” he pointed out.
“Asteroids, Sir. In all likelihood, you’ll have more,” James told him, and the attention in the room turned towards him, an almost palpable feel to it.
“You see, they’re pushing them towards earth roughly one every four, five weeks from seemingly random locations around the orbit of the Asteroid Belt. Their velocities have been individually set so that they reach earth after a six month travel time, three to four weeks apart. They set the velocity of each asteroid to arrive on time.
“Don’t you see?” he asked the room, looking around him. “They’re farming asteroids,” he pointed out. “They’ve spent the last couple of months choosing a few choice pieces of rock, and now they’re pushing them our way to arrive regularly three to four weeks apart. I’ll bet you ten bucks they’ll be here to handle the final approach of the first one,” he told them.
“Do you have any proof that they’re doing this?” the general asked him.
“Well, no, but that doesn’t stop it from being so,” James pointed out.”How else would asteroids from completely different sides of the Asteroid Belt suddenly leave their orbits and rush towards earth, to arrive at regular intervals?” he challenged.
“And I have no proof that they have selected rocks of a similar size to the one that made the Barringer Crater because they know what a meteor of that size would do to the earth,” the general retorted. “Only they can’t be sure it won’t hit the sea, or break-up in the atmosphere, so they’re sending three.”
James laughed, stopping quickly as he saw he was the only one laughing. “You have to be joking, right?” he asked. “If you wanted to be certain of hitting a small target, would you lob your ball in from 50 metres, or come real close? Would you lob as many as possible to hit all at once, or would you purposefully give your enemy a space of time before sending the next?” he asked cuttingly.
“Mr McMillan,” Joanna stepped in, a hand stretched out to keep the General in his chair. “We’ve not been very nice to those men up there,” she told James. “Much of what we’ve done, or tried to do, is classified, so just take my word for it,” she explained. “So it’s not a joke. We firmly believe those people up there would benefit greatly if they reduced our technology level by 100 years or so.”
General Mears let that sink in to everyone around the table before he turned to the NASA man to ask how development of their new rocket was proceeding. “The further out that I can hit those things with the biggest bomb we’ve got, then the more chance we have of preparing for whatever occurs after that,” he explained.
“We’ve tested the motors on a flatbed, and they work fine. Assembly of the first test vehicle is in progress, scheduled for launch in four weeks,” Brookes told the room.
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Allan put aside the latest mathematical problem he had set his mind on and pressed a point on his left wrist to have the alarm inside his ear cease. The problem niggled at him, his brain urging him to concentrate on it again. He, however, put it aside to rise and stretch. It was time for his meeting with their benefactors, the owners of the ship and his employers. Matt glanced up from his control board and waved him off. There was little happening at that moment with one shift of spacemen having returned from their explorations while another finished their breakfast and caught up with news from overnight.
He picked up his tablet and strode out of the control room to glance in through the glass panel of a side door and see that the twins were already inside, idly chatting to Frankie as they waited for the meeting to start.
They looked up as he entered and waved in unison, Frankie smiling and nodding. “How’s things?” Allan asked, putting his tablet down and getting himself a cup of tea.
“All’s well,” David and Thomas agreed.
Michael arrived, his smile suggesting he’d been spending time with Heather and their newborn, Wendy-Claire.
“Sorry if I’m late,” he told the others, making himself a cup of tea while humming a child’s nursery rhyme off-key.
“You’re not,” Allan told him, tapping his tablet and flicking through his options till he found what he was looking for.
“So, go on,” Michael urged.
“OK, internally first, all systems are fine. Hydroponics is good, life systems are better than expected, no injuries or ailments that we can’t handle internally. So we continue our explorations,” Allan told them. That was the deal; any failure in any of their critical systems and they would run for earth and abandon their plans. As it was, they would continue, and they all nodded, satisfied.
“Exploration is going well. We continue our survey of asteroids. Most are nickel and iron, but the larger ones hold other interesting metals, including rare-earth elements.”
“Is it worth sending another one to earth?” Michael asked, his suggestion getting a nod from Frankie.
“We could,” Allan shrugged. “We’ve got three heading their way already and, I have to tell you, their radio messages are getting very insistent; if we don’t answer and tell them what we’re up to, they’re going to blast them to bits,
” Allan warned.
“Which they’re not able to do,” Frankie pointed out.
“Yet,” Allan qualified. “Russia believe their rocket is up to the task already, and don’t see the need to shoot at us so early, while the USA are investing heavily in this new launch capability NASA is building for them. We’re going to have to watch that one,” he pointed out.
“Ok, but Tony and the others are keeping us right up to date on all this?” Michael asked.
Allan agreed. Tony and Robert in particular were giving them information, although Gary and Cheryl surfaced occasionally to add to their pool of knowledge. At least the Chinese were staying quiet, which he took to be a good sign.
“I want earth to be worried,” Michael told them. “Their history with us has been one demand after another. I want them focused on the problem these asteroids could cause, and on nothing else.”
“Why? Are you up to something in the background?” Allan asked.
“What, from up here?” Michael asked with a disarming smile. “No, I just want them to come to realise they no longer hold the high ground; we do. Send another asteroid towards them. At least that way, everyone on board gets to be a US Dollar multi-billionaire,” he chuckled.
“David, Thomas?” Allan asked.
They nodded. “We agree. We’re not ready to return yet, anyway,” they pointed out.
“What exactly are you up to with those professors, anyway?” Michael asked.
The twins frowned and waved hands and fingers in the air in front of them as they searched for a way to explain it to him.
“He doesn’t really mean ‘exactly’,” Allan broke in.
“Oh, well, in that case, we’re re-evaluating the role of gravity within general relativity and that of String theory. We postulate that neither theory fully express the role that gravity plays in space-time. Therefore, gravity is incorrectly understood.”
“Ok,” Michael nodded.
There was a moment of silence in the room, and then Allan burst out laughing. “The Howards have just possibly found a resolution between general relativity and quantum mechanics, and all you say is ‘OK’.”