Solar Express

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  19

  DAEDALUS BASE

  24 SEPTEMBER 2114

  Monday morning after breakfast found Alayna where she was every morning—in the COFAR control center, checking the message queue, where she found nothing of interest, and nothing that required an immediate response. So, as she finished scanning the last of the messages, she asked Marcel, “Where do we stand today with mini-granulation multi-fractals?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she smiled wryly, because there were always mini-granular multi-fractals, and none of the regular granulations ever appeared as fractals.

  “There are currently 111 instances of fractal patterns in the instances of mini-granulations in the selected solar latitude image.”

  “Display them.” Alayna doubted that they would reveal any more than those she had been studying for the last eight months, but there was always a chance.

  Marcel flashed the images before Alayna, the fractal patterns overlaid in green.

  There was something about them … something, again, that wasn’t there.

  She took a deep breath. What else could she do? She’d had Marcel remove everything but the fractal patterns, and that hadn’t shown anything. She’d had him put just the fractal patterns in sequential order, and that hadn’t revealed anything. She’d even had him attempt to sort through to see if there were matches or near matches in any display. There hadn’t been.

  She had one more idea. With nearly nine months of observations, piecemeal as they had been, she might have enough data. “Can you match the fractal patterns observed to the same surface area on the sun … with calculation and regression?”

  “That will take time.”

  “How much?”

  “Using available processing time, more than ten years for the full width of those bands.”

  Alayna swallowed, then realized. She shouldn’t have been surprised, given the number of mini-granulations, and the fact that the sun’s photosphere rotated at differing speeds according to latitude. Marcel would have to calculate the movements by fractions of a degree of latitude, and with granulations lasting only eight to ten minutes, and multi-fractal mini-granulations averaging close to five minutes, the number of mini-granulations …

  She shook her head. “Limit the area to one small enough that you can do the calculations in a month. Include those cases where you find close similarities as well.”

  “That is a very small area, Dr. Wong-Grant. That may be too small to show results of statistical significance.”

  “I know. Do what you can under those constraints.” Alayna had to leave the dimensions up to Marcel. Roughly speaking each square of one degree would contain, on average, roughly sixteen “normal” granules and a larger number of mini-granules at any one time … but averages were only approximations, and approximations wouldn’t give her anything close to even a hint of something new. And given the variables, she’d have spent hours, if not years that she didn’t have … and wouldn’t have done as good a job as Marcel. “Only work on this when it will not interfere with anything else.”

  “Beginning processing.”

  Most likely yet another idea that will turn out to be nonsense, showing nothing … the man or the data that wasn’t there—again. She’d be fortunate if what Marcel could do would provide a hint of what she felt was there—some sort of underlying order rather than elaborate plasma convection.

  She felt, just felt, that she was on the edge of something, and yet, she couldn’t even define it. Was that perseverance … or just self-delusion?

  A faint buzz intruded on her thoughts. When she did not respond immediately, Marcel spoke. “Dr. Wong-Grant, there is a malfunction in the electrostatic dust prevention system for the main optical mirror.”

  Alayna sighed. “Diagnostics, please. With image.”

  “The malfunction appears to be in the waveguide controller,” offered Marcel.

  She could see that, but she refrained from saying so. The dust prevention systems for all the optical mirrors and lenses were based on long-tested electrostatic traveling wave technology, since actual cleaning would only degrade the surfaces. While she might be able to repair the controller, given the relatively sophisticated technical shop and Marcel’s expertise, the first thing to do was to remove the existing controller and replace it with a functioning one, and then bring the malfunctioning unit back to the shop, for repair, if possible, and, one way or another, notify Farside Foundation operations.

  “Is there a spare in inventory?”

  “According to the records, there are three spares. The same controller is used with the lens cleaning system for the solar mirror.”

  “When was the controller for the main mirror last replaced?”

  “Eleven years ago. There was a previous replacement the year after the present main mirror and system was installed.”

  “Do you have a location for the spare units?”

  “Echo Charlie one three.”

  “Echo Charlie one three.” Alayna repeated the location to herself, then rose from the console and headed for the lower level and the higher tech equipment supply room.

  Finding Echo Charlie one three took several minutes longer than Alayna had anticipated, partly because it was at the end of the second row in the dimness away from any direct illumination and the bin was at ankle level. The plastfilm that covered the topmost of the three small oblong controllers bore a thin layer of dust. So did the covering of the other two. Alayna took the top one and made her way back to the suit locker room, where she began her preparations for the replacement, beginning with swathing the controller in an insulating wrap that would allow it to cool slowly once it left the warmth and pressure of the station. Then she began suiting up.

  More than thirty minutes passed before she eased the roller out of the lock and toward the main optical array. After all the effort it had taken to repair the radio telescope antenna film, she had no anticipation that the replacement of a controller, simple as it had looked on the schematic, would be easy. Necessary, yes, because despite the lack of a lunar atmosphere, the dust was electrically charged and, over time, had a tendency to film over anything, and even the finest coating of dust over a telescope lens was definitely not something for which the Farside Foundation clients were paying.

  Alayna eased the roller toward the main mirror structure, covering the last hundred meters at a pace little more than a crawl, trying to keep from raising any unnecessary dust, a particularly important aspect of the repair when the dust-prevention system was either malfunctioning or not functioning at all. She gently slowed the roller to a complete stop just short of the door to the support systems module. Since it was lunar day on Farside, she was feeling somewhat warm as she stepped off the roller.

  According to the schematic, the electrostatic dust prevention system was on the upper level of the module in the middle, and accessed by a ladder up to a horizontal catwalk. In theory, all she had to do was open the access door, climb the ladder, move a few steps to her right, remove two slip brackets, and unplug the malfunctioning waveguide controller, withdraw it, and then insert the replacement.

  She twisted the clip releases on the top of the access door, and then turned the handle. It moved easily enough, but when she tried to pull the door open, it didn’t budge. She pulled harder. Nothing happened.

  She studied where the edge of the door flanges met the metal of the module wall. Near the bottom of the door, from where it began some ten centimeters above the regolith and extending for almost a meter, it appeared to be sealed with lunar dust. She tried to rub it away with her gauntlets, but could only remove the outer layer of the dust.

  She tried to open the door again. While she thought she felt some give, she decided that brute force wasn’t the answer, especially since, if she damaged the access door, she’d have an even bigger repair and maintenance problem on her hands.

  She pulsed Marcel.

  “Yes, Dr. Wong-Grant?”

  “The access door won’t open. It’s
almost like the dust has formed an electrostatic weld. Is there any record of something like that?”

  “There is no record of any problem like that.”

  “All right. I’m going to see if one of the screwdrivers in the tool kit has a sharp enough edge that I can cut through the packed or welded dust. Let me know if the system does something while I’m working on this.”

  “I will do that, Dr. Wong-Grant.”

  Alayna stepped back onto the roller and searched through the tool locker until she found the thinnest-bladed screwdriver. Then she climbed down and returned to the access door, where she began to scrape, gently, starting at the top of the packed or semi-welded dust. After more than ten minutes she had only cleared a little more than thirty centimeters. She was sweating, and her faceplate was beginning to fog over. She straightened and stopped working, to see if the exosuit’s system could clear away some of the moisture.

  After several minutes, her faceplate was clearer, and she again addressed the packed dust. She had almost cleared another thirty centimeters when the suit’s warning system beeped.

  Then Marcel pulsed her. “Dr. Wong-Grant, you are bending over too much and compressing the ventilation and heating lines.”

  Alayna straightened.

  The beeping stopped.

  She tried the door again. The upper half seemed as though it might be free enough to open, but the bottom section remained stuck.

  She bent over again, but she couldn’t reach any lower with the screwdriver. The suit beeped even louder. She straightened up, and the beeping stopped.

  “What the frig am I supposed to do now?” Alayna immediately added, “Don’t answer that, Marcel. I know I still have to replace the damned controller.”

  She tried kneeling, but the suit wouldn’t let her bend her knees and legs enough to get into a kneeling position.

  She looked at the bottom of the door. If she couldn’t bend over … In the end, after an awkward struggle, she managed to lie down on the regolith, mostly on her stomach. She began to scrape away the hardened dust, almost frantically, hoping that her faceplate wouldn’t fog up too much.

  Five minutes passed, then more than ten. The lower she got, the harder the dust became and the longer it took to clear each centimeter. She still had several centimeters of the hardened dust to remove when Marcel announced, “Your suit temperature is dropping below advisable levels.”

  “Tell me when it gets dangerous. I’m almost done.” You think.

  She kept scraping.

  “The abdominal sensor indicates a dangerously low temperature level, Dr. Wong-Grant.”

  “I’m almost done.”

  “You said that before, Dr. Wong-Grant.”

  Alayna jabbed at the last section of the stubborn dust, once, twice, and again. Abruptly, the last segment gave way, and the screwdriver skidded downward. Alayna’s gauntlets hit the regolith next to the metal wall so hard that a sharp pain ran through her hand and arm, and she lost her grip on the screwdriver. It didn’t go anywhere, except into the regolith. She was tempted to leave it sticking up there, but worried that retrieving it would just require even more acrobatics. It didn’t, but she did have to pry it out of the lunar surface, and then half roll on her side to start to get up. By the time she was standing, she could feel that the surface of her stomach was like ice, even while sweat oozed into the corners of her eyes.

  When she reached for the handle of the door, she murmured, “Please.”

  It did move as she tugged on it, if slowly, and she swung it completely open. Before she went to retrieve the controller, she used the screwdriver to scrape away the remaining hardened dust, at least the section that she could reach without excessive bending and contortions.

  Then she climbed back onto the roller, leaving the screwdriver on the floor where she could easily reach it, if necessary, and then picked up the controller, still wrapped in the insulating blanket, which she loosened slightly, before descending and then climbing the ladder up to the catwalk.

  Although she worried about whether the malfunctioning control would also be stuck or jammed, the slip brackets moved easily, and she eased the old controller out and the new one in place without difficulty. A mist rose from the new controller, and Alayna just hoped that was normal vacuum off-gassing. She repositioned the brackets, and pulsed Marcel. “The new controller is in position.”

  “The system indicates proper positioning. It has commenced a recycle.”

  Alayna waited. She didn’t want to move until she knew whether the replacement had been successful. At least a minute passed before she asked, “What does the system indicate?”

  “The recycle is not complete, Dr. Wong-Grant.”

  Alayna continued to wait. At least her abdomen felt warmer, and she’d stopped sweating.

  Finally, after what seemed another ten minutes, but was only two, Marcel announced, “The electrostatic dust prevention system is operating as designed, Dr. Wong-Grant.”

  “Good. I’m going to seal up here and return.”

  Marcel did not reply, predictably, since she had not asked a question or implied one.

  With the old controller in hand, Alayna climbed back down from the catwalk, then laid the old controller next to the screwdriver before turning back to the access door and slowly but firmly pushing it shut and returning the handle to the secured position. Then she twisted the upper brackets into their secured position. There were no lower brackets, for reasons she had just learned.

  She climbed back onto the roller and placed the old controller and the screwdriver in the tool bin. As she settled behind the controls and eased the roller back and away from the main mirror structure, she realized what she should have done. All she would have had to do was go back to the station and attach the screwdriver to a length of something so that she could scrape away that crap while standing up. Hindsight is so much more accurate than foresight. She almost snorted.

  Almost another hour passed while she dealt with cleaning the roller, unsuiting, cleaning up and changing out of her totally soaked undersuit, and then taking the controller to the maintenance shop.

  She hadn’t been back before the controls more than five minutes, sipping a mug of what passed for hot coffee, when a faint chime alerted her to an incoming message. She called up the sender, then stiffened as she saw it was from the IAU. She immediately accessed the complete message and read through it. The point of the message was contained in less than a sentence:

  … has determined that the object previously classified as C/X/2114 FT2 COFAR-SMOA is in fact a minor body under IAU definitions and has been reclassified as 2114 FQ5.

  “Comet COFAR is no more,” she murmured. “Just another minor planet or small body in an eccentric orbit.” She couldn’t say that she was surprised. She paused, then asked Marcel, “Can you calculate the orbit of our anomaly, once known as Comet C/X/2114 FT2?”

  “From the COFAR observations, the calculations won’t be completely accurate, Dr. Wong-Grant.”

  “Do the best you can, and then put a system and orbit plot on the screen—just from the orbit of Jupiter inward.”

  Almost immediately, an image appeared.

  Alayna frowned. “That’s definitely a cometary orbit. It’s even a sun-grazing orbit. I don’t see why the IAU reclassified it as a minor planet or system small body. Its aphelion is well out into the Kuiper Belt. They just could have kept the old designation and added a prefix, the way they’ve done for comets that have stopped off-gassing. It’s definitely a cometary orbit.” She paused. “Is there any way you can check whether they’ve reclassified comets as small bodies recently?”

  “No, Dr. Wong-Grant. I do not have access to IAU databases.”

  “Do you have any other resources that might refer to that?”

  “Such a search would exceed communications bandwidth restrictions, Dr. Wong-Grant.”

  “Thank you.” That was a hurdle Alayna should have realized.

  For several moments, she just sat before the
displays. Then she added, “As much as the contract work allows, keep a running track on our former comet, now known as…” She had to pause and look at the message again, “2114 FQ5.”

  “Command accepted.”

  Alayna had suspected from early on that “her” comet wasn’t one, or not a typical one. She’d even told Chris that, but the matter-of-fact reclassification still depressed her. She also couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something strange about that reclassification, but from Farside, she had no way to check that.

  She forced a shrug. No relatively easy flicker of notice for you, Alayna. Back to mini-granulations and multi-fractal patterns. Except, by definition, fractals weren’t patterns.

  20

  DONOVAN BASE

  13 OCTOBER 2114

  Tavoian walked past Spacer3 Riske’s console into the colonel’s office, felt the pressure door shut behind him, and then took the seat opposite the senior officer.

  “This will serve as your briefing for your mission, Captain.”

  “Yes, sir.” The colonel didn’t have to ask if Tavoian understood why he was being briefed personally, rather than receiving it through a console. Tavoian knew. The ostensible reason was for security purposes. The secondary reason was doubtless for deniability. Even the Space Service was subject to the Noram IG, as a result of rather sordid events not quite a century before involving the old American military, but the IG would have trouble finding documentary or electronic evidence if it didn’t exist.

  “Officially, you will be making a reconnaissance flight from here to a point slightly orbit-inferior to the Sinese elevator orbit station. Once in position, you will activate all long-range sensors in all wavelengths at full sensitivity. You will remain there for as long as possible, gathering information, but not to exceed two standard hours. You are then to move to a position slightly in advance of the Indian space facility, where you will again activate all sensors and remain for up to one hour. You will then travel to ONeill Station, where you will refuel as necessary, and wait ten hours before commencing a return to LLOS, with passengers. Once approaching LLOS, you will be redirected to L1. That’s the official profile. These orders, with the precise coordinates, have already been transferred to your ship’s AI. The unofficial profile is that as you depart you will release a cubesat array at both the Sinese and Indian installations. If you follow the mission profile exactly, which we will go over in detail shortly, the thermal effect of your drive thrust should conceal the dispersion of the array, which will move slowly toward the target station.” The colonel paused.