The Beacon: Hard Science Fiction

by Brandon Q Morris

  There was no sign of a reception desk. Two of the cabins had lights on, but cars that were recognizable as rental cars were parked not far from them, so guests were most probably staying there.

  Peter studied his reservation. He called the phone number, and a young-sounding female voice answered. It turned out that the reception office was in the village near the church. But the woman agreed to come because he’d be the last guest anyway, after which she could go home.

  Half an hour later, Peter was lying in his bed. He was so tired that he hadn’t checked out the hut’s amenities or bothered to brush his teeth.

  March 29, 2026 – Kiruna

  When Peter awakened in the morning, bright light streamed past the sides of the blind into the hut. Doesn’t the sun always rise late and set early this far north? He looked at the clock on his cellphone. It was only seven, and yet it seemed as bright as day. He wanted to get up to pull the blind up, but when he pushed the thick blanket aside, the frosty air overwhelmed him.

  Just beyond the foot of the bed, he saw a cannon stove. A few wood scraps were still glowing in its tube, but they were no longer enough to warm the room, because the walls rose like in a tent and the peak was at least four meters high. To the right of the stove, a narrow side room opened out. He wondered if there was a toilet inside, since his bladder was already pressing. He didn’t remember what the woman who’d welcomed him here had said. He only remembered her saying that breakfast would be served in a communal building.

  Peter stood up with the blanket around him. He pulled up the blind. Next to the stove were wood and firelighters so that he could light the stove. He checked the adjoining room, but it was only a small entrance area, so the toilet must be outside. He got dressed, packed his toothbrushing stuff, slipped into his shoes, and left the cabin.

  It was not as cold outside as he had feared, but nippy enough that the windows of his car were frosted over. The ground between the huts consisted of compacted snow, but it didn’t feel slippery. The paths to the toilet hut and the refreshment hut were easily recognizable because they were the widest. Peter deeply drew in the air, which smelled of forest and animals, probably the reindeer with which the lodge gave sleigh rides. He remembered that the woman had offered him a ride, but he’d declined.

  His bladder was calling again. He had to take care of his physical needs first.

  Peter was sitting at breakfast half an hour later. The young woman from yesterday wished him a good morning. He seemed to be the only guest, so he looked for a place as close as possible to the cannon stove, which was also the heating system for this hut. He found cereal, pastries, coffee and tea, already more than he needed, and there was even fruit, which he had not expected.

  What should he do with this day? He could borrow cross-country skis or snowshoes rent-free. That sort of activity would be more Franziska’s thing. Peter looked at the surroundings on his cellphone and came across two interesting places: the spaceport in Esrange, which he would visit tomorrow anyway, and the iron mine of the Swedish company LKAB. With that, he made his decision. He booked a reservation online for the tour, which would start at half-past nine.

  He was already lying in bed again when Franziska called him.

  “I wanted to thank you for the nice welcome home,” she said, “I appreciate it, even though it was a shame you had to travel.”

  She didn’t sound as upset as she had yesterday.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to go through with this now,” he said. “I think our futures depend on it. Our children’s, too.”

  “I admire you a little bit for that,” Franziska said, “even though I think you’re wrong. But you’re really committed to it.”

  “You’ll see that I’m right.”

  He said that, although he hoped it wasn’t so, because Franziska would only realize that he was right if the CubeSat project failed, and then they’d all be dead.

  “After all, we don’t have to sort it out now,” said Franziska. “Anyway, it was a beautiful day in the garden, with sun and Aperol Spritz. And, your day?”

  “I went to see a mine, where we were taken down to five hundred and forty meters. Just imagine that feeling, five hundred and forty meters of rock above you.”

  “Thank you, no. Just the idea is enough for me.”

  “We could have rented snowshoes or skis.”

  “Thank you, Peter. I’ve really had enough of snow now that we’re at the end of March. I was delighted to be able to lie in the sun today. The only thing that would have appealed to me if I were there would have been the northern lights.”

  “Are you... Will you still be there when I come back on Tuesday? I’d be glad.”

  “I can think about that tomorrow. In any case, I’ll spend the night here again tonight. It feels good to sleep in my own bed again.”

  Peter was still lying awake and thinking about the conversation. Franziska didn’t seem to be as angry with him anymore. What else did she say? The aurora borealis would have delighted her.

  He looked at the clock. It was now shortly before ten. That should be a good time to search the sky for them. He crawled out from under the covers and got dressed again.

  It took a while to find a place where the trees did not interfere with the view of the sky. Sure enough, there they were. Pale, rather gray flags were waving in the black firmament. At first glance, they resembled thin veils of clouds, but when he looked closely, he recognized a greenish tinge. A few meters away, a man had mounted a cellphone on a tripod and was using it to photograph the sky.

  “May I?” asked Peter in English.

  “Gladly,” the man said.

  Peter looked at the display of the cellphone. The northern lights were visible in much richer contrast. But he didn’t have a tripod, and handheld, long exposures wouldn’t work. It didn’t matter. He had the images in his head, which were enough to describe them to Franziska.

  March 30, 2026 – Kiruna

  It was still dark when the alarm clock on his cellphone rang. Peter got up and switched on the light. Today was the big day, and the thought made him a little nauseous. He quickly put on some clothes, freshened up in the toilet hut, and went to breakfast.

  It was icy and clear. He looked up at the sky, and a thousand stars stared down on him. They blinked and winked much less than at home in Passau. It was as if the heavens were much more serious about him here. He stopped and looked for Sigma Draconis, but he couldn’t find the star, not because it was no longer there, but because the night sky was figuratively overflowing with stars. How was anyone supposed to believe that some were missing?

  The door to the communal hut opened with a loud creak that echoed off the trees. A sonic boom could hardly be louder in this wilderness. He looked around, but the lights didn’t suddenly go on in any of the other huts.

  It was lukewarm inside. The young woman was not here yet, but yesterday she’d put everything he would need in front of him. He only had to turn on the coffee machine himself. He had also already checked out, as he would not be returning to Reindeer Lodge. It didn’t take long before the smell of coffee permeated the room. Peter calmed down. He didn’t give a damn about these strange feelings.

  The launch would succeed, of that there was no doubt. Rockets Plus had done everything to ensure the maiden flight of their new rocket did not fail. A lot depended on it for the company, not the least its IPO. The company’s engineers were unaware that failure would also mean the end of the solar system.

  It was slowly getting light as he made his way to the launch center. The trees along the roadside emerged from the darkness as if reporting for duty in the Lapland tree army. Peter yawned. He opened the side window, and the icy air quickly dispelled the rest of his tiredness. A rickety Volvo overtook him. It was the quintessential Swedish cliché.

  After a while, he saw a couple of large white satellite dishes on the right side of the road. That must be the ESA ground station mentioned on the launch center website. It was therefore exactly seven kil
ometers farther. The odometer had advanced six more kilometers when he saw the illuminated entrance. The wooden building beside it was the visitor center. Even though there was light in the sky, the center would not open until eight.

  He saw a light on inside the glassed-in porter’s lodge. Peter parked the car at the side, walked to a small window, and knocked on it. A woman was sitting inside. She pointed to the back with her left hand. He walked around the little house to a door at the rear. He kicked the snow residue off his shoes, opened the door, and went inside.

  “You must be Peter Kraemer,” the woman said in English. “I am Vera.”

  She was significantly shorter than himself, a little overweight, and wore a blue uniform that looked more like private security than police.

  “How do you know that?” he asked.

  “The others are already here.”

  “How so? I’m coming from Reindeer Lodge, and except for an old Volvo, no one has passed me.”

  “That must have been Esther. She’s in charge of breakfast. The others are staying at our ‘Aurora’ hotel.”

  “I see.”

  “I have your ID here. You must keep it with you at all times.”

  Vera handed him a plastic card with an attached blue and white striped lanyard. He hung it around his neck and thanked her.

  “You’ve never been here before, have you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, come with me.”

  Vera took a lined jacket from the back of her chair, put it on, and pointed to the door.

  Peter started the rental car. The guard sat next to him. The windshield immediately fogged up and Peter turned the ventilation controls to the highest setting.

  “Pull up to the card reader,” Vera said.

  He reversed a few meters, then pulled to the left until he could reach the card reader from his window. He tried his plastic card, but the barrier did not respond.

  “You’re a guest, no privileges,” the woman said, handing him her card. He held it over the reader and the barrier opened. They followed the road for a few hundred meters until Peter saw a few clinker buildings and wooden sheds on the left.

  “This is dispatch,” Vera said. “Turn left and drive slowly.”

  As they passed between the buildings, the guard showed him the operations center, the hotel, and the restaurant.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

  “No, turn left again over there.”

  He drove them into a large square opening. It looked like the forest here had been cut down for a construction project.

  “Big plans?” he asked.

  Vera laughed. “No, this is the balloon launch site. See the road there at the end? That’s where we’re going.”

  He turned into a wooded area. The road made a left turn. Then he saw an open area with some low buildings grouped around it. There was no rocket set up.

  “This is launch site 1,” Vera said.

  “Stop?”

  “No.”

  The road continued through another wooded area again until another clearing appeared. It had to be their destination, because there was a rocket in the middle of the open space. It looked huge out here in the open. It seemed to be leaning against an illuminated tower, as if it needed to rest a bit before launching.

  “Stop there behind the flat-roofed building,” Vera said.

  He parked the car in a gravel parking lot, got out, and looked around. He’d once visited the Kennedy Space Center in Florida. Here, everything was much more modest. And they were damn close to the rocket he saw shimmering above the building’s flat roof. He imagined the rocket taking off on a cushion of flame that enveloped the building and his car, until the paint blistered.

  “Pretty big, huh?” asked Vera.

  Peter nodded.

  “It’s the tallest model to launch from here so far.”

  “But we’re safe in that building?”

  “Yes, of course. The safety margins are generous,” Vera replied.

  She went forward and held the door for him. They were in a room about the size of two classrooms at his school. At the front was a large projection screen covered with status displays. A tall, slim man clad in a turtleneck sweater and jeans approached them.

  “There he is, our curious guest,” the man said in German.

  Peter thought he picked up a slight accent.

  “Welcome. I’m Peter Bintzew,” the man introduced himself, “the CEO of RocketsPlus.”

  “Pleased to meet you. I’m Peter Kraemer.”

  “I’m glad you made it. I’ve been curious about you. You’re a physics teacher?”

  “Yes, high school. You’re probably wondering what made me want to launch a CubeSat so badly.”

  “Indeed. You’re our first private client.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “All right, you’ve got to tell it to me. But for now, let’s get your satellite into space. You can sit there in the last row but, please, don’t touch anything.”

  Then turning his escort, Bintzew said, “Thank you, Vera, for taking care of our guest. Sören can take you back to the front in ten minutes. He has something to do in town.”

  “I’ll wait outside,” Vera said. “It’s too hot for me in here.”

  Peter sat on a wooden chair reminiscent of the chairs on which his students suffered. A low desk in front of him held two monitors. To his left were two more similarly equipped workstations. There were six rows in total, almost reaching the projection screen on the end wall. The most important people seemed to be sitting in front, surprisingly few of them. Rockets Plus apparently got by with a small number of staff members. He’d once watched a launch at DLR in Ottobrunn, near Munich, and there had been twice as many people in the room.

  What he saw was not particularly exciting. He would have loved to go out and watch from the roof, but he was not allowed to. A countdown was running on the projection screen, which had just stopped at T-5 minutes. A young woman with dark skin and short hair came over to him. She tapped around on one of the screens until he could see a camera image that showed the rocket. Clouds of steam were issuing from beneath it. Here in the north, this seemed normal to him. A sauna would probably emit no less vapor.

  The countdown picked up where it had left off. The rocket was snow-white, almost its entire body filled with fuel. Only in the tip at the very top was there room for the payload. Who would his CubeSat be traveling with? Peter imagined the satellites talking to each other.

  Hah!1 get to go out first.

  So? Then I’ll live longer.

  I’ll get to see a lot more than you.

  My purpose is top secret.

  T-60. The display counted down second after second. Peter’s palms grew sweaty. He slid them under his thighs. At T-15, he felt a vibration. On the screen, the first flames burst from the engine. It looked as if the rocket was holding back with great difficulty. In just a moment it was going to launch.

  Five more seconds.

  The flames grew and spread around the launch platform. For a moment, it looked as if someone was about to sacrifice a virgin rocket in a fiery ritual.

  Then the illusion dissolved. Gravity ceased. Even Peter felt lighter for a moment. He alone sprang to his feet, and all at once, everyone in the room stood and clapped, except for three people who remain seated in the front row. The clapping quieted—the danger was not over yet. The rocket rose and rose. It had become a dot on the screen as it continued to soar.

  “First stage successfully separated,” the Rockets Plus CEO exclaimed.

  Clapping resumed, and then the room went dead silent. The rocket was no longer visible to the naked eye.

  “Second stage successfully separated,” Bintzew said. “Waiting for payloads to be ejected.”

  Silence. The launch of the rocket was a success, but the company made money only when it successfully launched the payloads. Up to now, everything was an expense.

  “CubeSat launcher reports success,”
Bintzew finally announced.

  Again, everyone jumped to their feet, the excitement especially evident in the front rows where the company’s employees were. They exchanged hugs and pats on the back. German words flew around the room.

  Peter sat down first, then got up and went outside. No one stopped him. His job was done... Or was it? He felt a strange calm. He had done what he could. No one could ask more of him, not even himself.

  The restaurant was called ‘Space Inn.’ It looked like a canteen, and that was an accurate perception. Today's main course consisted of a turkey cutlet with rice, and a salad buffet, moderately priced by Swedish standards. Peter carried his tray to a place on the edge of the uncrowded dining room. Some of the employees who came in bought hot coffee and then unpacked food they had brought with them.

  He had even more time than planned. Everything had gone so smoothly that he could hardly believe it. The flight from Rovaniemi didn’t leave until the next morning. For tonight he had reserved a room in the Finnish city. He really could have forgone this trip entirely. He now realized it would have been better to spend the weekend in the garden with Franziska.

  He looked at the clock. There were still more than 24 hours until he saw her again. The plane would land in Munich at half-past one. At least it was vacation time, so they still had two weeks to themselves. He had to use the time to get everything back on track. He didn’t want to lose Franziska.

  His smartphone vibrated in his pocket. It was a message from Miguel from SigmaLaunch, congratulating him on the successful launch. He put the phone away again and continued eating.

  Suddenly, someone spoke to him from behind. “May I?” asked Peter Bintzew in German.

  “Ah, you’ve come to hear the story.”

  Bintzew sat down in the seat opposite him. He had a coffee and a piece of cake on his tray.