He had to be patient. In about a year he would once again land on the Blue Planet. Marchenko aimed his gaze upward. The firmament, with its infinite number of stars, dazzled him every time he saw it. It was a giant puzzle like no other. He looked at a section, admired the variety of stars and galaxies in it, all the strange things created by the laws of nature. There were variable stars that changed their brightness rhythmically like Christmas decorations, gigantic explosions of dying stars and their remnants, neutron stars and black holes, which he could only discover through the effects they created, and all the even more absurd monsters in the cosmic zoo.
Then, he zoomed into the region. One might assume that now the details would be enlarged while the variety decreased, but far from it. He saw other stellar monsters and new astrophysical phenomena, but nothing repeated itself in a systematic fashion. It seemed impossible to him, but when he increased the resolution again, the same thing happened, and then again and again and again. This universe prevented humans from fully grasping it, and yet it was finite.
How did this make sense? Marchenko did not know, but he enjoyed the view. The term ‘meditation’ really was appropriate. He drifted, and meanwhile the universe was pouring its diversity over his forehead like oil from a jug, dispersing the meaningless thoughts of mortals and washing them away—it was pure relaxation.
Something flickered. It only lasted a few microseconds, but because his senses were enhanced by the measuring instruments of ILSE, Marchenko noticed it. It came from the cosmic North, from the direction of the Pole Star, and it was as if someone had briefly opened and closed a curtain. What could this be? He had learned never to ignore such oddities.
Marchenko still remembered how his father had always listened to the sounds made by their old Zhiguli car. If there was a scratching noise in the engine, even a very soft one, he took everything apart before a real problem could develop, as spare parts were almost impossible to find back then. Basically, the crew of ILSE was in a very similar situation. No one would be able to help them if an instrument failed.
What could this flickering have been? Perhaps a micrometeorite had hit one of the instruments and caused it to report faulty data for a moment. Or was it a problem with the control system?
“Doc Watson, can you help me?” whispered Marchenko. He could communicate with the AI by thinking of it, but it was easier for him if he imagined himself speaking.
“Sure, Dimitri.”
“I had a brief positional change here near the Pole Star, just something flickering.”
“α Ursae Minoris, I understand. Just a moment.”
“It is probably nothing,” Marchenko said, but immediately noticed that he uttered this statement more to calm himself down that out of true conviction. Any electronic system might exhibit spontaneous errors, of course, but the ship’s instruments were double- and triple-secured against this.
“That is interesting,” Watson said. Marchenko knew at once he would not like to hear the rest. “For half a second the Pole Star was shifted several minutes of arc in the direction of the ecliptic. Now its position is totally correct again.”
“Half a second? How quickly do the correction algorithms of the optical instruments usually react?”
“The tolerance is 10 milliseconds.”
“You notice something? Doubly-secured instruments provide erroneous data for 500 milliseconds, even though it should have noticed the error after 10 milliseconds.”
“That is indeed strange. The probability of such an error randomly occurring is 1 in 350,000.”
“What do the correction memories indicate, Doc?” If the instrument had corrected its measurements, it should be recorded in the appropriate files, Marchenko reasoned.
“No correction happened.”
“Do you have any idea how this all fits together?”
“The probability is so low that this event has to be considered impossible by any reasonable standards.”
“Yes, Doc, but it did happen. Now use your imagination.”
“Imagination?”
“Search for remote possibilities that would explain the event.”
“There might be an error in your programming, Dimitri.”
“Good, you are moving in the right direction.”
Marchenko also had an idea.
November 6, 2049, ILSE
A flood of light penetrated Martin’s eyelids and reached him in his sleep. He opened his eyes to find that the light in his cabin was shining bright as day. What’s going on here? Who turned on the light? He looked at his watch. Almost midnight! He seemed to have fallen asleep just a short while ago. After the fight with Jiaying he must have been lying awake for about two hours.
He heard Marchenko’s voice from the wall. “Martin, I am sorry, but there is a problem.”
“Are you insane, Dimitri? Just look at what time it is!”
“I am sorry, but you have to help me. Right now! I need you at the COAS.”
“Did you check the shift plan? It’s my free time. Free as in free, as in resting, no responsibilities, and no wakeup calls at night.”
“I know, but I can trust you.”
“Are you also starting in with that? There is no evidence against Valentina. She can’t help it if her father is an asshole.”
“That may be correct, but I have discovered something—and I think you are the least likely to be involved in it. You are just too... straightforward.”
“Well, thank you, I think. Now you even insult me during my time off? Have you left the society of humans for so long you have forgotten simple rules of etiquette?”
“I am sorry. I meant that as a compliment. It is good if someone is trustworthy.”
“Yes, yes, just tell me what is going on so we can get this over with. Maybe I can get a little bit of sleep afterward.”
“As I mentioned, I need you at the COAS.”
Martin thought about this. He had heard this acronym before. Was it during his training?
“I’m sorry, I am not sure what it means. What is it?”
“I am talking about the Crewman Optical Alignment Sight—the COAS. You should have learned about it during training.”
“Was it some kind of telescope?”
“Yes. In case of emergency, to be used when the star trackers are severely out of alignment—by more than one point four degrees.”
“I didn’t hear anything about an emergency. If the navigation failed like this, the automatic system would have gotten us up long ago.” Martin could not imagine Marchenko’s warning being true. With the help of the star trackers—which determined the position of ILSE relative to several fixed stars—the software verified whether the ship was on the right path. So this would mean they were on the wrong course.
“It’s only a suspicion,” Marchenko said.
“Then I hope it turns out to be true and you didn’t wake me for nothing in the middle of the night.”
“To be honest, I would be glad if I woke you up for no reason. If this is confirmed, we are in deep shit.”
Martin did not answer. Usually, Marchenko did not use such language, so he must have a good reason for it. Martin got out of bed, pulled off his pajamas, and put on his pants and a T-shirt.
“Where is the damned COAS?” asked Martin, annoyed.
“It is in a box under the floor in the CELSS. You have to get it and attach it at a specific position on the CELSS porthole,” Marchenko replied.
“The CELSS has a porthole?”
“It is an observation opening for the COAS. It has a diameter of only 10 centimeters and is located behind the paneling in the rear area. I will show you where it is exactly.”
“ILSE still keeps surprising me,” Martin said, already heading out of his cabin.
“Software is never error-free, so it is reassuring to have methods to check on some things the good old-fashioned way.”
In the corridor he heard the usual noises created by the life support systems. The cabins had really good s
ound insulation. Martin did not want to imagine how earlier astronauts had to try to sleep with the noise of machinery all around them. At least he did not have to attempt to be quiet and not wake the others. Unless she took a stroll in the garden, Valentina wouldn’t notice anything about his excursion. She was doing her night shift in the command module.
He climbed up the spoke. With each rung of the ladder the climb to the central area became easier, because the simulated gravity decreased. One right turn, across another room, and now he was floating into the CELSS. There was no one there to disturb him.
“In the rear of the right aisle, hatch 2C,” Marchenko explained.
Martin walked forward and turned into the right aisle. The floor below him was hollow underneath, holding various spare parts. In addition, pipes and electrical cables were located here. The metal hatches were labeled with numbers. Martin slapped his hand against his forehead.
“You could have told me I would need a wrench,” he said.
“I told you this was about a hatch in the floor.”
Yes, right, but still... Martin went to the workshop and got the appropriate wrench. Luckily, the door to the command module was closed, so Valentina definitely could not see him. Once he returned to the CELSS he went directly to hatch 2C. He undid four nuts and lifted the metal cover. Below it was a kind of thick pipe with a bend at the end, covered by a tinted glass pane that was attached at an angle.
“It looks ancient.”
“Yes. It is from the old days of NASA, and even flew on one of the space shuttles,” Marchenko said. “It is completely analog, which means there is hardly anything that can break.”
Martin took the device out after opening the two clamps holding it in place.
“It’s rather heavy.”
“Stop making such a fuss. It is only about a kilo of the finest steel.”
Martin looked at the COAS. It resembled a telescope, only with a slanted eyepiece that made it easier for him to look through it.
“And where is the observation hole?”
“You will need the wrench.”
“Okay.”
“Look at the groove going upward from the last shelf, until you see it meeting a cover of about 15 by 15 centimeters. Remove that cover.”
Martin put down the COAS and followed his instructions. It was hard to work on something located above his head. He took off the cover and revealed a round channel, considerably bigger than the tube of the COAS, ending in a pane of glass.
“Perfect,” Marchenko said. “Now take another look at the COAS. Look for the electrical socket. It requires 115 volts.”
“Wait just a moment.” There were plenty of outlets here in the CELSS, because the crew had to plug in lamps for the lighting system. He swiped a cord from a plant bed and connected it to the COAS.
“I am noticing an additional consumer in the CELSS,” Marchenko reported. “I hope this will not trigger an alarm somewhere. It does not matter. Take another look at the COAS. You should find three buttons labeled ‘F6, F8, and A.’ They are distributed in such a way you can reach at least one of them in any observational position. You only need one of them, and it doesn’t matter which.”
“I found them,” Martin said.
“Now you stick the COAS lens forward into the hole, and then look through the eyepiece. You should see a bright star and a glowing cross.”
“That’s right. Bright star and cross. But not particularly close to each other.”
“Fine, but that is not necessary. Now you move the COAS until the star is exactly at the center of the cross. Then you press one of the buttons.”
“Does this take a photo now?”
“No. At that moment the COAS is aimed exactly along the line of sight to the star. Repeat this several times to get a more precise value.”
Martin wiggled the eyepiece and then repeated the experiment.
“Are ten repetitions enough?”
“Yes. Tell me the values shown on the mini-display on the side.”
Martin turned the device. He found three numbers that he repeated to Marchenko. “And what are you doing with them? Are the numbers correct?”
“The numbers tell me the alignment of COAS in relation to the ship as an inertial system,” Marchenko replied. “Since you aligned it precisely with the line of sight to the star, we can now calculate where ILSE is.”
“Don’t we need three reference points for a triangulation?”
“We already know we have not left the plane of the planets—the ecliptic. Therefore one additional line is sufficient to determine where on this plane we are located. That has to be the intersection of the line of sight to the star with the ecliptic.”
“And what if we left the plane of the ecliptic somehow?”
“Then we would have noticed much earlier that something was wrong.”
“Does this mean your suspicion has proven to be true?”
“I can definitely say we are not where we should be.”
“Somebody manipulated our course?”
“Yes, considerably.”
“We are going to be late arriving at Enceladus?”
“We have to discuss that. It looks like we might not even reach the Saturn orbit.”
November 7, 2049, ILSE
“Come in.”
Martin knocked on Amy’s door and proceeded to open it. The commander sat on her bed, watching a monitor screen.
“Good morning! Are you already working?” he asked.
“No, I am looking at pictures of Sol.”
“Did you establish contact with Earth?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Amy gave him a sad look. “These are old photos. I really would like to know how he is developing. At his age, they grow so fast.”
“In about a year...”
“I know,” she said, “and I don’t want to complain. Anything I can do for you so early in the morning?”
“I need to talk about something with you, as I mentioned via the intercom,” Martin said.
“Are you having problems with Jiaying? How can I help?”
“No, that’s not it. There is a problem with the ship… Marchenko?”
“I am here. We urgently need to talk to you,” the Russian’s voice said from the wall. Amy turned around, but there was nobody there. Martin often caught himself looking for the owner of the voice, even though he had known for a long time Marchenko wasn’t physically there.
“We spent the whole day getting to the heart of the matter, but we are stuck,” Martin explained. “About 24 hours ago, Marchenko noticed a sudden change in the position of the Pole Star.”
“A fixed star that moves?” asked Amy with a skeptical look.
“No, of course it did not move. It changed position. This lasted for about 500 milliseconds.”
“That’s completely impossible.”
“Of course the star did not jump back and forth a few billion light years. But to me it looked that way,” Marchenko said,
“So the optical sensor briefly reported faulty data.”
“I wish, commander.”
“What do you mean?”
“It looks like all external sensors are constantly reporting erroneous data. We checked this using the COAS. That device cannot be fooled.”
Amy rubbed her chin. “That is utterly preposterous. All of these sensors could not possibly fail at the same time. If one system became defective, the others would notice and report it.”
“We thought so, too,” Martin said. “That is why we needed to talk to you. Marchenko shielded this cabin against any access from the outside. Something is going on, and we can barely gauge its importance.”
“It sounds like it,” Amy said. “The instruments are probably working correctly. But there seems to be something between them and us that is distorting the data.”
“Plus, it does so systematically and with a specific goal,” Marchenko added.
“Really?”
“Without our intervention, ILSE would have mi
ssed its destination, the Saturn orbit.”
“I would like to keep this among ourselves for now,” Amy said, after she thought about it for a few minutes. “Someone must be responsible for this error. The two of you unearthed this, so I assume you are not among the conspirators.”
Martin was reminded of the Alien game. If Amy was the alien, she would be saying exactly the same thing, but they had gone to the commander, nonetheless. Marchenko had been completely sure they could trust her, and when Martin entered her cabin, he had seen it for himself. Amy definitely wanted to return home, to her son. She would never endanger the expedition.
“So why did you tell this to me? Doing that is already a security issue.” Could the commander read their thoughts?
“Because of this,” Martin said, pointing at the screen that still displayed photos of her son. Amy nodded.
“Don’t say a word to anyone else. Watson and Valentina, but also Francesca and Jiaying, they are all possible suspects. We have to check out each of them, in a way neither they nor anyone else will notice. Otherwise the culprit would cover his or her tracks.”
“Just like after the zucchini poisoning,” Martin said, “and the reduced oxygen.”
“How much time do we have to find the perpetrator?” asked Amy.
“Only two days, commander,” Marchenko said. “It was a clever plan. We seem to be much farther than we really are. In two days we would have started decelerating, so Saturn could gradually move us into an orbit. Only Saturn would not have been there. Instead of flying around the ringed planet we would have entered a solar orbit, which would have taken us back to Earth.”
“Then I might be the conspirator after all,” Amy said.
“No, because if we decelerate here at the aphelion without reaching Saturn, we would be much faster than planned once we get to Earth. We would probably shoot right past it toward the sun.”
“So we would solve the problem by simply continuing for a while at our current speed. For once, it’s rather easy.”
Ice Moon 4 Return to Enceladus Page 19
