The Dark Spring: Hard Science Fiction

by Brandon Q Morris

  But there were residues. Some parts of the autonomous vehicle program remained. The programmer responsible hadn’t thought it necessary to remove them. A vehicle in street traffic had to be able to anticipate the reactions of its human counterparts. DosRios 19/2 expected the other object would take her warning seriously. She’d also encoded her non-existent options. She couldn’t get out of the way, so she could only hope the other object would get out of the way.

  DosRios 19/2 switched her thruster to stand-by. She’d use it at the last moment. Maybe she could still use it to dodge the comet—her target—and save her own life. The superego emptied her memory. On the final approach, there should be no additional risk of memory seepage. She sent a farewell signal to her mother probe, a simple sign-out. DosRios 19 didn’t need to reserve any more resources for her. Then she folded in her antenna to reduce her profile.

  She received a position report. The message must have come from very close by, because it could only be from the other object. DosRios 19/2 calculated the position, which lay directly in her flight path. It clearly couldn’t move. DosRios 19/2 calculated three alternatives. With option number 1, she wouldn’t ignite her thruster at all. Both objects would have an 80 percent likelihood of being destroyed. With option 2, she would fire her thruster as planned. That would result in a 40 percent chance of survival for her and 5 percent for the other object. Option 3 involved firing her thruster at full power and emptying her oxygen tank. That would send her into a spin. DosRios 19/2 would then impact far above the nucleus, with certainty. The other object would have an 80 percent chance of survival.

  40 versus 45 versus 80 percent. That was easy for the efficiency algorithm. DosRios 19/2 sent a sign-out confirmation to the strange object. The folded antenna was enough to transmit across the short distance. It was a gesture. Even a primitive system should be able to interpret that. Then DosRios 19/2 fired her thruster. It burned out within 12 seconds. She vented her oxygen tank. Suddenly she turned. She was heading past the comet nucleus. Something silver flashed below her. Her folded antenna registered a sign-out confirmation.

  Then DosRios 19/2 crashed into a black rock.

  August 23, 2026 – TU Darmstadt

  “Have you heard?” Sylvia burst, skirt swinging, into the tiny office they’d provided for him. She smelled good. He recognized her signature perfume.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Science is publishing our discovery.”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  “Not only that! They’re arranging a press conference, together with us and NASA.”

  “With us?”

  “Bernhardt’s already on his way to Florida. But with NASA! Imagine that!”

  He imagined three people on a stage. “Okay, what’s so exciting about that?” he asked.

  “Well, if you don’t know, then neither do I.”

  “Don’t be like that. I really have no idea.”

  She scrutinized him. “You didn’t use to be so naive. If someone from NASA’s sitting with us on the podium, it means they want some of the acclaim.”

  “You mean they’re planning a mission?”

  “Finally you’re getting it. The moon landings were exciting at first, but now the TV networks don’t even show them live.”

  “So how’s this supposed to work?”

  “Don’t you watch the news? There are currently three astronauts in the Lunar Gateway. They could launch a fly-by mission to 67P, a little sightseeing tour. That would put the public in the mood for the upcoming Mars flights.”

  “Upcoming. Good one. It’ll be ten years at least.”

  “Exactly. They have to keep the taxpayer engaged.”

  “And you got all that from the fact that someone from NASA will be sitting on the podium?”

  “Wait and see. It’s at 5 p.m. our time. Shall we meet in my office?”

  “I don’t have any other plans.”

  “Did you get anywhere with that statite project?”

  Karl blushed, but he had no reason to! “They promised to call me back, but they haven’t yet.”

  “I thought it was something like that. Maybe they’ll change their minds after the press conference. You didn’t tell them anything about the details?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Really?”

  “What do you take me for?”

  “Ping.”

  Karl looked up. That can’t be the reminder for the press conference yet. No, it was just after two. He should have set the computer to silent. Now it had wrenched him out of his programming trance.

  It was a new email, an address at Green Bank Observatory.

  “Hello Karl,” wrote Robert Millikan. “I’m burning the candle at both ends sitting at the antenna. I’m making up a little for the fact that I stole valuable observation time from a couple of colleagues so I could help you.”

  Yeah, lay on the guilt. Bob was always good at that.

  “As it turns out, I was able to see what our problem child was up to. The good news is, it’s still transmitting. I even received an interesting message. Unfortunately I couldn’t decrypt it. The sender was from the Alpha Omega domain. One of the company’s satellites must have been very close to Philae a couple of hours ago. Otherwise the little lander wouldn’t have been able to relay the communication. Suddenly it looks as though we’re not the only ones interested in the comet.”

  Shit. That damned Neguun. He’d turned Karl down and then used his information. How rotten was that?

  “I’m wondering how Alpha Omega knew something was going on there. If you have any idea, let me know.”

  He should have known. If Sylvia found out he’d leaked any information, she’d be livid. Hopefully, Alpha Omega would keep operating discreetly. Then maybe his faux pas wouldn’t come to light. At least they hadn’t announced a press conference. What had their probe found? If only they could decrypt the code!

  “I’m looking forward to your press conference,” Robert continued. “Will you be in Florida? Maybe you won’t read this till you land. If so, have fun and I’ll see you afterward online.”

  As if! He was only a tiny cog in this machine. But Karl didn’t mind. Piras was welcome to wear the laurels.

  Wait a minute. If he expanded the domain of the variables, the loop should...

  His pants pocket vibrated. Shit. He’d lost track again. He’d even switched the computer to ‘Do not disturb’ mode. What was it now? An email from the Instituto de Astrofisica de Canarias. That must be Zetschewitz. Was he already calling in the favor Karl owed him?

  Karl launched the email program.

  ‘You’ve won.’

  Delete spam? No, wait.

  ‘News from 67P.’

  He opened the message. It was from Dieter.

  ‘Hello,’ he wrote. ‘The OGS would have dragged everyone out of bed again tonight if I hadn’t taken precautions.’

  Get to the point. What do you want, Dieter?

  ‘But luckily I anticipated this, and set it to only notify me. The object hadn’t strayed this time, but only because the algorithm is already taking the mass increase into account, which, by the way, seems to be proceeding exponentially. I don’t need to explain what that means, do I?’

  You don’t, Dieter. Zetschewitz was quite full of himself, but he seemed to be a good scientist.

  ‘So, what the OGS registered was a sudden increase in brightness from 67P. There must have been an explosion or a collision. The measurements don’t show precisely what it was. The OGS only looks at the object every thirty minutes. The result is a dust cloud that has now increased 67P’s brightness near the sun. But it dissipated again within a few hours.’

  Pity. So employing another, more powerful telescope wouldn’t achieve anything.

  ‘I don’t know much about comets,’ Zetschewitz continued. ‘Maybe this type of activity is normal. But if the information is useful to you, I have no problem with you mentioning my name when you publish.’

  Karl stiffened.
Had he told Sylvia to mention Dieter? Hopefully it wasn’t too late. But he mustn’t be distracted. An explosion on 67P—that must have something to do with the Alpha Omega probe. He compared the data. Philae had received a signal, and then a few minutes later the telescope on Pico del Teide had registered the change in brightness. Maybe it was some kind of farewell message? Karl searched for alternatives. The foreign probe could have fired at the comet to determine its composition, but then the one-off communication made no sense.

  He had to write a program. Maybe a simulation would reveal more. He knew the approximate data from the statite probes, and he could also estimate how large a dust cloud had to be to cause a brightness increase the OGS would register. That should be enough to reconstruct what happened up there.

  Shit. It was already five past five, and the program still wasn’t finished—the problem was surprisingly complex. He usually enjoyed that, but today it was a problem.

  He opened the NASA site. The press conference would be broadcast on the agency’s online channel. Someone at ESA was probably mighty pissed right now that their U.S. counterparts were once again claiming all the credit. But Piras and Science must have had their reasons for choosing NASA as a partner. Karl followed the news, of course. NASA currently had an Orion capsule in orbit around the moon. It didn’t seem impossible that this orbit could be widened enough to pay a visit to 67P.

  The conference was already underway. The Science Editor in Chief was praising the professor for his ground-breaking work. Karl still didn’t envy Piras, who’d just spent ten hours sitting in an economy-class seat, and had another ten-hour flight ahead of him. And he was the one who would have to petition for research funding from industry. It helped if the CEOs had already seen his face on TV.

  Piras was now explaining the contents of their release. Very few viewers would understand the scope of Piras’ announcement. A substance was pouring out of a comet, the most plausible explanation for which was dark matter—but, to date, no one could say for sure what dark matter consisted of. After the presentation, the journalists flocked around and asked about the Philae transmitter. The story of the long-lost son seemed to fascinate them. But then it was the scientists’ turn. Surprisingly, Piras was able to answer their questions without faltering much, even though he was just a meteorologist. Sylvia must have prepped him well.

  About half an hour after the start of the event, when the journalists were already switching off their recording devices, the NASA administrator, who had sat silently on the podium the entire time, approached the microphone.

  “I have another announcement to make on behalf of NASA,” he said. “As you know, there’s currently an Artemis crew in the Lunar Gateway, waiting to land on the moon. Given these extraordinary circumstances, we’ve decided to adjust our program. Our astronauts will decouple their Orion capsule from the Gateway and adjust the eccentricity of their orbit such that they can observe events on Comet 67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko up close.”

  The journalists leapt up—even Karl couldn’t stay in his seat. That was a great idea! Who knew how long Philae would continue sending data? An independent confirmation of their findings—that was just what they needed now. Screw the statite project, with its tiny CubeSats. Screw Alpha Omega.

  Karl sat back down. Thinking about that company quashed his enthusiasm. What about the data that Zetchewitz had sent him? Alpha Omega had presumably sent a secret probe to 67P and lost control of it. Was that due to incompetence? No one could send satellites into space as cheaply and reliably as Alpha Omega. So... he had to assume that 67P itself posed a risk.

  Or not? He should warn the others. But then he’d have to admit how unprofessionally he’d behaved. And he had no proof. No, first he needed to finish writing his program. Anyway, who was to say 67P would pose as significant a risk for a large space capsule as it would for a CubeSat probe the size of a shoebox? Maybe the automated controls had simply lost their overview. That would never happen to an experienced astronaut.

  Karl switched off the broadcast. He wiped the sweat from his brow and sat back down to his program.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Not now,” he called out, but Sylvia wouldn’t be deterred and stormed into his mini-office. He just knew she was about to ask, ‘Did you see that?’

  “Did you see that?”

  Karl laughed. He still knew her pretty well. “That was a solid performance from your boss.”

  “True. But what NASA’s planning, what do you think about that?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” he said.

  “What could be smarter than taking a closer look? That will get us the Nobel Prize in no more than two years. Do you realize that?”

  If the Orion capsule with the astronauts didn’t go missing. What was the best way to tell her?

  “Approaching an active comet like that isn’t without risk,” he said. “Remember Rosetta?”

  “But the technology’s twelve years newer. That’s two spaceship generations.”

  “And what if 67P is dangerous? We still don’t know what it’s actually emitting.”

  “Philae’s been sitting in the middle of the stuff for who knows how long, and it’s doing better than ever.”

  “But the lander’s a machine. NASA wants to send people there!”

  “The people will be sitting in a machine, too, and they’re pros. What’s gotten into you, Karl?”

  Should he tell her? No.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I’m just a little too anxious sometimes.”

  August 23, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

  Livia pushed herself off from her seat and rolled herself into a ball. “No, really?”

  “Yep, really. And I’m really, truly sorry,” said their CapCom, Luna, “but there’s not going to be a moon landing.”

  “I don’t want to question the infinite wisdom of the administration—”

  “Dave, drop it. The decision’s been made,” she ordered.

  “Without consulting us?”

  “You’re an old hand. No one knows better than you that the final decision lies with Mission Control. I can’t do anything about it.”

  “It’s not your fault, Luna,” Daniel said. Nothing had changed for him, but were he in Livia and Dave’s place, he’d be pissed, too. Especially if it was his last flight, like it probably was for Dave.

  “And what’s this chunk of rock you’re sending us to instead?” asked Dave.

  “That’s the spirit,” said Luna. “It’s a comet. 67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko.”

  “I remember. The Europeans put a probe on it sometime last decade.”

  “That’s right, Dave. It was quite a sensation back then. But what’s waiting for you there now is ten times more exciting.”

  “Hey, you sound like the moderator on Travel Channel,” said Livia.

  “Well, at least I’ll have options when you don’t want me as your CapCom anymore.”

  “Don’t take it personally,” said Livia. “I decided when I was six that I wanted to walk around on the moon and wave back at the child insomniacs on Earth.”

  “I’d be disappointed, too,” said their CapCom. “But, take another look at the material about 67P. It’s an exciting destination, even if it doesn’t measure up to the moon.”

  “The administration seems to think it’s even more interesting than the moon,” said Daniel.

  “Evidently,” said Luna. “It’s about dark matter, after all—a phenomenon scientists have been searching for in the halo of the Milky Way. And now it’s practically flying through our front yard.”

  “And it’s not dangerous to us?” Livia asked.

  “The experts assume—”

  “Assume? Should we be that unconcerned?” Dave interjected.

  Lune sighed and started over. “The experts assume it won’t cause any problems. Dark matter only interacts through gravity. There’s no mysterious radiation or anythin
g like that.”

  “Yeah, right. Okay, so is there a concrete mission plan yet?” Dave asked.

  “No. The idea only seems to have existed since yesterday. Everyone here at Mission Control is frantically trying to come up with a plan. But the basic idea seems to be to go into an extremely elliptical orbit.”

  “With the whole Gateway, or just the Orion capsule?”

  “I assume you’ll be in the capsule, maybe the HLS, or both. The Gateway would probably just be dead weight. But don’t take my word for it. That’s what the experts are trying to figure out.”

  “Understood, Luna. Thanks for your patience.”

  “Of course. I’d be going crazy in your situation. First the delay because of Alpha Omega, and now this complete change of plan—”

  “Flexibility is one of the selection criteria for astronaut training,” said Dave.

  “And when’s it supposed to happen?” Livia asked.

  “Tomorrow at the latest. The comet won’t wait. The best time window for a rendezvous is in a couple of days.”

  “Will we be able to land?”

  “The gravity on 67P is too low. It’ll be a brief encounter.”

  “So why all this effort, Luna?”

  “They must be hoping you can bring back a bit of the matter that seems to be issuing from it.”

  “How do you feel about this?” asked Dave. He was a good captain, always looking out for his sailors.

  “If you’re with us, then I’m not worried,” said Daniel.

  Livia punched his shoulder, and the momentum pushed them apart. “Daniel’s right. With you on board, nothing can go wrong.”

  “That’s nice of you, but I’m not Superman. If Mission Control makes a mistake, I won’t be able to iron it out. Out there, we’ll be on our own. So if someone doesn’t want to come for personal reasons, I’m sure I can arrange for you to stay in the Gateway for the duration.”