There it was!
With a few clicks of his mouse, he turned it into an image. The snake still had a broad tail. But there was one significant difference—only the edge of the tail touched the Earth. Karl integrated the curve. The risk of a collision with the Earth was now below 0.3 percent.
Mission Control was fuller than ever. MOM reacted immediately to his virtual wave. She didn’t look quite as exhausted now. “What it is?” she asked. “Please tell me it’s good news.”
“The atmosphere seems more relaxed over there.”
“Yes, we’ve reestablished contact with our crew, although only sporadically.”
“That’s great. Regarding the collision with 67P in six years—”
“You’ve ruled it out?”
“That would be nice. But there’s a way to avoid it. The data’s quite clear.”
“Then out with it.”
“Have you ever built a snowman?”
“I’m from Wyoming. I built lots of snowmen as a child. And snowwomen.”
“Good. Then you know. You start with a small ball of snow, roll and roll, and the larger it becomes, the faster it grows.”
“I always found that fascinating as a child.”
“If you want to influence the growth—”
“—you have to start at the beginning. I can see where you’re going, Karl. The avalanche effect. What do we need to do now to prevent the end of the world in six years?”
“We need to apply force to the comet in a particular direction for a while. A small impulse today will lead to a huge deviation in six years, so that the likelihood of the Earth being destroyed is only 0.3 percent.”
“Thanks, Karl, that really is good news. Can you tell us what we need to do, exactly?”
“I can only give you the figures. I’ve got no idea what’s the best way to achieve them. I’ll send you the data. I believe either the Orion or the spaceship could provide a strong enough impulse, but please don’t take my word for it.”
September 1, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1
“A small push today, a big effect over six years,” said Yunus. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, what Mission Control has in mind sounds plausible,” said Daniel. “But what’s the actual plan?”
“They don’t have one yet. Everything depends on the Orion capsule and the ESM. If you could somehow set up the main thruster and get it working... It has to fire at a 90-degree angle to the surface, at specific points in time.”
“Ha, get it working? The last I heard from Dave was that their thruster won’t work at all anymore.”
“I can only pass on what Mission Control told me. We could ask them, but to do that we first have to swap back the antennas.”
“That’ll take too long,” said Daniel. “If those two want to reach us in time, they’ll have to set out in a few minutes.”
“Okay, then good luck from the Gateway.”
“Thanks, Yunus. And, thanks for your excellent idea of swapping the antennas. If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t even know the Earth was in danger.”
“Wait, Daniel, I’ll test it out first.” David activated the thruster controls. He gently pushed the lever forward, but nothing happened—the thruster wouldn’t fire.
“Dan, can you hear me? It doesn’t look good. Nothing’s happening in here.”
“Shit. If we can’t use the capsule to divert the comet, then we’ll have to use the ship.”
“That means we won’t be going home.”
“No, Dave, none of us will.”
“And you’re certain the Earth’s in danger?”
“If MOM says so, I believe her.”
“Livia and I had already accepted we were going to die. Did you ask your buddy if he’s prepared to sacrifice himself for Earth?”
“The writer’s nodding.”
“Good. But before you say your last goodbyes, I’ll just take one more look at it from outside.”
“We’re on the comet now,” Dave said.
“I hear you loud and clear,” Daniel replied.
“I’m redirecting the helmet radio via the capsule.”
“Good idea.”
“The whole thruster housing’s been pushed in,” said Dave.
“Shit.”
“And at one point it’s torn. Livia, give me the crowbar.”
Daniel could hear Dave breathing heavily.
“Okay, I can see inside now. The tear runs past the service module. Wait a minute.”
He heard Dave’s breathing again. “Ah, it only seems to have affected the controls.”
“You sound relieved. But we can’t start the thruster without the controls.”
“Not from the capsule.”
“Am I hearing a but, Dave?”
“You know me well. The thruster has a test mode—for testing it on the ground before it’s integrated into the ship.”
“Don’t tell me you also know how to use this test mode?”
“A commander has to know more than his crew,” Dave replied. “But seriously, I’ve only watched it being done on an earlier Artemis mission. I was a substitute candidate and sat in at Mission Control. Just a minute.”
Daniel imagined Dave floating above the capsule, opening some secret compartment.
“There it is. Can you see the service module access?”
“I can’t see anything from here.”
“I meant Livia, sorry,” said Dave
“Yes, I see it.”
“Open it. You’ll need a sixteen.”
“Yes, boss.”
This time Daniel heard Livia panting. He was amused by the fact that not only was her voice higher-pitched, but her exertion vocalizations sounded more feminine, too.
“I’ve got it open,” she said.
“Hold on tight,” David ordered.
Something rattled.
“Didn’t it work?” asked Daniel.
“It did. The thruster fired. You didn’t hear anything because we’re in a vacuum. You would have needed ear protection if we were on Earth.”
“Something rattled.”
“I didn’t hear anything. What now?”
“So we can start the thruster after all?” asked Daniel.
“Yes,” Dave answered, “although not from inside the capsule. And not with the software.”
“Someone has to stand outside and press the button at the right moment?”
“That’s right. The others can go home.”
“I’ll stay,” said Livia.
“Please. I’m the oldest. I’ll do it,” said Dave. “You march around the comet and get yourself onto the ship. That’s an order from your commander.”
“No way. We’re all staying here,” said Daniel.
“That’s ridiculous. Only one of us needs to die. I command you to fly back to Earth.”
“You can’t command us to abandon you,” said Livia.
“You could just draw straws to decide who stays behind,” said Brandon, who’d been quiet up to that point.
He should have seen it coming. It was such a cliché. In the end, one of the heroes makes the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good. It was no different in his novels. Brandon drifted restlessly through the control room, wishing he could talk to Jenna about it. She always gave sensible advice! He was good at advising others, but not himself.
The question was, should he offer himself up? Daniel was preparing to draw straws to decide who’d be the one. Everyone, Brandon included, had assumed it would be one of the NASA astronauts. He was just a passenger, a neutral observer. Or not? What was the decent thing to do? It was clear what was expected of him: nothing. But did he have to live up to that? Shouldn’t he be glad they had such low expectations of him? It meant he’d survive. The others were paid to save the Earth. He was just a writer.
Brandon wrung his hands. He’d already decided. Just pushing a button at the right moment—he could do that. And if he put himself forward, it wasn’t an automatic death sentence. The chances were 3:1 that
someone else would die instead of him. Jenna would probably say the same thing. They were all in the same boat—everyone should have an equal chance.
“Count me in, too,” he said.
Daniel spun around. In zero gravity, that meant he continued spinning until he grabbed hold of something.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Did you hear that down there?”
“The writer’s in, too,” said David.
“Yes, I want to draw a straw.”
“I don’t know,” said David.
“I’m a member of the SS1 crew now.”
“Yes, but you’re not a trained astronaut. If something goes wrong, will you be able to repair it? You’ll be all alone down there.”
“I know you don’t think I’m capable. But I am a physicist. And physicists can do anything. That’s what they told us at the university.”
“At the university, yeah. But this is the hard reality,” said David.
“I think we should give him a chance,” said Livia. “I saw what you did, Dave. Anyone can do that.”
That wasn’t much of a compliment, but he couldn’t expect more. They didn’t know him.
“If it’s that easy,” said Daniel, “then I’m in favor of four straws.”
“Then I’m out-voted,” said David. “Will you do it up there?”
It was time. Brandon’s hand trembled as he reached for a straw. Daniel had prepared four strips of paper, three long and one short. As Dave and Livia couldn’t see, Brandon was drawing theirs for them. What a role to play! He was determining life and death.
“The far right, I guess.”
Dave was first. The commander had insisted on it. As if that would influence the outcome.
“Pull it out.”
Brandon pulled a long strip.
“Dave, start walking around the comet,” said Daniel. “You’ll be needed here.”
David grumbled.
“Now, Livia,” said Daniel.
“Far left.”
“Take it.”
Brandon pulled on the strip. Another long one.
“Congratulations, Livia, you’re out, too,” said Daniel. “Now you, author.”
The odds were 50:50. But his hand wasn’t shaking anymore. He took the straw on the right, but first hid it in his hand before looking at it.
“Long,” said Daniel. “This is the best outcome.”
Best? Daniel would die so they could all live.
“Wait,” said Dave. “Daniel, show Brandon your straw please. I don’t trust you not to cheat.”
“Shut up, Dave, you’re just a sore loser.”
“Daniel, I insist. Otherwise I’m staying here.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll show it to Brandon.”
Daniel opened his hand. The remaining strip was the same length as the others. Daniel had tried to deceive them, so that he would be the one to die on the comet. It was like Russian roulette. Daniel put his finger to his lips and grimaced. The message was clear—don’t say anything, Brandon. Leave it alone. You don’t need to die here. Someone wants to sacrifice himself for you.
Why shouldn’t he just let Daniel have his way? Because it wasn’t fair. It was easier for David and Livia—they didn’t know what was going on. But he would always know. No, it’s no good. Sorry, Daniel.
“We have to draw straws again,” said Brandon.
Daniel gave him a dirty look.
“I thought so,” said David.
Brandon took the last strip from Daniel, turned around so that Daniel couldn’t see, tore the paper in half, and inserted it with the others between his knuckles.
“So, you choose now, Daniel. First for Dave.”
“Let me stay,” said Daniel. “I’m sorry I tried to deceive you. But how often do you get the chance to go down in history?”
“I don’t believe that was your reason,” said Dave. “I’ll take the straw on the left, from Daniel’s point of view.”
Brandon held his closed fist up to Daniel. Four white strips protruded from between his knuckles. Daniel pulled the left one out.
“Long,” said Daniel. “See, Dave. I’ll get what’s due to me. Now Livia.”
“I’ll go with left, too,” she said.
“And left you shall have,” said Daniel.
He pulled out the next strip. Long again. Daniel laughed.
“Long,” he said. “See? It was meant to be.”
“It’s pure coincidence,” said David, “unless you’re cheating again.”
“Your turn,” said Brandon. He felt a chill. “Eeny, meeny, miny...”
Daniel pulled out the strip on the left, hid it in his fist, and then looked cautiously at it.
“Shit.”
What did that mean? Brandon opened his fist. The last strip, which was his, was short. So, he would be the one to push the button on the comet and save the Earth. He chuckled. He’d always imagined he’d keep writing until his 100th birthday. He’d even estimated how many novels he’d put out in that time—at least three or four a year, then two a year after he turned 90. But that was all over now. Once the media caught on, his books would all sell. He’d be on the best-seller list for a few days, and then he’d be forgotten.
Oh well. There were worse fates. He wouldn’t know about it—he’d be dead, and he didn’t believe in an afterlife.
September 1, 2026 – Comet 67P
He was falling through darkness. The comet must be somewhere down there, but the beam of his helmet lamp didn’t reach far enough. Brandon had always imagined it would extend out infinitely in a vacuum, without any air to weaken it. But that was nonsense, of course, because the beam widened.
They’d precisely calculated the angle at which he would jump out and adjusted it to the relative speed of the ship and the comet. If his momentum remained constant, he should arrive at the comet’s nucleus in exactly eight minutes. He was carrying an oxygen tank in his arms. His right hand was already on the nozzle. He needed to turn it on at just the right moment and use it to brake if he didn’t want to be smashed to pieces on the surface.
Hopefully it would work. It was all just theory. If it failed, David or Livia would have to take his place. They were approaching him now. With a bit of luck, they’d be able to say goodbye.
They couldn’t establish a live connection with Earth anymore. He wished he could have told Jenna he loved her. Instead, he wrote her a message. Better than nothing. But to have been able to look into her face one last time and see the pleasure in her eyes when he smiled at her, that would have been something. That was what it was all about. That was real life.
“We can see you,” said David over the helmet radio.
He couldn’t be far from the surface now. “I can’t see you.”
“Wait. Now, at your three o’clock.”
Brandon looked to his right. A star had just risen there and was twinkling at him. That must be David. The distance was hard to calculate because he still couldn’t see the surface. The parallax was increasing too fast. He had to prepare for impact. Brandon held the oxygen tank against his chest and peered into the darkness in the direction he was moving.
There! A rock appeared out of nowhere, illuminated by his helmet lamp. “This is it,” he said.
Then he turned the tank nozzle on. His inertia pressed him against the metal. It was like a tight hug, so tight he couldn’t breathe. He closed it a little and the pressure decreased. But he was still moving too fast. The rock was flying toward him and getting bigger. That wasn’t a small rock—it was a mountain, probably 200 meters high. The moment Brandon realized it, the view flipped around in his head. He was no longer flying toward the comet, he was falling toward it.
Don’t panic now—nothing’s changed except your perspective. He opened the nozzle completely. It wasn’t much farther to go. Better to be unable to breathe for a few seconds than to be dashed to pieces.
The counter-force of the escaping gas had the desired effect, and Brandon slow
ed down. It was almost like sitting on a magic carpet. His fall didn’t accelerate again when he closed off the nozzle. Where were David and Livia? They must have disappeared beyond the horizon. This wasn’t your usual celestial body—the horizon was always close at hand.
Another 50 meters. The closer he came, the better he could make out his landing site. It looked uneven. Probably best he didn’t land flat on his belly. Brandon flapped his arms to turn himself, but nothing happened. Of course. How could he be so stupid? There was no atmosphere. He quickly grasped the neck of the tank. Just 30 meters to go. A quick expulsion of gas and he began turning. Too much. He was rotating once per second, head-over-heels.
Shit. He closed his eyes to stop himself from feeling sick and pointed the tank in the opposite direction, quickly opening and then closing it. That was better. Brandon opened his eyes. Ten meters at the most. Shit. He was still spinning. If he landed on his back he could damage the tech on the suit, and if he landed facedown, the fragile helmet would be endangered. But he could stretch out his arms and legs. The momentum conservation couldn’t prevent him from doing that.
One last jet directed in front of him. It worked, and he fell more slowly. But if the life support on his back hit the rocks... He had to wait until just the right moment. It was hard to regulate the amount of oxygen coming out of the tank. Brandon counted. Three, two, one—one complete spin. He had to start counting when he saw the ground. Three, two, one. Three, two, one. At zero, he threw the oxygen tank away from in the direction he was turning. It was about a quarter of his mass, so it would take about a fifth of the momentum with it.
It worked! He wasn’t spinning anymore. Physics was great! And a little bit merciless, because if he’d miscalculated, he’d have nothing left with which to slow his fall. Three more meters. He stretched his arms and legs out in front of him. Brandon would descend like a landing module, but he had to be careful. Philae had been too fast and had bounced off again. If that happened to him, there’d be no way to get back down to the comet. He had to compensate for the remaining momentum with his muscles—or find something to grab hold of.
The Dark Spring: Hard Science Fiction Page 23
