Boots of Oppression

by M. J. Konkel

  Most moons, at least in our solar system, lie pretty much in the same plane as the equator of the planet it orbits. Therefore, if the tilt of the planet is small, then the planet, the moon, and the star will all line up once every day and there will be an eclipse of the star every day. Remember these days may be much longer than an Earth day though.

  Our moon does not eclipse the Sun every month because the Moon is usually above or below the line between the Sun and the Earth. This is because the Earth-Moon plane is not aligned with the Earth-Sun plane. If the tilt of the planet is significant, then eclipses would be relatively rare and happen for the same reason solar (and lunar) eclipses are rare on Earth. When the plane of the orbit of the moon around the planet is not the same as the plane of the orbit of the planet around the star, those planes must intersect. As the moon orbits the planet, it passes through that intersection twice during each orbit. If that intersection just happens to align with when the moon is exactly opposite of the planet from the star, then an eclipse of the moon occurs.

  Unlike our lunar eclipses, planetary eclipses would not happen. Moons are too small compared to gas giants for eclipses to occur. Their shadows may cross the face of the planet though as small dark dots called transits.

  The planet Rubis is described as only be being habitable in the deep canyon across the equator due to the pressure being too low above that. Everyone knows that pressure goes down as your altitude goes up. But temperature goes down as altitude goes up also (at least in the lower part of the atmosphere), something you may have experienced when climbing a mountain. This is due to pressure differences and moving air. As air is warmed on the ground from sunlight, it rises because it becomes less dense. As it rises, it expands. This expansion causes the air to cool much like expanding gas inside of your refrigerator cools it down, or air coming out of a compressed air tank is cooled. That rising air has to go somewhere though, so winds form. Jet streams. Eventually, the cool air settles down somewhere. As it sinks, it gets compressed at the lower altitudes, and that causes it to be heated. Both the expansion of warm air and the compression of cool air lead to higher temperatures at lower altitudes.

  If Mars is ever terraformed, the first places to be habitable without suits will most likely be those near the equator, but also at the lowest altitude. Perhaps at Isidis Planitia or Valles Marineris because they will have the highest air pressure and highest temperature.

  Plasma is a fourth state of matter beyond solid, liquid, and gas. When a gas is heated to a high enough temperature, the electrons are ripped free from atoms, leaving a positive charge on the atoms. We call these charged atoms ions. We see plasma on Earth in welding arcs and lightning, above the Earth in auroras, and on the sun.

  Unlike a normal neutral gas, plasma is influenced by magnetic and electrical fields. Thus, you can use magnets to accelerate the plasma.

  Plasma weapons, believe or not, have actually been under development by the U.S. and Russian governments. There was a project called MARAUDER back in the 1990’s that produced a plasma cannon capable of shooting a 1-2 mg plasma bolt up to 3000 km/s. That produced a kinetic impact with the energy of about 5 pounds (2.3 kg) of TNT. The project became classified in 1995, and nothing has been published on its progress since.

  Developing plasma bolt weapons is hindered by the properties of the plasma itself. Plasma has a very low density, lower than that of air. So not only does the plasma bolt have to plow through air, the air is trying to squash it at the same time. My best understanding of the MARAUDER project is that it had a range of about three meters at the time it became classified.

  It is not unreasonable to assume, however, that ways might eventually be found to stabilize the plasma bolts to increase their range to where they would be useful as weapons.

  Tantalum-180 is a real substance and possibly the rarest stable metal in the universe. By stable, I mean it is not radioactive and, therefore, not subject to decay.

  Tantalum is element 73 on the periodic table, stuck between hafnium and tungsten. There are two stable isotopes of tantalum, tantalum-180 and tantalum-181. Isotopes are substances that, in their chemical make-up, have the same number of protons, but a different number of neutrons in their nucleus. Since in its neutral form, the number of electrons must match the number of protons, isotopes of an element will also have the same number of electrons. Electrons determine how an element behaves chemically, so isotopes of the same element have identical chemical properties.

  Most tantalum is the isotope tantalum-181, made up of 73 protons and 108 neutrons. It makes up 99.988% of all tantalum on Earth while tantalum-180, with one less neutron, makes up only 0.012%.

  Besides being extremely rare, tantalum-180 is a very unusual substance. Instead of existing as its ground state electron configuration, it exists in an exited electron state called a meta state. For most atoms, meta states are not stable and quickly decay to their ground state (and emit a photon in the process). The only other isotopes that I am aware of that are more stable as meta states are Amercium-242 and bismuth-210. Both of these radioactively decay. But this meta state of tantalum has a half-life of at least 45 quadrillion years. Far longer than the age of the universe.

  Most atoms have a spin state of their electrons (a way to describe the angular momentum of the electrons) of zero or some small number, usually one-half or three-halves. Tantalum-180 in its meta state has a spin state of nine. In fact, it is believed the large difference between spin states of the meta state and the ground account for its stability.

  All in all, tantalum-180 is a very unusual metal, and I just couldn’t resist using it the story.

  Books by MJ Konkel from Amazon

  Boots of Oppression is my fifth book published through Amazon. If you enjoyed it, I hope you consider reading some of my earlier work.

  My first three books are a series called The Displaced and based on a whole community suddenly getting transported to a parallel universe where dinosaurs never went extinct. If you like a good dinosaur vs. people story, I think you’ll enjoy these. Especially the first two. The third book in the series involves their eventual rescue and interdimensional travel to a number of alternate Earths.

  The Displaced I: No Road Out

  The Displaced II: Roar of the Rex

  The Displaced III: Between Time and Space

  My fourth book (Dangerous First Step) is an adventure of first contact (of sorts) in which the military launches a mission to board a derelict alien starship that is passing through the solar system. It is based on the real life interstellar asteroid Oumuamua that passed through our solar system in the fall of 2017.

  Here is an excerpt from Dangerous First Step

  Chapter 1

  It was eleven months after the accident, and I sat on a barstool in the officers’ club. And I know what you’re thinking. But no, I did not relapse into feeling sorry for myself by getting drunk. I was done doing that. Not that I was totally happy with my life’s situation. Just saying, that feeling sorry for myself kind of crap was behind me.

  After losing the tip of my foot, I was taken off the Air Force’s pilot squad for flying their birds into space and transferred to DC. That one had really hurt. You know, down deep. I don’t know if I have still fully recovered.

  Initially, it was a desk there, and I had pushed papers across it. The most exciting job of my life! Not. Sometimes, they had sent me out on tours for PR purposes. Getting those young kids out of high school or college to join. Fresh young meat I called those recruits. Not to them or my superiors, of course. I had to force myself to pretend to be upbeat and gung-ho, telling the youngsters what a great life the military offered.

  Lately, it’s been coming easier. I’m almost believing it myself again.

  After the cliff incident, I worked my butt off and asked to get transferred back to work with pilots. It took a couple of months, but the transfer went through. Peterson Air Force Base in Colorado, headquarters for Space Command. I guess the fact that I used to be an astro
naut still had some weight.

  I started assisting with the training of four recruits. It was tough competition for them. Only one of the four would make it to the ranks of astronauts. Maybe none would make it. I was sure the recruits realized, even though we were off-duty, they were still being evaluated. These recruits were not fresh young meat. They had each been pilots in the Air Force for at least a couple of years already. Three held the rank of lieutenant, and one was even a captain. Not that his higher rank was going to give the captain any advantage.

  Technically, we were all still in the Air Force, even if we were under Space Command. For a short time there was the Space Force, a separate branch of the military. But then a scandal and politics got in the way when a new administration took over in Washington, and the Space Force soon got folded back into the Air Force. It had all been a lot of frickin’ baloney politics. At least, that’s what they would hear if anyone cared enough to ask me.

  I sipped the dark lager from my mug as I watched the captain bank a shot on the pool table, sinking the eight ball. Two of the lieutenants moaned, having just lost the game, while the third raised his hand and slapped the captain’s hand. I watched closely. You can get mad, but, if you want to be an astronaut, you can never let it affect your actions or judgement. The recruits handled it well though as the losing team went to rack the balls for another round. I hadn’t expected otherwise. But wait until the first one of them screws up something that affects all four of them in a middle of a training mission. How are the other three going to react then?

  The television monitor over the bar caught my attention. The announcer explained how astronomers had detected yet another comet of extraterrestrial origin. He sounded a bit bored like he would rather get on to the next segment. A guest astronomer, on the other hand, excitedly explained how several comets are found every year that come from beyond our solar system. But this object appeared to be eight times longer than it was wide, making it very unusual. Not the usual roundish or potato shapes of most asteroids or comets. This new comet was reminiscent of the first interstellar object ever observed to pass through our solar system back in 2017, Oumuamua. He claimed there was still some debate over whether the 2017 comet was natural or not.

  I chuckled. Another crazy fringe theory.

  I happened to glance at the entrance to the club and instantly forgot about the newscast. Standing in the entrance, peering around, was General Cross with four sparkling stars on each shoulder. He stood only about five-foot nine, having come from a generation when fighter pilots were discriminated against for being too tall. General Cross got respect despite being shorter than most of those he commanded. When he said jump, no one asked how high. Everyone just immediately tried to reach for the Moon instead. It was totally out of fear since word was that the general was a pain in the butt to report to.

  “Attention!” I yelled over the music blaring from the speakers above the bar. The four space pilot recruits and I all jumped to attention and snapped our arms in salute. Others in uniform around the room also quickly leapt to attention and raised their arms.

  The general snapped off a quick crisp return salute. “At ease, everyone.” He squinted right at me and took two steps in my direction. “Major Danger.” He correctly pronounced it “dang her.”

  “Yes, General. Is there something I can do for you?” I asked, curious, but a bit apprehensive. Normally, orders would come through channels from my commanding officer, and they would most likely come during normal duty hours. Perhaps, the general was just looking for a favor. But why me? I hardly knew the man.

  The general appeared about to say something but changed his mind. Instead, he simply pointed a finger toward the exit and said, “Follow me, son.”

  As the general marched out of the club, I followed two steps behind. Did I do something wrong? I couldn’t think of anything. Well, hell with him if I did. He motioned me inside a car parked at the curb while he stepped around and hopped in the back seat from the opposite side. No, I was definitely not in trouble. But what could this be all about?

  “Drive, Sally,” he ordered the driver.

  “Any particular place, sir,” the driver asked in a perky voice. All I saw of her was her blond bun.

  “I have a good feeling about this. The first place I mentioned earlier,” the general replied.

  “Very well, sir.” The electric motor of the limousine hummed as the driver pulled away from the curb. A glass window went up, insulating our conversation from the driver.

  “How’s the foot?” General Cross asked.

  “Nothing to complain of, sir,” I replied. Complaining in the military never got anyone ahead. Besides, the foot really only hurt when I ran on it or stubbed it. Or on those days when it was rainy and cold. Or when I thought about Joan. Otherwise, it was fine.

  “That’s good to hear. I understand you’ve taken up rock climbing.”

  “I did for a spell, sir. But I haven’t climbed for over a month now.”

  “And before that it was parachuting."

  “It made me feel exhilarated and alive at a time when I needed that,” I replied. I paused for a second, my curiosity having gotten the best of me. “If you don’t mind my asking, sir, why the interest in my off-duty activities?”

  “You lost your wife eleven months back. I am sorry for your loss, by the way.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I replied, noting my question had not yet been answered.

  “And you are no longer a space pilot.”

  “I do miss going up, sir,” I admitted. “But I feel I’m still doing my duty here by training the next batch of pilots.”

  The general chuckled. “That’s frickin’ babysitting. Wouldn’t you rather still be flying?”

  “Why, of course, sir.”

  “I asked about your hobbies because I want to know the state of your mind. Need to make sure you don’t harbor a death wish or some shit.”

  “I miss my wife and wish things had gone differently,” I admitted. “But my mind is sound, sir.” At least I thought so.

  “Good to hear. It isn’t a good trait for someone going into space to not give a damn about living. How would you like to go up one last time?” the general asked.

  “Are you kidding, sir?” I was stunned. I didn’t think there was a chance in hell I would ever fly a military plane again, much less a rocket into space.

  “Do you think I have time to play pranks on majors, Major?” the general barked.

  “Of course not, sir,” I stammered. “It’s just that you took me by surprise. What is this all about?”

  “I’ll explain it all tomorrow. We’re here,” the general said as the limo slowed and pulled to the curb. I realized we had just pulled up in front of my residence. “Pack a bag and get down to Runway Two by twenty-three hundred hours. There will be a plane waiting there to take you back to Homey.”

  I stepped out onto the curb and turned around. “Sir, shouldn’t I tell my CO I will be gone?”

  “Already taken care of,” the general replied.

  “Wait, sir. You’re going to Homey too?” I asked.

  The general only smiled and shouted, “And don’t be late. You don’t have much time.” The window rolled up, and the limo sped away into the darkness of the night.

  Chapter 2

  Five months earlier.

  By a thin rope, I hung from the side of a cliff at Seagull Point. Below me, jagged rocks and large boulders yawned up at me from the base of the cliff where I had started. They cared not if I fell now, later, or not at all. Whether I died or lived. They had forever to wait. They did not have to think about it but just be there in case I did fall.

  I should have been concentrating on getting back up to the cliff face. I should have been worrying about whether my last piton was going to stay embedded in the rock. But instead, I hung there and thought about how I got to that point.

  *****

  Six months before the cliff.

  The worst damn day of my whole life. It sh
ould have been right up there amongst my best. And it was. Until my life got shredded and rewritten in just a split second.

  Newlyweds, married for a whole day. We were headed to China, a country both ultra-modern and antiquated at the same time. A popular tourist destination in the blistering thirties. With soaring global temperatures, that’s what the decade was already starting to be called, and many were already dubbing the next decade as the flooding forties as sea level rise had already started to accelerate.

  We had booked tickets on a Blue Bullfrog, a Global Suborbital Express hopper, taking off from a port just north of San Francisco. Suborbital hoppers go into space, but just barely. Then they come back down like a ballistic missile, only a little bit more controlled. Even with the extra drive out to the port, a trip to Beijing was expected to take barely over two hours. Far quicker than any airline service. Hoppers were not for everyone, though, with those extra g’s and a heavy price tag. For us, it was to be a once in a lifetime adventure. We were pretty sure we would never be able to afford it again.

  The g’s were not a worry for us. As a pilot for the Air Force Space Command’s X-37C space plane, I had been conditioned to endure extra weight crushing my chest. I had routinely experienced four g’s on each flight up, about the same in deceleration coming down, and more than double that in the centrifuge used during training. I was gravitationally fit.

  Joan, my beautiful new wife, hadn’t had those same experiences, but she was still young, healthy, and ready for an adventure. And you didn’t have to be in perfect health for a suborbital flight. Most people can easily handle the three g’s, about the same as that on an average roller coaster ride.