Silent Sun: Hard Science Fiction

by Brandon Q Morris

“Let’s look at why you are here,” Petit said. “Wait a minute, I forgot the cookies.” He got up and brought a bowl of cookies to the table. Arthur couldn’t help himself and stuffed two chocolate ones into his mouth. His wife would have admonished him. She wanted him to lose weight for better health. Alain Petit crossed the room and returned with a laptop. “This is what I wanted to show you, Monsieur Eigenbrod.”

  There were red, orange, and yellow spots on the screen. It could be a snippet from an expressionist painting.

  “What is that?”

  Petit tapped the keyboard, zooming into the image.

  “That is the surface of the sun—its photosphere, to be precise.”

  “The sun has a surface? I always had thought of it more like a ball of gas.”

  “Very good. But all that energy created by nuclear fusion is trapped inside. All we can see comes from a relatively thin outer layer.”

  “The photosphere,” added Arthur.

  “Exactly. But I don’t want to show you the photosphere. Rather, it is about this right here.” Petit pointed to something on the lower edge of the screen. Arthur craned his neck to see a very thin dark line.

  “I see a line,” he offered.

  “Excellent. But it does not belong there.” Petit enlarged it further.

  “And it isn’t a mistake? Something technical?”

  “I checked that already. There really seems to be something there.”

  Lines on the sun? Arthur scratched his head. Approximately 150 years ago Parisian papers had record print runs with the channels on Mars, despite later proof that it was an optical illusion. Space secrets still drew attention, especially with the drama two years ago.

  “Could that be dangerous, somehow?” he asked. Lines were all well and good but they needed some significance to be newsworthy.

  “Well. Since they can’t have appeared naturally in that location, they would have to be of extraterrestrial construction…” Petit thought out loud.

  This man knows what journalists need, Eigenbrod thought to himself. “Aliens—now that would be news, especially if they still are there!” he said.

  “That is quite possible.”

  “And you say that you have verified that it can’t be a technical issue?”

  “Definitely not a technical issue, no.”

  He would have to double-check that. Arthur had an idea. He knew a professor at the Sorbonne who owed him a favor.

  “Okay, we buy your story.”

  “I don’t want any money for this.”

  “What I am saying is that we will report on this.”

  “That was quick,” Petit replied.

  “All or nothing, that’s how it goes for us.”

  “Would you like a Calvados to celebrate?”

  “With pleasure, Monsieur Petit!”

  The old man walked over to the kitchen and returned with two glasses and a dusty, nearly-full bottle. He served, sat down, and they raised their glasses. The brandy was excellent.

  “To the page one story,” said Arthur.

  “Do you think so?”

  “No, it is more likely to appear somewhere in the science section. I need to discuss that with my colleagues. I am from the local news. Maybe it runs in our part. After all, you live here.”

  “The main thing is that you print it. Another one?”

  Petit pointed to the bottle. Eigenbrod had come via Metro underground and didn’t need to return to the office, so he nodded in reply.

  “Monsieur Petit, please tell me how come our editor-in-chief was so insistent about checking out your story?”

  “I worked in the sewage industry. Should I tell you the story?”

  “Oh, yes, please!”

  “But first we have another one.”

  “With pleasure.”

  Two hours later the bottle was empty. Arthur Eigenbrod had laughed more than in a very long time, and he had learned something about his boss that was so embarrassing that it would secure his job until retirement, for sure.

  April 18, 2074, Maui

  “Did you see that?” Steve held his smartphone up, right in her face.

  “Ominous lines on the sun—created by aliens?” she read under her breath. It was an online piece by the New York Times.

  “Sounds solid,” she said, looking out to the horizon again. Steve had sat down beside her without asking. She just wanted to eat her sandwich in peace.

  “That Frenchman is behind this. Maurice Petit,” said Steve.

  “Alain,” corrected José.

  Heather looked at Steve’s friend.

  “Somebody must have fallen for him and answered his message,” said Steve.

  “Looks like it,” offered José. He noticed her look and shot a secret smile. Apparently he wasn’t an idiot like Steve. What on earth did he like about Steve? But she had fallen for an exceptional idiot herself. He would notice that Steve was not worthy of him, eventually. She didn’t need to feel sorry for him.

  Heather paused briefly. Tetsuyo had called in sick this morning. That meant more time on the telescope than she needed for her tasks. Should she risk a look at those ominous lines?

  “Got to go, guys,” she said, standing up. She made sure, this time, to check left and right before crossing the road.

  The roof rattled to the side while the dome rotated into position. Heather pointed the solar telescope at the target area. Once locked in, it would follow the solar trajectory automatically. The news piece didn’t provide much detail, unfortunately. That included the French original she had looked up and translated. A pity that it wasn’t a scientific publication, but Alain Petit obviously couldn’t get published in those magazines. This way he made headlines and got attention from astronomers, too. And even if most astronomers would smile condescendingly, there would be some who would be curious enough to take a closer look—just like she was doing right now.

  But where was she to start the search? The various online articles didn’t offer any clues at all. She remembered the images she had sent to the Frenchman. But if she followed the hypothesis of an artificial object, then the lines had to be all over the surface. It wouldn’t even matter where she looked.

  Heather let the telescope focus on its last position. Probably Tetsuyo had looked for something there, or maybe one of the astronomers who used DKIST via remote access. The screen display changed in breathtaking speed. It was out of focus but that was normal. The main mirror, more than 4 meters across, had a special feature—on its rear side there were 144 little helpers that could modify the mirror surface to a certain degree to compensate for the atmospheric situation over Maui. Optically, that made DKIST operate as though it was located in space.

  The software signal locked on the desired position. Recording kicked in automatically. Heather zoomed right in to the resolution limit. But there were no lines to be seen. She leaned back, somewhat disappointed. He deserved to be right, just for being so tenacious.

  On the other hand, her failure to see anything was not conclusive. Her telescope showed any object larger than 15 kilometers. If the object was smaller it would go unnoticed. Heather searched for the specifications of the solar probe. Indeed, it had been able to show much more detail because it had operated so close to the sun.

  That created an issue for Alain Petit: Nobody would be able to verify his discovery. The probe had evaporated long ago and would not send images anymore. And there was no telescope on Earth more advanced than her DKIST.

  April 20, 2074, Mercury

  Ice scrunched under his feet. Artem looked upward. The beam of a spotlight showed a cliff with loose debris collecting at its base. Sobachka stood beside him, watching, waiting for his command. He wasn’t so convinced of the decision anymore, now that he stood right in front of this wall that towered 800 meters high. It was some hare-brained idea out of the conglomerate’s research department back on Earth. They wanted to set up solar radar on Mercury. A technician had told him that the parts had been collecting dust in some storage r
oom. But suddenly the orders came; that radar needed to start operating tomorrow! No word why, and lots of pressure from those armchair captains instead. Artem clenched his fists as far as his gloves allowed.

  He couldn’t fault them with the stupid idea to climb this mountain, though. That was his alone. The radar system required the setup of fifty receivers, about 100 kilograms each, across an area of 100 square kilometers. From their current location near the North Pole, the view of the sun would not be good enough. So they first had to move all those receivers 100 km due south. This cliff stood in the way of that project. A rover could drive around alright but that cost three hours extra on each leg, if not more. Back and forth, fifty times. So, it meant 300 hours—or about two weeks—a bit less if they worked around the clock. Impossible, especially with mining having priority, so they kind of expected him to do it all alone. What a rotten plan!

  His first idea had been quite reasonable. They would build a funicular to cross the edge of the crater. Those receivers only weighed a third of their weight on Earth. And the cable length would not exceed 2 kilometers by much. Of course the cable had to be anchored safely up there. It would have been easy by rover, going the long way around. That was when he had been stupid enough to prefer climbing up the wall. On screen it had been so much less intimidating.

  “Your very own fault, Artem,” he said out loud. Sobachka looked up. She was used to him talking to himself.

  “Alright, let’s go then.” He secured the dog with a lifeline between their suits.

  The first meters were a strenuous uphill battle against a mixture of loose dust and frozen water on a steep patch in this realm of eternal ice. Artem quickly started to perspire despite ventilation gearing up and a solid minus 160 degrees outside. He heard Sobachka panting. The poor dog. He would have preferred to leave her in the bunker but she had complained loudly. It had been very much unlike her.

  Now it was time to start using climbing gear. Artem had climbed a lot in his youth, mainly in the Caucasus Mountains. His muscles remembered all the movements and he quickly established his old routine. This wall however was so different from anything he had encountered on Earth.

  Mercury had no atmosphere, so there was none of the degradation produced by rain and ice. Over billions of years, solar wind had produced similar effects. Rock turned brittle and crumbled. But there was no sleet and no surface wind to send loose bits downhill. Only when gravity overcame the holding forces would anything move. For Artem that meant he couldn’t trust the cliff at all. Not only was it hard to see a crack in the spotlight, but it was also quite possible that parts of the wall would fall apart even if there wasn’t any crack to be spotted. And if that was the place where he placed his hold or sank a hook…

  Artem shrugged the thought away. Pessimism was not helpful, ever. Besides, it had been his own choice.

  After half an hour of hard work he reached a ledge. Artem sat down and reviewed their progress. It had to be about 200 meters. Sobachka didn’t seem to have any issues with the height. He patted her. She was a great space dog. But if he didn’t gain speed he would probably take longer than with the rover. Should he return instead?

  “Should we go back?” he asked Sobachka. The dog didn’t seem to understand.

  “Okay,” he decided, “let’s continue our climb.”

  Artem decided to speed things up. Not enough to be less secure, but enough to save time in the end. He regained his rhythm quickly, enjoying the subsequent flow. It almost felt like levitating up the cliff. Only the sweat running down his back reminded him of the effort involved. He was proud of himself. That also went for his backpack, perfectly packed with the lead rope for the funicular line and the material for the clifftop support. He nearly forgot that Mercury was helping him a great deal by way of its low gravity.

  An overhang was looming above. Artem thought about working his way around it, but the challenge got the better of him. He took a hook, set it tentatively, and pressed against it. Then he noticed that the rock forming the overhang was just loosely connected, and now his arms were all that prevented its fall. Artem quickly reckoned its volume and came up with 1,500 kilograms on Earth. Here on Mercury, that still worked out to 500 kilograms. He could never hold that. He needed to get to safety without delay. He had one arm’s length head start. Oddly enough that old question about a pound of feathers or a pound of iron falling faster sprang to his mind. Of course both of them would speed up by 13 km/h every second as dictated by Mercury gravity. If Artem didn’t slow himself down using his safety line he wouldn’t have contact until ground zero, and that would be the end of it. He risked a quick look down. He had about 20 meters of rope to get out of the way of the deadly chunk.

  He kicked off sideways with his feet, trying hard not to slow his fall. He hoped Sobachka was safe while clasping her paws on his backpack. He was unable to do anything for her right now. The first second of falling sent him down by 3.7 meters. Kick, kick, and hold. The safety line went taught and held up. His back hit the wall, hard. Ouch! Is Sobachka okay? Then he wondered about the contents of the backpack.

  He was in luck. The rock brushed his arm and continued downward in silence. Shortly after he sensed a dull impact at his back. That probably was the only effect of the crash below that would reach him. Artem avoided looking up in case smaller debris was following the rock but nothing happened. The entire incident took less than five seconds, but to him it seemed like several minutes.

  “Sobachka?”

  The dog growled. She was well. What a relief! She did seem to be quite scared, though. Artem turned around and started to climb again.

  Two hours later he reached the top of the ridge. He lifted his head over the edge of the cliff. Instantly he went from absolute darkness into full light. The sun stood as low in the sky as he remembered it from an Indian summer evening back on Earth. He clambered onto the level ground. The sun was so cold and brutal here that Artem had to remind himself that it was the same star.

  “Artem calling base camp, do you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear. Did you get up there in one piece?”

  “Of course. Nothing to report.”

  “We measured what looked like a miniature earthquake.”

  “I didn’t notice that. No time for a chat, I am ready to set up the post with the diverting pulley now.”

  “Confirmed.”

  Artem took the drill out of his backpack. He needed a hole that was half a meter deep. He set the drill in position near the edge of the cliff and started it. The machine operated in complete silence. Thirty minutes later the drill had made enough headway. Artem set up the pre-assembled post, attached the diverting pulley at its top, and completed things by connecting the leader line for the cable. The base of the post went into the prepared hole. He filled in the space around it with special paste out of a tube. One end of the leader line had a special ball with an emitter. Using a compressed-air gun, he fired that end down to the base of the cliff.

  “Leader line coming your way,” he said.

  “Starting search now,” answered somebody from the base camp.

  At the same time the radio channel started beeping. He turned around to see the rover arriving on autopilot.

  “Hey, are you joining us finally?”

  No answer from the rover.

  “Look, I’ve prepared everything.”

  He wished he could have left with the rover right away. The rover carried the first receiver plate, due for installation today. But first he had to wait for his colleagues to find the other end of the leader line. Artem turned around. Sobachka looked at him expectantly.

  “Ah, I see,” he said. Artem bent down and plucked a stone, throwing it far into the plains. Sobachka ran off in pursuit.

  “Sorry, no sticks here.”

  But that was no issue for the dog. She imitated picking up the stone with her jaws, ran back, and mocked laying down the stone in front of him.

  “Good girl, Sobachka,” he said. She was an excellent a
ctress.

  “We have the capsule,” came in from base camp.

  “Are you attaching the line?”

  “On the job. Detaching the capsule first.”

  He waited.

  “Done. Start pulling.”

  He used a crank on the pulley to slowly wind up the real line. This one, a cable thick enough to carry the receivers, had been tied to the lead line. After twenty minutes of cranking, the thick transport line had made it into his hands. He fed it through the pulley. Now it just had to make its way back down again, pulling the lead line alongside. Another twenty minutes later and that was done, too. He opened the safety knot on the lead line.

  “Will you pull in the lead line? It would be a pity to lose it. I need to move on.”

  “Okay,” confirmed base camp.

  Artem turned around. He had no time to lose with 100 kilometers through the hot Mercury desert ahead of him.

  “Sobachka!” He pointed to the rover and the dog obliged him by jumping on board. The rover had two seats, and a cargo pad in the back that held the shiny black receiver. If he had it right, he was to add its 49 siblings to create a distributed radio telescope that would scan the solar surface in unprecedented resolution. But first he had to set them up in the desert according to the predetermined pattern.

  Artem entered the destination and started the vehicle. He let the rover drive autonomously in the hope of getting some sleep. He turned around and pulled up a tent-like shade that was made of semi-transparent material. If it blocked all light it would be far too cold, and if too much light came through, his cooling system would eventually be overloaded. Now all he was missing was a pair of shades. Artem let his arm pad play music, a classic Johnny Cash song, as he rode his convertible through the desert, into the sunset. His copilot was the only female he loved. The sky was black, not blue, but that was easy to ignore.

  April 21, 2074, Mercury