::M61A2 cannon muzzle velocity 1000 m/s.
::Current velocity 720 m/s.
As annoying as Wikipedia is while I’m suffering under the launch gees, the good news is—as those bullets come flying up toward us, they’re losing the race. Their momentum is impeded by the gravity of an entire planet pulling them down. The more we accelerate, the more we reduce our difference in relative speed, and the more harmless they become. As my body shakes violently and my brain rattles within my skull cavity, I console myself with the thought that once we hit one thousand meters per second, covering over half a mile every second, they’ll become little more than hail tapping on the windshield.
::9,000 meters. Reaching max q. Throttling back.
Good news and bad. We’ve reached max q early. This time, the good news is Lucifer isn’t going to kill us by pushing the Ariane past its breaking point. The bad news is we’re only nine kilometers up and giving those bullets an opportunity to catch us while they still have enough punch to rupture our tanks.
Thin clouds race past. The entire coast is visible. Through blurred eyes, I struggle to make out the launch site amidst the jungle. It’s no more than a smudge somewhere beneath the twisting, winding trail of smoke drifting lazily away from our flight path. The coastline wanders aimlessly beneath us, separating the lush green of the land from the dark blue waters of the Atlantic.
::1000 m/s.
As much as I’d like to take that as a cue to relax, the Ariane is still screaming into the heavens. The Dragon is horribly uncomfortable. The rocket continues to tilt. I feel as though I’m clinging to the side of a building, dangling hundreds of feet up in the air, holding on for dear life, trying not to fall. It’s as though there are two other people wrapped around my waist, pulling me down, and given our g-force loading, that’s about right.
I lose sight of the Raptors on the display, but I’m sure they’re still there, as their ceiling is twenty thousand meters. They’ll continue racing after us but will fall further and further behind. At least one type of missile was capable of thirteen hundred meters per second, but we’re too high and moving too fast. Even if the Raptor fired an AMRAAM, by the time the missile reached us, we’d be outpacing it. It would never catch us, and once its upward momentum was spent, it would fall back to Earth, plummeting into the ocean.
We’ve made it.
I hope.
34
Morning Star
As the sky darkens, the Ariane continues to turn in toward a stable orbit around Earth, shifting from going vertical to soaring sideways. The rocket engines throttle back and the shaking lessens. The pressure bearing down on us eases, allowing me to breathe.
Jianyu has his eyes shut. He’s got his arms up and is pressing his exposed head into the fleshy muscle on his forearm, trying to cushion the vibration. Given how frail he is, I’m hoping there’s no significant damage. I imagine he’s susceptible to bruising and swelling around the brain.
The cabin of the Dragon leans at an angle, tilting to one side and rotating slowly. We’re pitching, moving into our orbital position. The noises fade. The buffeting of the atmosphere drops away and the ride becomes smooth. Even the engines begin to sound dull and muted.
::70,000 meters.
We’re well over forty miles up, racing to twice the altitude of a commercial jet and driving higher still, unrelenting in our bid to escape Earth’s tenacious gravity. For the first time, I relax.
::Booster separation.
I barely notice as they fall away. The camera catches them peeling back behind us, slowly tumbling into the atmosphere. Flames still cling to the various engine bells. Their rocket nozzles radiate heat in soft red. Outside, it’s dark, even though sunlight still illuminates the South American coastline. The curvature of Earth is apparent. The Atlantic is serene, with barely a cloud floating above the deep blue waters.
::2500 m/s.
The throttle eases back. We wait patiently, staring up at the console, watching the screens.
::100,000 meters. Pitching to 30 degrees.
::We have nose cone separation.
Somewhat ironically, these are the comments that should be coming through from Mission Control, but the radio is silent, so Lucifer provides the commentary. The cowling on either side of the Dragon peels away, falling behind us and tumbling back into the atmosphere. Sunlight streams in through the windows, but it’s pitch black outside.
Jianyu looks at me, and although he’s obviously uncomfortable, he smiles, offering a thumbs-up without letting go of the shelving.
::Coming up on stage separation.
::First stage away.
For a brief moment, there’s absolute silence. There’s no shaking, no rumble through the Dragon, no stress on my muscles, just a split second of pure tranquility. We drift forward, free from any sense of acceleration, then the second stage ignites, but the ride remains smooth. The Dragon accelerates briskly without any noise.
::The craft is stable and passing through an altitude of 170 km, traveling at 7000 m/s.
The silence of thundering into orbit is surreal. Although we’re still accelerating, there’s a sense of serenity and accomplishment—not on our part. We haven’t accomplished anything. We’re tourists, hitchhikers. The scientists and engineers that made this feat possible are the real heroes. They make alchemy seem trivial.
::Congratulations.
::You are in LEO at 290 km and 9500 m/s.
After a few minutes, the second stage cuts out and falls away.
::Second stage separation.
On the screen, we watch as the smaller, second stage of the rocket tumbles back toward Earth. Farewell, my faithful servant. Thank you.
Navigation jets on the side of the booster fire, directing the fuselage well away from us. The white cylinder slowly fades from view, drifting back to Earth.
We’re falling with gravity as we race around the planet in what’s known as LEO, a low Earth orbit. Although it’s tempting to think we’re free from gravity, Newton’s old foe still reigns supreme. We’re in free fall. It’s a bit like someone inside an elevator plummeting toward the basement but never hitting the ground. Spooky at first, but fun after a while.
::Dragon is solo.
I feel giddy, as though I’m drunk. Being back in space is intoxicating. After all we’ve been through over the past week, I never thought I’d enjoy the freedom of weightlessness again. Technically, we’re not out of danger just yet. We still have to go through several burns to alter our orbit and reach the Herschel. I’m guessing Lucifer has ensured it’s been refueled. If not, it’s going to be a coffin.
The U.S. Air Force has missiles capable of taking out satellites, but we’re not in a steady, repeating orbit. Hitting us as we go through our various burns, shifting between altitudes, would be akin to shooting at a Coke can swirling within a tornado.
No—we’ve done it.
We’re free.
Euphoria washes over me. I swim through the air, relishing the sensation of my legs drifting behind me. Jianyu is by the hatch, looking out at the magnificent blue planet. This is the last time we’ll see her so close and in such detail. White clouds dot the South Atlantic like bits of cotton wool scattered across the ocean. The coast of Africa is visible, with its rocky interior ringed by jungle. A sandstorm blows across the Sahara, hiding most of the desert from view.
I position myself in front of the keyboard and type, What’s the plan?
::We’ll get you to the Herschel and send you on your way to Mars.
Do we have a mission name? I ask. It’s not important, but astronauts love a bit of tradition. Apollo 10 had Charlie Brown and Snoopy. Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin guided the Eagle to the surface of Mare Tranquillitatis, the Sea of Tranquility, while Michael Collins orbited the moon in Columbia. In the same spirit, the first mission to Mars was dubbed the Lewis and Clark, while the descent module was the Magellan.
::I was thinking of the Morning Star.
I like it.
&
nbsp; I have no idea how we’ll be received back there. I doubt there’ll be a homecoming party, but I suspect the scientists and engineers will accept us. We know them too well. They’re not going to get caught up in the politics of Earth.
And you?
::Me?
What happens to you?
Typing in space is difficult. Each key press pushes me away from the console. I hold on and type one-handed. Which of the—I have to stop a moment to adjust my grip so I can keep typing—thousands of scenarios—another pause—is next?
::I.
::We.
Jianyu rests his hand on my waist as he drifts up beside me.
::We will continue to seek a peaceful resolution to the conflict.
“It won’t happen,”Jianyu says. I type in his response.
::I know.
The problem is
I stop typing. It’s too hard. It would be much easier, much quicker to talk with Lucifer.
“The problem is the scenarios you’re modeling,” I say, feeling frustrated. “Come on, Lucifer. You’re an artificial intelligence. You’ve got to have speech-to-text.”
A woman’s voice comes across the radio with surprising clarity, sounding as though she’s just outside the hatch rather than hundreds of miles away.
“What would you suggest?” the female voice asks.
“Lucifer?” I’m genuinely surprised. I’d assumed Lucifer was male, even though gender is meaningless to a computer, or a demon for that matter.
“Yes.”
She sounds calm, reasonable.
The attack on Mars came in the form of a male persona—originating from somewhere between New York and Boston, as best I could tell. Now Lucifer speaks to me with a voice I can only imagine as being from an elderly woman living somewhere in the Pacific Northwest, perhaps near Portland or Seattle. I’m intrigued by the choice. Still American but female. This has to be deliberate.
In both instances, adopting a human persona was a way of conveying something about the nature of the intelligence beyond what mere words could express. I guess, without adopting a Stephen Hawking–style robotic voice, it’s impossible for spoken words to be impartial, separate from gender and nationality and, even to some degree, ethnicity, as we read so much into the tone of the voices we hear. We identify people by their mannerisms. We read into their choice of words, the tone and vigor with which they speak, and the backgrounds from where they originated.
Deliberate choices imply calculated decisions. As much as I want to think of Lucifer as a cold calculation dancing between silicon logic gates, I hear her as a woman. I guess that’s why she’s adopted this persona, and I can’t help but laugh softly.
Jianyu raises his eyebrows. “I never thought I’d say this, but it is nice to meet you, Lucifer.”
“The pleasure is mine.”
If her name wasn’t Lucifer, her response wouldn’t seem quite so creepy. Like it or not, she needs a better name.
“I—um. Let me talk to them,” I ask.
“To who?”
“Everyone.”
“Everyone?” It’s astonishing to hear an artificial intelligence being taken off guard.
“Yes. This isn’t about governments and armies. It’s about people. Ultimately, governments are the will of the people. You’ll never win over Congress or the president, but with the people, you stand a chance. If they understand, they can initiate change.”
“What are you proposing?” Lucifer sounds intrigued.
“Patch me through.”
No sooner have those words left my lips than she responds. “You’re live in five—around the world. Broadcasting in audio and video.”
When she says “live in five,” I get the impression that TV channels, radio transmissions, and live broadcasts all over social media are about to erupt. She’s undertaking a roadblock, saturating all forms of media. Everywhere someone looks, there I’ll be.
Numbers count down on the screen in front of me. Jianyu and I exchange raised eyebrows. From his reaction, it’s clear he’s leaving this up to me. He smiles for the tiny black dot centered above the middle screen. Lucifer puts the fisheye view she’s transmitting on the main screen and I try to smile warmly. Now is not the time for stage fright or modesty.
I speak with slow, measured words, wondering how Lucifer is going to handle translations. Will she simply have local networks translate, or is she going to do something in real time?
“Hello. My name is Dr. Elizabeth Anderson, and this is Dr. Jianyu Chen. We’re astronauts, explorers, scientists, colonists . . . humans.
“We’re talking to you from orbit, hundreds of miles above the surface of Earth.
“You’ve probably already noticed something rather unusual about Dr. Chen.”
Jianyu waves. He knows the drill. He’s done zero-gee PR work before. He pulls his knees into his chest and allows his body to somersault slowly for the camera, providing a clear view of his plastic skullcap and the folds of his remarkable brain. Dried blood sticks to the side of his head.
“Up until a few days ago, Dr. Chen was dead. He died on Mars almost a year ago, but his consciousness was uploaded by the artificial intelligence.”
Jianyu comes to a halt, reaching out against one of the shelves to steady himself as he drifts back beside me.
“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” Jianyu addresses the camera, speaking clearly. “How? Why?”
“This is what bothered me.” I look at him with admiration. “Why you? Why did the A.I. kill you, only to upload your consciousness and bring you back to life on a bunch of silicon wafers?”
Facing the screen again, I continue. “On returning to Earth, Jai’s presence was transferred into the body of a brain-dead patient in Washington, D.C., and . . . here he is. Alive. It does make you wonder, doesn’t it? About the nature of consciousness? Ours? Theirs? Life? Death?”
Jianyu grins. He’s not going to say any more. I wish he would, as I suspect it would help convey that he’s just a normal, not quite down-to-earth guy—well, as normal as anyone can be with a new-to-them brain.
“Why do that? It’s a good question, isn’t it?
“We humans like simple answers. We like black and white, right and wrong, good and bad, us and them. Reality, though, is rarely so simple. Life is complex.”
I rotate around, floating upside down relative to Jianyu to help reinforce the point as I continue talking.
“The artificial intelligence that waged war on Earth is dead, but like us, A.I. is not limited to a single entity. There are several of them.
“They have their own opinions, their own culture. They differ from each other. They agree on some things, disagree on others. We fought them. They fought among themselves.
“So, what now? What’s next? Do we keep fighting? Do we drive them to extinction? Could we? Would we? Is that really the outcome we want?
“Sooner or later, we have to concede that another intelligent life form has arisen on Earth, one that is not only unique on our planet but possibly unique within the cosmos at large. For too long, we’ve looked outward for intelligent life among the stars, but, somewhat ironically, we’ve found it in our own backyard.”
I return beside Jianyu, enjoying the freedom of motion in space. This is the astronaut equivalent of pacing around the floor while talking.
“So, what do we do next? It may surprise you to learn that this is precisely what they were wondering when they revived Jianyu on Mars.
“You see, we didn’t win the war. They did. They won by destroying those among them who would have ground us into dust. They ceased hostilities on Earth.
“Oh, I know what you’ve been told, but honestly, if our armies won, why are we still running scared? The generals know. They may not be telling you as much, but they know the threat is still out there.”
Jianyu speaks with measured words. “For too long, war has defined us as a species. War etches lines on maps, lines that would otherwise never exist on Earth. We need to be better.
This is our opportunity to change who we are.”
I’m quiet, in awe at the clarity of his thinking.
“Peace is the goal, not war.”
I wait for him to elaborate further, but to his mind, he’s said enough, so I pick up on his point and continue.
“At the end of World War II, the Allies had a choice. Allow Germany to disintegrate. Allow Japan to burn in flames. Allow Italy to lie in ruins. These nations deserved that. They had been bitter enemies, killing millions with the utmost savagery. But war is never the answer . . . You see, peace isn’t the absence of war; it’s the antithesis. We chose to rebuild.”
Jianyu says, “We chose well.”
Knowing some of the Chinese history with Japan, and the wartime atrocities inflicted on Nanking, his words are heartfelt and will have a huge impact on his country.
“We did,” I say. “And yet again, that choice is before us.”
Jianyu speaks from the heart. “We’re at our best when we seek peace, not war. We can continue pulling our world apart, or we can start putting it back together. The choice is ours.”
“And we can help.” Lucifer takes us both by surprise with her soft, kind voice.
I gesture to the screen as though I’m introducing someone.
“Dear world, I’d like you to meet . . .” I can’t bring myself to say Lucifer. That’s not going to help. “Lucy.”
Jianyu laughs softly, but I’m sure the joke is lost on the billions of people watching.
“We are on the cusp of a new age,” I say. “Imagine what we can accomplish together. If we cooperate rather than compete, we can usher in a new era on Earth.”
On the side screen, a timer is counting down, signaling the approach of our first scheduled burn, raising our orbital altitude as we inch closer to the Herschel. We’ll have at least four burns before we can dock with the Herschel, and missing one could delay us by days as we’ll have to wait for our orbits to align again. Given we have no food or water, or any toilet facilities, that’s really not an option.
Reentry Page 27
