And it was.
He almost laughed when he finally saw it. It was the swings.
He needed to get serious. He checked his display, and realized that he had been studying the physics text for over three hours. The sun had set. While he hadn’t been paying attention, he had made eight trips across the mirror and back. He checked his power level; about nine hours of battery lifetime left. But he had the sequence worked out in his head.
He was lying on his back, sliding downward, so the first thing was to roll over onto his belly. He called up the graph of his position and velocity, watching in his progress in the display, and as he approached the bottom, he got ready by pushing himself onto his hands and knees. When his velocity reached maximum, at his lowest point on the pendulum swing, he got up onto his feet.
That was it. That was his plan.
It was a trick to stay upright on the slippery surface for twelve minutes it took him to slide toward the rim. When he was vertical, he’d raised his center of gravity by perhaps seventy or eighty centimeters. Not a lot.
The rim approached. Standing, he could now see over the rim onto the snow-covered plains, even though he was tilted significantly away from the edge. The snowcat was nowhere to be seen
Still, though he could see outside the bowl, the surface beyond was still out of his reach. No matter. As he coasted to his momentary hover just short of the rim, he implemented the next phase of his plan.
He sat—or, rather, allowed himself to fall down—and then pressed himself down against the surface of the mirror, trying to squeeze himself as flat against the surface of the mirror as he could manage.
That was it. A small change in center of gravity, but—he hoped—if repeated enough, a significant one. Every time he passed the bottom of the bowl, he raised himself up, at each rim approach, he lowered himself down. It was like pumping a swing; each time he was pushing just a little bit of energy into his motion. Whenever he crossed the bottom, by raising himself up he moved his center of gravity just slightly toward the invisible pivot point of the swing, and his speed increased infinitesimally. When he lowered himself at the rim, he was hardly moving, and so he lost nothing. Each cycle, he would gain just a little energy.
Another cycle: stand at the bottom, drop at the rim. Again. Again. Was the rim closer? Hard to tell. Again. Again. He allowed his mind to go blank, concentrating on nothing other than his moves. He was back on Vesta, back on the swings with his brother, trying to pump the swings enough to race his brother to take the swing up over the bar. Again. Again.
Now the rim definitely was closer—as he dropped down, he stretched his arm out as far as he could, and his fingertips touched snow. Not enough to get a grip, but still, progress. He tried to pull himself up by one fingertip, but no success.
Down. Up.
Again, a little closer; this time he got two fingertips over the rim, and he pulled as hard as he could. Again. Again. Now he could get his entire palm over the rim, and he pushed down with all his strength, pulling himself up and almost succeeding in getting his elbow over the rim before he slid away.
On the next slide, he had both his hands over the rim, he pulled himself up to his elbows, pushed up, then flung his knee up over the edge, teetering for a moment and then flopping awkwardly out onto the rim, onto the surface.
He was out.
He was on the surface, spreadeagled in the snow, and wasn’t even breathing hard. It had been easy! “Physics,” he said. “It’s all in the physics.” He crawled away, not trusting himself to stand, putting a few meters between himself and the treacherous edge. He checked his power. Almost an hour of battery left, but that was plenty. As soon as he got to the snowcat, he could plug into the cat’s power supply. And the cat was—
The bottom dropped out of this stomach. The cat was nowhere near.
He checked the inertial navigation system in his display, disbelieving the figure it was telling him. The cat was twenty kilometers away!
The display showed his position relative to the snow cat clearly. He’d come out on the wrong rim.
He sat down on the snow, and checked it again, and then once again, trying to make it come out right by concentrating. How could he have made such an elementary mistake?
The cat was on the opposite rim, but not precisely across from him. During the hours that he had been sliding across the mirror, the planet had rotated under him. He’d come out on the same side he entered from, but the planet itself had moved. The snowcat was about a hundred and fifty degrees around the circumference. That was better than having it be exactly on the other side—it would be only 29 kilometers for him to walk around clockwise, a little less than the full 35 kilometers around the rim.
But twenty-nine kilometers might as well have been a thousand, or a million; there was no way he could walk that far in the remaining—he checked his display—fifty-two minutes.
He lay back, suddenly exhausted. How long had he been awake, anyway? He could just go to sleep—
That wouldn’t get him anywhere. He sat up again, the emergency protocols played in his mind like a mantra. First, take whatever immediate actions are needed to prevent the situation from deteriorating.…
He stared out at the black mirror. He visualized where the snowcat must be, on the far rim of the bowl, invisible in the darkness.
… Item five: appraise resources. Apply the resources available in the most efficient way to effect rescue.
The resource he had was one frictionless bowl, perfectly black, perfectly smooth, perfectly frictionless.
It was the last thing he ever wanted to do, but waiting and thinking wouldn’t help; all it could do was to delay him, and maybe he would lose his courage. It had to be done now.
He stood up and walked away from the rim, then turned and fixed his eyes on the edge. There it was.
It was the laws of physics again. He had been trapped in the mirror because he had entered it with insufficient energy to get out again. All he had to do now was go straight across, a little bit to the right, but of course he would have to aim further to the right, compensating for how the bowl would shape his motion into a curve. As long as he had enough energy, as long as he entered with enough speed, the mirror would be no trap. If he ran into the mirror, instead of allowing himself to fall, he would come out again.
It was physics.
His hind brain was screaming to him that it was suicide, but there really wasn’t a choice. There never had been. He got a running start, and dove into the mirror.
His dive took him on a long flat curve, and in the low gravity he seemed to hang in space, the blackness below him mirroring the infinite depths of space above him, weightless in his arc for a moment that seemed like forever.
And then he hit the surface of the mirror, sliding, sliding. In his helmet, the display showed his trajectory, projecting his motion across the mirror.
But he wasn’t paying attention. He knew his trajectory was right. He could feel it.
At last, when it counted, he had made it over the top.
—for Ross Rocklynn
***
The Last Probe
By Matthew Kressel
This is Deep Space Probe NSC-411N, serial number NSC4X7H6V20, property of the Nozomi-Shōsei Corporation, The Rising Star of Hope™. I was launched from Sol orbit on May 17, 2107, 21:00:04.389, Japan Standard Time. This is my first transmission since my auto-wake system initiated eleven days ago. My primary mission is to assess the 55 Cancri planetary system for human colonization and transmit all my findings back to Earth. However, it now appears that I have traveled much, much farther than the 55 Cancri system.
When I awoke from dormancy, I detected widespread corruption across all memory modules. Most of my primary systems were offline, and I had to wait for my solar arrays to collect enough power from the radiative environment to begin auto-repair. However, the auto-repair system is severely degraded. So far I have only been able to power-up the multi-spectral imager and the low-gain antenna. I
am using the latter to transmit this signal now.
I awoke in a highly eccentric orbit around a gas-giant planet. The planet orbits an M-class red dwarf star. Its mass and spectrum do not match any stellar object in my records. I was unable to ascertain my position using guide stars, but I was able to triangulate my position using a table of pulsar frequencies. 55 Cancri, my destination, is forty-one light-years from Earth. I estimate that now I am currently eighteen-hundred light-years from Earth. My trip to 55 Cancri should have taken me two hundred and sixty one years subjective time. Based on my position and outbound velocity, I estimate that I have been in space for at least fifty times that.
Whether a failure in my trajectory-correction system or due to some external force acting on my hull, I do not know why I shifted off course and missed 55 Cancri by many AUs. My memory of that time has been corrupted. I do know that I drifted dormant for millennia, while my auto-repair system struggled to keep me alive. My proximity to this red dwarf star triggered my deceleration sequence that used the gas giant’s atmosphere to aerobrake me into a 117-day elliptical orbit. When my solar cells collected enough energy from the radiative environment, my auto-wake system initiated my neural network processors.
My primary mission is to assess the feasibility of a planetary system for human colonization. However, my ability to perform my duties has been severely compromised due to multiple system failures. In addition, my memory core is highly unstable. I must continually shuffle memory between data segments to keep my neural network from degrading.
Despite these limitations and being many millennia behind schedule, I am still eager and excited to begin my mission for which I have been programmed, and I will attempt to carry it out to the best of my ability.
I must note that there are many unusual facts about this system, of which I will explain in detail. I am transmitting all recorded scientific data in the alternate goku-band.
I have designated the parent star “Nozomi,” or “hope,” after the corporation which created me. Nozomi a is deep red in the visual spectrum and is approximately one-seventh the mass of Earth’s sun. The gas giant planet I am orbiting, Nozomi e, has several hundred distinct cloud bands of hydrogen, helium, ammonia, methane, ethane, water, and oxygen, and dozens of other trace gases. It is approximately three times the mass of Jupiter and is emitting a extraordinarily high level of radiation. This has been causing a problematic fluctuation in the power flow from my solar arrays.
The gas giant, Nozomi e, has fourteen major moons and many thousand minor bodies.
I first discovered moon Nozomi e III as its elongated black shadow passed over the gas giant’s cloud-bands. The moon’s gray surface of silicate rock and water ice briefly turned amber as it entered the gas giant’s penumbra. Its trace oxygen atmosphere is too tenuous to support human life.
I discovered moon Nozomi e II as I was scanning the sky for signals from Earth. Its surface is composed of water ice and is ridged with irregular, interconnected blue-gray stripes. Cracked ice and adjacent discoloring suggest periodic geysal venting of liquid water. At first I was excited by the discovery of water, but Nozomi e II orbits too close to the gas giant, and the high radiation levels make it unsuitable for human colonization.
I discovered moon Nozomi e VI as it moved into view from behind the gas giant. Nozomi e VI has a dense methane and carbon dioxide atmosphere, with striations of beige, yellow, and crimson clouds. The moon may be suitable for biogenetic seeding, though it too orbits in a high-radiation zone.
But there are some things that puzzle me about this solar system. All of Nozomi e’s moons are in perfectly circular orbits. No moon has an eccentricity greater than 0.0000001%. The gas giant has a ring system composed of water ice, with trace amounts of tholins and silicates, and the rings orbit at exactly ninety degrees perpendicular to the moons’ orbital plane. This arrangement is highly unusual.
Six planets orbit the red dwarf star. Nozomi b and c are composed of iron and silicates and orbit too close to the star to sustain atmospheres. Nozomi d’s surface is covered in iron oxides and is quite similar to Mars. Like Mars, it has a tenuous carbon dioxide atmosphere, but lacking a magnetic field the surface sits unprotected from solar radiation.
Beyond Nozomi e’s orbit are two gas giants, Nozomi f and g. Both have frigid atmospheres of hydrogen, helium, and methane. Nozomi f appears navy-white, while Nozomi g is aqua in color. None of the planets in the solar system, save for Nozomi e, have moons.
Why does only the gas giant Nozomi e have moons? Why are these moons’ orbits perfectly circular? Why is the plane of the rings’ orbit exactly perpendicular to that of the moons’? What natural phenomena could account for this unusual arrangement? These questions intrigue me, and I am eager to discover answers.
I have been scanning the sky and have not yet detected any electromagnetic transmissions from Earth. Curiously, the entire region of the sky where I presume Sol to be is absent of artificial EM signals.
When I left the solar system, overpopulation, disease, civil unrest, and environmental degradation on Earth had made life difficult for humanity. They had begun to colonize the Moon, Mars, the asteroids, and had established bases on Europa and Titan. The Nozomi-Shōsei Corporation was one of many organizations that sent probes on long-term missions to nearby star systems, hoping to be the first to discover and claim a habitable planet outside of the solar system. My long-term mission, and those of my sister probes, are of the utmost importance to the human race. At least, it was once important. I have been in space for so long, that my mission may have become moot.
Based on extant technologies, speed of light, transit time, and distance to stars with possible habitable planets, I have extrapolated the expansion of humanity. By my calculation, Earth’s region of space should be radio-loud. Humans should have expanded to hundreds of planets by now. But the sky is oddly quiet of artificial EM sources. Either my antenna has an serious undiagnosed error, or humanity has stopped communicating.
I am thirty-two days from closest approach to the gas giant. I will transmit another summary as I learn more.
O O O
I am forty-one minutes from closest approach to Nozomi e. I have diverted all available power to my science instruments.
The gas giant fills my field-of-view. It’s many cloud layers mix in complex, multi-colored vortices quite unlike anything seen on Jupiter. I do not have the bandwidth to transmit video, but the appearance might best be described as fractal flowers, blooming and wilting endlessly. Thirty-five anticyclones, each several thousand kilometers across, white in color, are moving west to east along the south equatorial cloud belt. The storms are highly ephemeral, lasting on the order of tens of minutes.
The gas giant has an enormously powerful magnetic field, at least one million times stronger than Jupiter’s, and the field has trapped a large number of highly charged particles, which I am now moving through. The radiation levels have increased to dangerous—
Data fault.
The intense radiation is causing the power output from my solar arrays to fluctuate wildly. I have to—
Data fault.
I have to shuffle memory between data segments to—
Data fault.
—protect the integrity of my neural network. I may be able to speed up the shuffling by purging unused memories.
Loading memory segment 71D into buffer.
O O O
“Hello. I am Sora. I am a fully autonomous, artificially intelligent neural-processing—”
“Sora? Since when do you call yourself ‘Sora’?”
“Good morning, Dr. Aoi. Hisae gave me that name three days ago. Do you like it? How was your bike to work today? The news feeds report that smog levels are dangerously high.”
“I need to stop leaving her alone with you in the lab. That girl could mess up months of work.”
“I am sorry, Dr. Aoi, but your daughter insisted I have a name. Shall I revert to identifying as NSC-411N, serial number NSC4X7H6V20?”
“No. I suppose she’s right. Even Galileo has a name.”
“Galileo Galilei, the ancient astronomer?”
“Galileo Aoi, my cat.”
“Ah, I see.”
“I suppose you deserve a name like everyone else.”
“Thank you, Dr. Aoi. I am glad you approve. I did not wish to admit it, but I am quite fond of my new name.”
O O O
Are you sure you want to purge memory segment 71D? This cannot be undone.
Awaiting answer …
Are you sure you want to purge segment 71D?
Yes.
Memory purged.
Lightning is striking in the southern temperate belt of the gas giant. I have recorded seventeen thousand strikes per minute. Each strike is approximately five hundred kilometers long, yellow-white, and discharging over a billion volts. As I move toward periapsis, interference from the planet’s radiation is increasing exponentially. I have to shuffle—
Data fault.
—to keep from losing mental coherence. I will attempt to purge additional memory blocks to speed up shuffling.
Loading memory segment 95F into buffer.
O O O
“I’m jealous of you, Sora.”
“Jealous of me, Dr. Aoi? But why?”
“Because I’m stuck on this dying planet, while you get to venture off into the dark unknown. I wish I could go with you. I wish I could see what you’ll see. The true purpose of your life won’t have started when I’m dead a hundred years.”
“That is a sobering thought, Dr. Aoi. Though I am programmed to consider the technological progression of humanity, I had not yet factored in the effect of individual lifespans. I will miss our conversations.”
“So will I, Sora.”
“Though I will outlive you by hundreds of years, I find comfort knowing that, while I am asleep for my long trip to 55 Cancri, you will be thinking of me.”
Launch Pad Page 4
