by Greig Beck
About The Void
Something has traveled for a billion years to find us – and now it has.
In space, Commander Mitch Granger and his crew are nearing the end of their scientific mission – along with their covert satellite photography for the military. As they prepare for reentry, an unknown object emerges from the void; the name given to deep, dark space.
The object proves impossible to evade. The crew have one option left – to bring the fragment aboard.
Immediately, all contact with the shuttle is lost.
NASA watches helplessly as their craft breaks orbit and heads back to Earth where it crashes high up in the Revelation Mountains of Alaska.
The space agency puts together an emergency recovery team, but the Russians also want the US military photographic data onboard. The race is on to be the first to the crash site, nearly 10,000 feet up in one of the most inhospitable places on Earth. But there is another problem. Satellite images show that something else came down in the shuttle, something moving about when no one should be alive. And that seems to be growing at an alarming rate.
NASA needs help, and protection. Send in the HAWCs. But even HAWC captain Alex Hunter, the last super-soldier of the Arcadian program, has never come up against a threat so old, and from so far …
Contents
About The Void
Dedication
Epigraph
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR’S NOTES
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
About Greig Beck
Copyright
For NASA – the search for stardust continues.
We don’t know what’s really out there –
and maybe it’s better it stays that way.
Colonel Jack Hammerson
PROLOGUE
Through the endless void, tumbling and spinning, crossing distances so vast that time becomes a meaningless concept.
And then …
contact.
CHAPTER 1
Space Shuttle Orbiter Orlando, 330 miles above Texas
Commander Mitch Granger looked at the mission clock – 36.03 more hours to go, just a day and a half more. Piece of cake. They’d been up for a week now, and he was starting to feel the drag of home pulling him back harder than ever.
Homesick, he thought. Hey, the homesick astronaut – not a bad title for a book. He had always wanted to write one; after all, everyone was doing it these days and making a fortune.
Mitch leaned back in his seat and peered out the shuttle cockpit window. The glass was magnificently clear, even though the orbiter’s portal windows were triple-paned, super-hardened optical-quality glass. He knew if he wasn’t wearing the bulky suit gloves and pressed a hand against it, it would still feel numbingly cold and fragile. There were thirty-seven windowpanes in eleven different sizes and shapes on the shuttle, and all of them acknowledged as a point of possible engineering failure.
Just a few sheets of glass between me, a vacuum, and certain death, he sighed.
He reached up to tap the glass – safe as a bank. The shuttle orbiter technology was considered rock solid these days. On the Space Hazard Risk Identification Scale, where a low score equaled low risk, it rated 6.5 out of ten. Now human beings, they were a whole different kettle of onions. We poor shaved apes rate up at 7.2 – there’s your higher risk factors right there.
He inhaled a deep breath and then let it out slowly. They were a risk, the glass was a risk; up here every goddamn thing was a risk. Like it or not, they were in a metal shell, orbiting 333 miles above earth and hurtling along in orbit at 17,500 miles per hour.
He smiled dreamily; space was so vast, and everything looked frozen in place. There was nothing but pinpricks of light showing through to a blanket of black velvet.
At least with the windows they got to see out, which was some compensation. But still, everything was primarily run on autopilot or from NASA HQ, and in space nothing ever seemed to change, so really, their biggest challenge was fighting boredom.
Flight engineer Gerry Fifield floated back to his seat, pulling himself in and throwing a belt over his shoulder to stay in place. He started to press buttons, reading data from a screen. He spoke without turning.
“Beth is nearly finished back there, skipper.”
“Thank god for that,” said Mitch. “Wearing this suit is a bitch.” He stretched, trying to get comfortable in the bright orange MACES suit, or Modified Advanced Crew Escape Suit. They were the new design and nothing like the silver or white Michelin Man suits of old. But the vacuum of space was a killer, and it needed to be kept out at all costs, and that meant wearing the modern equivalent of a suit of armor.
Mission specialist Beth Power was back in the bay area running some experiments that required the payload delivery doors to be open – and the bay doors being open meant spacesuits on everywhere in the ship.
Mitch turned. “How’s Noah’s Ark?”
Gerry smiled back. “Larry and Moe are running miles, Curly Joe is taking a nap, and Mustang Sally is just hangin’ out as always. Plus, our creepy crawlies are doing their creepin’ and crawlin’ thing.” Gerry raised his eyebrows. “All creatures great and small are all present and accounted for.”
“Never work with animals or children – who was it said that?” Mitch grinned.
“Either WC Fields or Miley Cyrus – one of the greats, anyway,” returned Gerry.
Noah’s Ark was right. They had three mice, Larry, Moe and Curly Joe; a teenage sloth named Mustang Sally that may one day hold the key to long-term hibernation; and a panoply of ants, cockroaches, mantes, other bugs as well as giant earthworms in glass cases. Plus, thrown in for good measure, some plant and fungi stock.
Bottom line was the government’s interest in space travel was waning, and to get a bird financially airborne these days, NASA needed to be a flying circus.
That and other more covert fund-raising activities. Mitch eyed one of his screens that held a small number count still increasing. Their biggest sponsor of this mission was the US military, and the screen count was of the images taken as they passed over Russia and Eastern Europe. Mitch looked away – he hadn’t asked, and didn’t want to know. It was well above his pay grade anyway.
Among the sea of lights on the console, a single one started to blink, demanding attention.
“Whoa there, Ripley just picked up something on the long-range scanner.” Gerry straightened in his seat.
&n
bsp; “Satellite or debris?” Mitch only partially listened; there was always something on the scanners. After all, space was a veritable junkyard these days.
“Ripley’s checking now.” Gerry listened to the computerized babble via a headset until a smooth feminine voice cut through.
The Orlando had five on-board computers that handled data processing and control critical flight systems. They talked to each other and even voted to settle arguments with RIPLE – the Relational Intelligent Processor and Logic Entity – known as Ripley, who was the head processor and mother hen, having the deciding vote.
Gerry held up a finger as he listened. “Ripley’s got it now.”
In a modern shuttle orbiter, pilots like Mitch and Gerry essentially flew the computers, which in turn flew the ship for them. In front of each man was a Multifunctional Electronic Display Subsystem, or MEDS, which was a full color, eleven-panel visual system the pilots called the ‘glass cockpit’. Ripley was an upgraded AI, and probably the most advanced technology in the old shuttle design. She was the new brain in an old body, and her major task was to keep her eyes and ears on the ship and the universe, and then translate it back to the astronauts for any fine-tuning.
“What is it, and where’s it from?” Mitch asked.
Gerry shook his head, frowning. “Not from anywhere.” He turned to Mitch. “She says it’s coming out of the void.”
Mitch half turned – the void. It was a description for any area of space that was well outside of the solar system. It was deep space, uncharted and with nothing there for countless billions of miles.
“Not on any orbit?” He sat forward. “What size?”
“Not big, less than a dozen feet long.” Gerry bobbed his head. “She says it’ll pass close by us. Here, listen.” He flicked the input to audio.
Mitch stared out through the thick glass of the cockpit window. “Talk to me, Ripley: what can you tell us?”
The calm feminine voice began. “Hello, Commander Granger. The unidentified object is in a non-elliptical orbit, traveling in a straight-line trajectory, and coming out of deep space quadrant ninety-five. It is traveling at 224.22 miles per second.”
“Pretty slow.” Mitch’s eyes narrowed. “Size?”
Ripley didn’t hesitate. “124.32 inches by 47.1 inches.”
“Thanks, Ripley. Keep watching.”
“Always, Commander.”
Mitch exhaled. “So much for our guys on the ground always having our back – I’d better check with Russ; see what else he can tell us.”
Mitch placed the headset on and switched to external. The computer would use NASA’s DSN – Deep Space Network – to send signals back and forth between the Orlando and NASA. Luckily, they were close to home at 333 miles up, and would endure no time lag. He opened a channel.
“This is Commander Mitch Granger onboard the Space Shuttle Orbiter Orlando. Russ, are you there, over?”
Mitch only had to wait a few seconds. As he expected, Russell Burrows seemed to be there night and day, every day. When they were in space, Russ being on-deck was as dependable and regular as clockwork.
“Howdy Mitch, great looking morning. How’s it look from up there?”
Mitch smiled, hearing his friend, engineer, and top dog at NASA Control. “Another beautiful day over the US of A, buddy, and not a cloud in the sky.” He looked briefly over at Gerry’s screen. “It’d probably look even better if we didn’t have something in our front yard. What’s going on, Russ? We got a small bogey in quadrant ninety-five, coming out of the void at about 224 miles per second.”
“Hi, Mitch.”
Her voice made Mitch smile. “Hi, back at you.”
Anne’s voice made him feel homesick all over again. Doctor Anne Peterson was one of the NASA ground technicians for the space program. She was also a trained biologist and medical doctor. She and Mitch had been dating for a year, and Russ had let her stay on-deck while Mitch was in orbit.
“Miss you,” Anne said softly, and suddenly Mitch wanted to be home more than anything in the world.
“And me you, beautiful.” He wanted to tell her he loved her, but knew the team would give him hell for weeks if he did. “Can’t wait to see you again.”
“You two love birds finished?” Russ had a smile in his voice.
“For now.” Mitch grinned back.
“We can see your bogey, Mitch. Been tracking it since last night when it swung out from behind the moon. We originally expected it to pass you by with over 1,000 miles to spare, and no need to even mention it,” Russ said. “Small, but heavy in trace metals and other composites that are unknown – could be meteorite, but doesn’t seem on any sort of minor or major elliptical orbit. Maybe bumped out of the Kuiper Belt by an asteroid.”
“Originally expected?” Mitch waited.
“Yeah, we received updated information just a few minutes back.” Russ mumbled to someone in the background and then he whistled. “Looks like it’ll come a little closer to you guys than we first estimated.”
“How close? Ripley confirmed it’d miss us.” Mitch stared out the cockpit windows to the quadrant from where he knew the object was approaching.
“Close, real close.” There was a muffled conversation again before Russ came back. “Has Beth finished her work in the bay? Might be a good idea for her to pack it up and lock it down; just until this little guy has said goodbye to you.”
There was a clicking sound and more muffled conversation, and Mitch could imagine Russ Burrows snapping his fingers and calling for more data, before he came back on the line.
“Our calculations are that it’s still gonna pass by, but now within 120 miles of your position – give you guys a bit of a skinny.” Russ turned serious. “Better strap in, just in case we have any more deviation and you need to give Orlando a little bit of a kick. Be skimming by your orbit in thirty-six minutes. Roger that, Mitch?”
“Roger that, Russ, over.” Mitch shifted in his seat. He could read his friend like a book. The man came across as laid-back as you like, but underneath it Mitch could sense a little tension. Russ was worried about something – maybe the proximity, or maybe something else. And if Russ was worried, then he sure should be. Any more deviation, he had said. Since when do astral objects keep deviating?
Mitch started to open all the sensors, and spoke without turning. “Gerry, can you go help get Beth all squared away and back in her chair.”
“You got it.” Gerry unbuckled and floated backwards, pulling himself around on the chair edge, hitting the door-open button on the wall that separated the cockpit from the rear bulkhead door of the cockpit, and then torpedoing down the center of the cargo bay area to where Beth was working.
Mitch turned back to his screens. “Ripley, give me a constant data feed on our bogey.”
“Presenting now, commander.” Ripley sent the data directly to his MEDS screens and it scrolled up before his eyes. “Commander, I have detected an interesting anomaly.”
“Huh?” Mitch’s brows came together. “What is it?”
“There seems to be a rhythmic recurring emission from the object.” Ripley’s voice was objective as always.
“Feed it.” Mitch listened as Ripley pushed and then boosted the sound to his headset. He closed his eyes and concentrated – there was a faint heartbeat-like pulse, and something else that could have been a low hum or buzz, like the sound a swarm of bees bedding down for the night.
He opened his eyes. “What do you make of it?”
“Unknown, Commander.” Ripley paused.
“Hypothesize,” he urged.
She complied. “High probability of background interference.”
“Other probabilities?” He waited.
“Solar signal distortion, radio wave bounce, acceleration flow, other signal, type unknown,” she intoned.
“Okay.” He listened for a few more moments, feeling a small twist of unease in his gut. “Cut transmission.”
Immediately the sound was shut off, and he bre
athed out. “High probability of background interference, huh?”
Curiosity got the better of him. “Let me hear it again, and amplify.”
Ripley restarted the sound, and Mitch tilted his head, listening – clicks, weird scratching, and a dull, liquid throb, like a heartbeat. It gave him the freaking creeps.
“Hey.”
“Jesus.” Mitch jumped in his seat.
“Easy there.” Gerry grinned and floated back into his seat. “Beth will be done in five.” He buckled in. “So what is it?”
“What it is, is just plain weird.” Mitch switched the external sounds over to Gerry.
Gerry placed a hand to his earpiece and concentrated. “Holy hell. Interference maybe?” He frowned. “Or some sort of acceleration flow?”
“That’s what Ripley suggested. But like I said, weird.” Mitch sat back. “The good news is it’s small enough to totally burn up if it punches into the atmosphere.”
“Commander Granger, come back.”
Mitch touched his ear mic. “Go ahead, Russ.”
“Look, ah, this might sound a little weird, but …”
“Weird, huh?” Mitch turned to roll his eyes at Gerry.
“Yeah, this little guy seems to have altered its trajectory.” Russ responded, still cheery. “It’s still just tumbling around up there, but now seems to be course correcting. Trajectory risk programs say it’s now on collision course with you.”
“Magnetic?” Mitch sat straighter.
“That’s what we’re thinking, iron-based composition and all. So we’re gonna back you guys up a few hundred miles,” Russ said. “Better get Beth in right now, and then we’ll give you a little bump.”
“Roger that.” Mitch turned. “Go get her in, Gerry, pronto. And don’t let her argue with you.”
“You got it, boss.” Gerry was already shooting back to the hatch door again.
Mitch looked out of the window, and for the first time he could make out a small dot of light that had appeared on his horizon. “Okay, Russ, I have visual now.”
