The Orthogonal Galaxy

by Michael L. Lewis

  “No fresh evidence, Professor—” Stan answered as Zimmer lowered and shook his head. “—but remember, they are simply following strict protocol to preserve the environment in the bunker. Once they are awaiting rescue, they must remain locked inside, otherwise they compromise too much oxygen.”

  “Come on, Stan,” Zimmer protested. “Protocol or not, what would you do? Tell me that you wouldn’t come out during Earth-sight with a field scope and look for a high-luminosity morse signal. You would have to have nerves of steel to wait inside your Martian gravesite, not knowing if or when you were going to be rescued.”

  “Astronauts are trained to follow every instruction, Professor.”

  “Then why are we sending the signal, Stan? We have stations on three separate oceanic islands, constantly transmitting a night-time light source in morse code, so that the astronauts know about the mission and its timeframe. If we thought they wouldn’t emerge, we wouldn’t send the signal.”

  “The astronauts are never notified of the emergency communication signal. They have no idea that such a procedure exists, simply because we don’t want to tempt them to surface too often and squander their environment. The signal is only intended for them to see under dire circumstances.”

  Zimmer laughed in ridicule. “So we tell our men to wait it out, but we send a signal that they’re never supposed to see anyway. I just don’t understand these emergency procedures very well.”

  “I’m sorry, Professor. Even I didn’t know about the emergency light signals. Until this had occurred, they were highly classified. Remote islands with no human contact were selected in the South Pacific, North Atlantic, and Indian Oceans. High-intensity solar-powered light sources with remote satellite communication capabilities were set up and known only by a few top NASA personnel until they were turned on. Even though these islands are ridiculously remote in most cases, any airplane within a few thousand miles could see the light shining way up into the atmosphere at nighttime. NASA had to declassify them with a formal press release the moment they turned them on.”

  “Did Gilroy know?”

  “Yes, Professor.”

  Zimmer shook his head in disgust.

  “Well I am glad that they declassified it, so that every future astronaut in the inner solar system will know that he can still receive communications from Earth. I just think it is atrocious to make those two men suffer the constant emotional stress of imagining death by slow suffocation in a lonely Martian chamber. To build into emergency procedures the knowledge that Martian astronauts in distress are to be left in the dark—perhaps both figuratively and literally—I don’t think the public is going to be too happy with NASA once they realize—”

  “All done, Professor,” Zimmer was too busy opining on the state of the astronauts that he entirely missed Kather’s appearance, nor did Kath realize until it was too late that she had interrupted a conversation in a rather tense moment.

  “I’m sorry—we’ll just—just wait over here.” Kath stammered.

  “No, no, Miss Mirabelle. Your timing is appropriate. Mr. Rodgers and I were just finishing our conversation, and I know he has some pressing matters to look after.”

  “My apologies, Professor. There really is nothing more we can do except get that shuttle down to Camp Mars as quickly as possible and return those astronauts to Earth. This is our top priority, I assure you.”

  “I am glad to hear it.” Then changing the subject, Zimmer proceeded, “Why don’t you show us to the control room, and we’ll let you get back to getting those astronauts back!” He smiled and gestured that there were no ill-feelings. Deep down, he did know that NASA was doing everything they could to return the astronauts to safety.

  Stan gestured to the group to follow him down a long sterile hall awash with bright LED lighting from two contiguous rows of lights along the ceiling and another along each of the walls. At the end of the hall, he turned to his right, and all followed him except for Joram Anders.

  “Excuse me,” he called out.

  The entire party halted and turned to Joram.

  “Shouldn’t we be going that way?” indicating the opposite direction in which Rodgers was leading them.

  Kath looked intently down Joram’s hall way, and then back to Stan’s chosen hall. “Joram Anders, why on Earth would you suggest that? These halls look identical.”

  “It’s just that the Mars mission control room is down that way,” Joram stated matter-of-factly.

  “What?” Reyd said rolling his eyes. In exasperation, he probed, “How would you possibly know that?”

  “I’ve been on the observation deck of the control room for the Mars mission.” Noticing that all were still perplexed, he sighed and continued. “In high school, my family came to Houston to visit relatives. They indulged me in a trip to the space center here, where a tour took us onto the observation deck of the Mars mission control. Perhaps the control room has moved since then?”

  “No, Joram,” said Stan with a smile. “The control room is still down there. By the way, I’m impressed that you remembered that little detail all of these years. There are no windows in here to retain any sense of direction.”

  “Yeah… it’s odd that I remember. I guess I was just so enthralled by the visit that I still remember it like yesterday.”

  “Wow,” Stan exclaimed with genuine amazement. “Anyway that control room is devoted to the current activities of the rescue mission. You will not be going down there right now. Instead, I’ll be taking you to a different control room, which is monitoring the remote controlling and data collection of the unmanned mission to examine the beam.”

  “Once the Unmanned Space Lab—or USL—left the rescue vehicle, a set of engineers has been assigned to handling the activities of that mission down here. Follow me, I won’t lead you astray.”

  With a smile, Stan turned and did not lead them astray, as promised. He opened a door to a control room, somewhat smaller than the Mars control room that Joram had visited during his adolescence. There were just two small rows of consoles on the main floor, and a smaller arena encased with glass for civilian observation of the control operations.

  Joram was surprised to notice that the room was fairly full of individuals with visitor’s badges and laptop computers. As if noticing the question on Joram’s face, Stan spoke up.

  “As you can see there are already a fair number of individuals representing the press here,” Stan pointed out. “We do have four reserved front row seats for your party, Dr. Zimmer.”

  “Thank you so much for your generous hospitality, Stan.”

  “Press?” asked Kath. “I’m actually surprised they are all here instead of monitoring the rescue mission down Joram’s preferred hall.” She cut Joram a playful glance, who returned with a feigned smile.

  “Actually, the press will be thronging the control room down there tomorrow when the rescue shuttle makes its descent and landing outside of the Camp Mars crater.”

  “Outside the crater?” asked Joram. “Why not land in the crater.”

  “Well, the runway is useless, as it is littered with shards of solar panel debris. The shuttle will have to make a somewhat risky vertical landing outside the entrance to the crater and then make their way to the bunker in the middle of the crater. With the landing in the morning, they should be able to recover the astronauts sometime by tomorrow afternoon, assuming they can find a relatively unimpeded entrance to the bunker.”

  “That should be easy, shouldn’t it?” asked Kath. “We know that the astronauts had already surfaced after the disaster.”

  “You are right, Kath,” answered Zimmer quickly, “but you’ll also recall that we didn’t get to see the state of the camp for a couple of weeks. It could be that the devastation was not a single event, and that obstructions have since blockaded all entrances. For example, we have not seen the astronauts wander out since the dust has settled. As you know, there has been about as much tabloid-generating drama by the media on both the astronauts
and on the beam. These individuals want to be the first to write up the scoop on the beam. I hope they don’t engender a sense of panic in their reporting of our experiments. We certainly don’t need or want mass-scale fear or panic. Riots, looting, chaos.”

  “Do you think it can get that bad, Professor?” Kath asked quietly.

  “Not if I have anything to say about it. I have been trying to allay much of the public concern, and will continue to do so. Let us not worry about that now, and take our seats. The show is about to begin, Team.”

  With that ending, Stan excused himself in order to continue with flight operations for the rescue mission. Zimmer and students entered into the observation room and took their seats with great anticipation for what would soon unfold.

  …

  Conversation was light among the trio of research students. The anxiety was apparent. Kath twirled her hair with her left hand. Reyd nibbled on his fingernails and cuticles. Joram, already at the edge of his seat, gazed at the various monitor displays. A main central display showed a live image of the beam, representing the closest imagery ever obtained. On the right, there were six smaller displays that were presently black except for a caption at the bottom of each. “Paddle one.” “Paddle Two.” And so forth. On the left, a sea of data indicated the status of the mission. Finally, just below the central monitor, a thinner display contained a digital map indicating the locality of the USL with respect to the beam. The USL was represented as a needle-like projection with twelve red dots on top of it.

  Joram noted that the map indicated that the USL was beginning to decelerate as it neared the beam, with reverse thrusters fully engaged. Soon, the USL would stop and launch its twelve research stations, called paddles, towards the beam.

  “This is the Public Affairs Officer of Mission Flashlight,” the students heard a voice from speakers overhead.

  Joram scanned the various stations of mission control to find the source of the voice. Silver placards were placed along a counter-top that ran the length of both rows. In all capital letters, the placards spelled words and acronyms such as CONTROL, NETWORK, FIDO, GUIDO. Ah, there it was… PAO. In the middle of the second row of stations, Joram saw the bald spot on the back of the head of a silver-haired engineer who sat at the public affairs station. This is the man who would exclusively communicate all mission activities to the press booth and anyone listening to the appropriate communication channel around the country. He was currently engaged in conversation with a middle-aged woman with short blonde hair sitting in the front row, at a station labeled FLIGHT. She nodded her head to the PAO, and then spoke into a headset as she returned her gaze forward, looking at the data scrolling by.

  “The FLIGHT officer has noted an ETA of just under 4 minutes, 30 seconds. PAYLOAD is powering up and confirming the status of each paddle. Power-on-self-test should complete in approximately 6 minutes. So far, all systems are a ‘go’ on payload delivery.”

  “Well, team,” Zimmer whispered as he glanced over at his wide-eyed astronomy students. “This is where I get off.”

  Eyes growing wider, the Professor explained. “I’ll be spending the rest of the mission down there.” Zimmer indicated an empty chair at the FLIGHT station, next to the blonde, who was now standing and relaying instructions to somebody seated at the NETWORK station at the other end of her row. “NASA has asked me to provide real-time decisions in light of data received from the paddles.” He paused briefly and took a deep breath in realization. “The next time I see you, we’ll have lots to talk about. Take good notes on every idea that comes to you, and enjoy the show.”

  At that, all three students watched the professor open the door and leave them for the more spacious and hectic atmosphere of mission control. Seating himself quietly, he greeted the engineers around him, promptly put on a headset, and sat back in his chair, while others around him maintained their efforts.

  The PAO announced the next milestone in the mission. “FLIGHT informs me that the lab has obtained resting velocity and has turned over main mission operation to PAYLOAD. Payload chamber doors are sequencing. NETWORK is providing real-time imagery of the hatch for mechanical observation.”

  The main monitor no longer showed the growing brightness of the yellow beam, but instead changed its view to a camera looking straight down on top of the USL. A long rectangular chamber was coming to view as curved doors slid underneath the cylindrical body of the vehicle. Within moments, the doors were fully open, and the inside of the chamber depicted its payload of a dozen three-foot round iridescent objects each sitting at a 45-degree angle with the doors of the chamber.

  These paddles were loaded with observational and telecommunication equipment. Cameras, sensors, and on-board laboratory equipment would be able to instantly detect, measure and determine the impact of material and radiation. Tens of thousands of sensors made up the array of each paddle, which would be able to communicate the pattern of any material being emitted by the beam.

  “Launching paddle number one.”

  The forward-most paddle began to lift seamlessly from the chamber. Once the round disk had emerged, a long shaft used for steering and guiding the paddle indicated exactly why the term ‘paddle’ had been used for the objects. It resembled a holographic video disk on a silver Popsicle stick. The paddle cleared the payload bay, rotated, and straightened, yielding a burst of color reflected from the Sun.

  “Paddle one is heading for rendezvous on the far side of the beam as paddle two begins launch.”

  One at a time, the first six paddles were each successively launched in this manner, and the trajectories, marked by six red dots on the map display, began their journey towards the beam. Monitors for paddles one through six also began to convey statistics and images from each of the paddles. They approached the beam in a precalculated manner, such that all six pointed directly towards the beam in sixty degree intervals, thus allowing a full study of the beam on all of its sides.

  Complete silence from inside the observation deck as well as from the PAO indicated growing tension and curiosity. Activity from the control floor bustled as a flurry of directions were passed back and forth from CONTROL, NETWORK, and PAYLOAD. Zimmer—still reclined in his seat—appeared to be the only relaxed individual in the front row, but Joram could see enough of his face to note that he was devotedly attentive to the data as it came across the various monitors and displays.

  The paddles all appeared to be in position, and after a nearly unbearable silence, the team began to wonder why the mission seemed to be on pause. The PAO appeased their doubts, “Paddles are now in position for deployment into the beam, but FLIGHT has recommended a delay for delivery of sensory data. Deployment into beam is estimated at fourteen minutes.”

  While the students felt that they couldn’t bare another moment of anticipation, the more-experienced Zimmer knew that patience and data collection was needed at the moment. It would be inexcusable to compromise the mission after millions of dollars had been spent on it should a hasty judgment jeopardize the entire effort. Further, Zimmer knew that the world had already waited for weeks to obtain answers. Another fourteen minutes would not break the bank.

  In silence, the students waited anxiously. Kath had to place a steadying hand on Joram’s knee to remind him to relax once and then twice. On the third attempt, Joram turned and whispered, “Sorry, Kath, but the suspense is killing me. What are they waiting for?”

  Kath only shrugged, but Reyd, seated on the other side of her leaned across her and breathed an explanation. “Zimmer is a very deliberate person. He never makes hasty decisions, but weighs all of the data first. You won’t have to work with him too long to realize this.”

  “The NETWORK officer advises the team that the paddles are all in good health, and that no extraordinary sensory information has been obtained by any of them. FLIGHT advises that the mission proceed ahead. The mission has calculated that the paddles are presently located 25 kilometers or 15 miles away from visible extent of the beam, and that
the minimum diameter of the beam is calculated at about 12000 kilometers or a little less than 7,500 miles. CONTROL is advised to begin coordinated acceleration of the paddles up to 1 kilometer per minute, which is a little over 35 miles per hour.”

  The map began to indicate the movement of the six paddles towards each other as they closed in on the beam. Joram fixed his focus on the six displays of the paddle’s cameras, which were pointed directly toward the beam. Each image simply contained a bright yellow light with very little form or shape to it. There was a flickering of intensity and it appeared that the light leapt all around, as though a million fireflies were densely packed together in a glass jar placed in the blackness of outer space.

  Superimposed on the bottom right of each image were two vertical bars with gradient shading from blue at the top to red at the bottom. One labeled ‘light intensity’ had about a third of the meter filled with red. The other bar was labeled ‘particle density’. It had just a hint of red for each of the paddles. On the bottom left, he saw a pair of numbers indicate the speed of the paddle and its distance to the center of the beam. He watched as the paddles accelerated from 20 to 30 to 40 and eventually to 58 km/h. He also saw the distance decrease from 12,050 km… 12,010 km… 11,080 km.

  As the distance decreased, he noticed that the light intensity was increasing uniformly for each paddle. He leaned forward and furiously scribbled notes on his Digital Note Tablet, stopping mid-sentence as a cold shiver passed through his spine. His head whipped up to look at Zimmer, only to find an empty chair. Furiously, his eyes raced through the control room to find his mentor, and spotted him standing on the right hand side of the front row, scanning the paddle imagery and data. His head slowly turned back to the observation room, where he could just make out the wide-eyed stare of Joram Anders. Zimmer gave a single and nearly imperceptible nod of recognition. Teacher and pupil were in sync with the same discovery.

  Kath noticed the exchange. “What’s wrong?” she implored.