Project Sail

by Anthony DeCosmo

  “Loading Radarsat into launch tube four. Stand by…and launch.”

  Coffman told the Commander, “Radarsat has a new generation of Synthetic Aperture Radar and infrared imaging capabilities.”

  Three satellites went into orbit around G-Moon, the first steps in what would be a long process of exploration and discovery.

  Hawthorne said, “We need to send a message to Oberon and let them know what we have found.”

  “When do we go down?” Fisk asked.

  Coffman explained to their corporate liaison, “We have to let the satellites and our sensors do their job first. We are not going to the surface for at least a week, and only if the readings we receive support moving to the next stage.”

  “You said the atmosphere looks good, we can see landmasses and other surface features, so would it not be easier to conduct most of this research from the moon itself?”

  Coffman answered, “Regardless of what we think we can see from up here, Mr. Fisk, if any nasty surprises await us, I would like to spot them from a safe distance.”

  ---

  Victor Henderson sat at his desk and, for the tenth time, re-read the message that had come from SE 185 two hours ago.

  MOON ORBITING GLIESE 581G…POTENTIALLY HABITABLE …CAPTAIN CONFINED TO QUARTERS…SURVEY STAGE ONE IMPLEMENTED.

  He had ordered Charles terminated; Hawthorne plainly lost his nerve.

  Still, he supposed it did not matter. They had replaced the translation computer that navy intelligence identified as the leak through which Charles signaled his allies, and the Captain’s last message had indicated a barren planet. Admiral Duncan felt the EA would now turn its attention to Sirius.

  Most important, 581g’s moon might be the greatest discovery in human history, as found by Universal Visions Incorporated.

  He dreamed of skyrocketing stock values when they released this news to the public, not to mention the resources that 581g would yield. He hoped Hawthorne remembered to assign some assets to mineral and chemical surveys on the main planet.

  Henderson stood, scratched his dog Galen between the ears, and paced around his office wearing a big smile. As great a day as this was for UVI, today was also the beginning of a new age for humanity, and Victor Henderson had played a central role.

  Outside his window flickered a field of stars, so vast and filled with potential. The journey to Gliese 581g was just the first step in Project Sail.

  One particularly bright star caught his eye. No, not a star, a flash.

  He squinted to focus on the light, but he need not bother; the light was coming to him.

  Klaxons sounded around the station and red warning sirens spun.

  That point of light grew and widened into a sparkling wave rumbling toward the station in a gigantic wall of energy.

  A panicked announcement from the control room warned, “Brace for impact!”

  Henderson used his thinker chip to activate the intercom and demanded the control room answer, “What is it?”

  “Mr. Henderson, incoming wash from an A-H drive!”

  Before he could digest that information, the wave hit, tossing Henderson across the office. Circuits overloaded, lights went dark, and he felt a burning sensation around his brain implant.

  Then it passed, leaving the station wobbling in orbit with only pockets of power and a multitude of holes.

  Henderson surveyed his surroundings in the red glow of emergency lights. Alarms still rang and screams came over the intercom between automated messages warning of “Hull Breach” and “Dangerous Radiation Levels Detected.”

  Pain throbbed from his hip, his shoulder, and his thigh where something may have snapped. His sniffer dog—Galen—lie in the corner moaning, possibly with broken ribs.

  Because the station remained relatively whole, Henderson knew the incoming vessel had not traveled far. The destructive power of wash created by A-H drives increased based on distance. If it were SE 185 returning from Gliese, the station would have been destroyed as well as the surface of Oberon. Whatever hit them had traveled a relatively short distance.

  Henderson pulled himself up and then staggered to the window, fighting a series of sharp jabs from inside his abdomen. Once there, he looked outside and saw the vessel that had come calling on S.R.E.D. eighty-five.

  His office door opened and Judy nearly collapsed as she stepped inside, blood pouring from her forehead.

  “Mr. Henderson, what…what is it?”

  He glanced at her and then back outside at the ship casting its shadow over the wounded station.

  “Well now, this is a surprise.”

  Three missiles hit, the first piercing the main ring which led to a series of explosive decompressions tearing metal from the frame with the zeal of a child unwrapping a Christmas present. The second warhead hit the cargo bay on the lower level with an atomic explosion, the third drilled into what remained of the central hub, splitting it into pieces.

  After pausing to ensure no survivors, the intruder re-oriented its alignment and recharged its Alcubierre—Haruto drive in preparation for a much longer journey.

  36. Night and Day

  Coffman sat in the spare project room that had become his default office, which he shared with the dormant pincushion from Probe 581.

  Time had come again to record the daily science log, a schedule kept by the twenty-four hour cycle of the ship’s internal clock.

  Using his thinker and tapping the air, Coffman called up a projected screen cluttered with information including video footage, graphs, and sensor readings from SE 185 and its family of satellites.

  Before adding to the log, he watched select clips recorded in the twelve days since their arrival. When he saw his own face on the screen, he wondered again if he should undergo gene therapy to fill his bald spot or smooth the wrinkles under his eyes. He did not oppose genome engineering for internal organs, but shied away from cosmetic enhancements, thinking them vain.

  He pointed a finger and sent a mental signal to play an old log.

  “We are concentrating research on what we call the ‘outer face’ of G-Moon because our satellite coverage is further along on this side. This outer face spends nearly half of its eight hundred and forty-hour orbit receiving significant sunshine from Gliese, the red dwarf star.

  “As forecast, the temperature variations spur atmospheric circulation that helps moderate the climate around the entire moon.”

  Coffman tapped another button, skipped forward, and hit play again. This time the video professor nibbled on a ‘printed’ bagel and drank coffee.

  “Greetings! Don’t mind me, I have not eaten in the two days since we arrived, it has simply been too exciting.

  “Dr. Kost expects significant storm activity, including rain, as the outer face orbits away from Gliese. Several bands of wind currents that act similar to the jet streams on Earth help mitigate the moon’s temperature extremes. We are seeing clashing air masses as the outer face moves into its dusk phase, which will last for one-hundred and five hours.”

  Coffman skipped forward to find the entry he had asked Wren to record on his behalf. As he watched, he realized his mistake.

  Wren’s face filled the video as if he tried to crawl inside the camera. Coffman turned down the volume to compensate for the Englishman’s vociferous voice.

  “Science log recording, um, I don’t know the date but it’s six fucking days after we got here and I am doing this only because the good professor nearly collapsed from a lack of sleep. I don’t think the old nut has taken a nap in almost a week and he is becoming delusional.”

  Coffman tapped his chin impatiently.

  No, Wren will not record the science log again anytime soon.

  The playback continued, “Case in point, Professor Coffman believes we found traces of Tetrafluoromethane in the thick atmosphere. Yes, I said Tetrafluoromethane, the same Tetrafluoromethane used on Earth as an etching agent for semiconductors. I can think of three possible explanations. First, contamination
in our equipment. Second, an advanced civilization on G-Moon is playing hide-and-seek from our satellites. Or third, Professor Coffman has gone bat-shit crazy. I know which way I’m betting.”

  Coffman turned off the recording and considered deleting it. Normally he did not let Wren bother him, but this was an official science log and, admittedly, he had not been able to confirm the traces of Tetrafluoromethane.

  He searched for and found another entry, but paused when the door slid open and Andy Phipps entered. Before his assistant said a word, Coffman offered an apology.

  “Andy, I am sorry I have been neglecting you and Sheila. I should be spending more time in engineering, but the study of G-Moon has held me, shall we say, captive.”

  In his characteristically shy manner, Phipps turned red and spoke fast as he assured, “Oh no, professor, I think we are doing fine down there. I just wanted to make sure you thought we were doing okay. I am doing okay, right Professor?”

  “No problems, Andy.”

  “I mean, we run daily tests on the RFPG and spool it up to ten percent power. Other than that, well, there has not been anything to do. Since arriving in orbit we have used the thrusters but have not engaged the diametric drive in a while.”

  “Yes, well, engineering is on standby for now. But here, take a seat and watch my favorite log.”

  Andy glanced at the empty chair next to the professor as if searching for tacks and then sat.

  Coffman played the log. Instead of his face, the image presented video from a satellite camera.

  The professor’s voice narrated, “You are viewing twenty square kilometers on a major landmass of the moon’s outer face recorded one hundred and ninety-two hours after our first sighting of G-Moon, minutes after this region moved into darkness.”

  He told Phipps, “I admit, each time I watch this part I feel goose bumps on my arms.”

  Green and white lights popped on across the dark landscape like an Earthly metropolis coming to life after sunset.

  The narrator continued, “Imagine our surprise when G-Moon put on this light show. Our initial investigation points to bioluminescent plant life. Given the long day-night cycle, it is not surprising that evolution led to this development. It appears that as much as ten percent of the plant life displays this trait. I would imagine this is as prevalent on the inner face of the moon.”

  “Professor, are we going to send a ground team?”

  Coffman stopped playing the log and answered, “At some point we must, Andy, or this trip is for nothing. The key is exploring the surface without disturbing it, at least until we know what to expect.”

  The door slid open again and Dr. Kost stuck her head inside, her complexion pale and her breath rapid. Coffman worried the ship was in danger.

  “You have to come across the hall and see this.”

  “What is it?”

  “You better see for yourself.”

  Coffman glanced at Phipps and then moved from his chair, crossed the hall, and joined the crowd gathering over Wren’s shoulder as he sat at his console.

  Kost, Hawthorne, Carlson, Fisk and Dr. King filled the room. Nonetheless, they parted to allow Coffman to the front row.

  Wren jabbed his finger in the air and called up a rectangular projection that was at first a series of squiggly lines and then a frozen image of a mountain range on G-Moon. He poked again and a second projection appeared alongside the first, this one a blurry screen of yellow, green, and red with no obvious pattern.

  Coffman squinted at the second image and said, “I see laser mapping on the left and I suppose high-resolution imaging on the right?”

  “Fucking bingo,” Wren answered. “Both images were taken before nightfall. Now tell me what you see.”

  Carlson answered, “That looks like standard metamorphic rock on the right, suggesting volcanic and tectonic activity in the past, if not continuing.”

  Wren said, “Yes, but who cares. Put your glasses on or something because you are missing the forest though the trees, and it’s a big fucking forest.”

  Growing impatient, Wren pointed to a stretch of mountain that appeared to have collapsed.

  “What does that look like to you?”

  “A cliff or a rockslide maybe…wait a second,” Coffman lost his words at the same time Carlson gasped.

  Seconds ago, Frederick Coffman considered the bioluminescent plant life the most remarkable discovery thus far, but what Wren had discovered dwarfed glowing plants the way an atomic explosion dwarfs a firecracker.

  “Yes, bitches, that is a cut through the mountain,” Wren said and he poked at the image taken from orbit by a high-resolution camera. From that altitude, the mountain range resembled a frozen wave surrounded on either side by patches of brown overgrowth.

  Wren noted, “You can see the sun shining off the west-facing side.”

  Dr. King said, “I do not understand, what is so remarkable about a break in a mountain range?”

  Wren seemed ready to pounce with an unkind remark so Professor Coffman spoke first: “Ira, you are looking at what resembles a deliberate cut through a mountain range, the kind you might find on Earth where a highway goes through a mountain.”

  Hawthorne absently mumbled, “They are all over Pennsylvania, where the old Interstate highways pass through the Appalachians.”

  “Good point,” Wren told Hawthorne and then magnified the other screen, the blurry one filled with yellow, green, and red blotches. “Exactly what I was thinking, so I pulled the LiDAR images from the mapping satellite.”

  Fisk struggled to keep up, “What is LiDAR?”

  “Light Detection and Radar,” Kost answered. “It is one of the most important pieces of equipment we have in orbit and has applications ranging from atmospheric physics to geomorphology.”

  Wren raised his voice over Kost: “From what the photo shows us, these mountains are surrounded by overgrowth, whatever passes for grass, wild flowers and weeds down there. So when I saw what I thought was a cut through the mountain, I looked to either side of it.”

  This time Hawthorne did not understand.

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “Commander, if aliens come to Earth ten thousand years from now and see one of those rock cuts in Pennsylvania, what will they find to either side?”

  “I told you, highways.”

  “No, because in ten thousand years the pavement will crack and warp away, weeds will grow and before you know it those highways disappear under a lot of crap. So those aliens will use something like our LiDAR to see beneath it and…fucking voila.”

  Wren sharpened the second image until it clearly depicted a red line, fuzzy but essentially straight. As Coffman alternated his eyes between the two screens, he understood that red line went through the rock cut.

  Hawthorne shook his head and asked, “Wren, what does it mean?”

  “Well, either this moon’s version of Mother Nature is fucked up, or there used to be a road there.”

  Fisk said, “Don’t screw around; there’s no civilization down there.”

  Coffman visibly shook and said, “No, but think of it as a footprint left over from a civilization; a sign of artificial manipulation of the environment. My God, do you understand what this means?”

  Wren stood and told Hawthorne, “Bottom line, Mr. Commander sir, is we have to drop down there A-fucking-S-A-P.”

  37. Boots on the Ground

  The white and black capsule dropped from SE 185 and descended toward the surface of G-Moon. While looking identical to the capsules that ferry travelers to and from Earth’s orbit, this version was larger and wore extra booster rockets and fuel tanks attached to the exterior.

  Bill Stein piloted from the gyro seat. As the capsule dropped from the mother ship and he felt the first tug of gravity from the moon, the enormity of his mission hit in a combination of elation and fear.

  He had flown on Mars, the moons of Jupiter and Saturn, toured the asteroid belt, chased comets, and recovered a wayward satell
ite in a decaying orbit around Venus. Each journey an adventure, but nothing like today’s trip.

  Bill Stein piloted the first surface mission to a world outside Earth’s solar system, one that happened to have both a living ecosystem and signs that intelligent life might have once inhabited the place.

  Reading satellite images and deciding that fuzzy red lines translated into traces of civilization was not his forte, so he had to trust in his passengers’ expertise. Of course, Leo Wren always tried to sound as if he knew what he was talking about. In fact, Wren was still talking, babbling about what they should do first after landing even as the windows at the top of the capsule glowed red.

  That decision, of course, was Coffman’s to make but like the fourth and final member of the landing party—the Mexican guy named Soto—the professor sat in silence as they entered the atmosphere.

  They wore orange “pumpkin” suits. Designed for planetary exploration, these slender suits included utility belts, multiple exterior compartments, and egg-shaped helmets that were transparent save for a back stem housing projectors and sensors.

  Stein piloted the ship with his helmet off because he did not like anything between his eyes and the controls, the way some motorcyclists refuse to wear safety helmets in fear of detracting from the experience.

  He closely watched the computer just in case—or perhaps hoping—the glorified counting machine made an error and forced him to land the craft on manual control.

  As the heat abated and they punched through a wall of thin clouds, the booster rockets fired to fight gravity. Their descent slowed but not nearly enough to stop the flutter in his belly; it had been a long while since Bill Stein felt natural gravity on par with Earth’s.

  “Just so everyone knows, we are on course to land within fifty meters of the target, but we will feel a bump or two on the way down.”

  Normally he would not tell his passengers how close they were to the landing mark. However, Coffman had picked an archipelago for their first incursion, which meant missing the target by one hundred meters would land them in an alien ocean.