BEYOND THE EVENT HORIZON
episode two
by
Albert Sartison
Copyright © 2015 by Albert Sartison
First edition
1.01
Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
1
The afternoon Martian sun was already down towards the horizon, filling the space traffic control room with a rather dim light. This sad sun, which seemed to have lost its desire to shine, induced a mortifying feeling of despair in anyone who had grown up on Earth and was not used to the Martian weather.
The operator was sprawled in his chair with his feet on the table, yawning occasionally and looking with unseeing eyes somewhere in the direction of the monitors. Those elements of the defence infrastructure of the Martian sector of space entrusted to him operated automatically and were not temperamental. Usually, any failures could be eliminated by the service robots keeping a check on the serviceability of the equipment. Breakdowns they could not cope with themselves and which required human intervention occurred very infrequently, perhaps once every six months or less.
Suddenly, a bright red light flashed up on one of the monitors, accompanied by an ear-splitting sound. The operator took his feet off the table and sat up properly in his seat. His eyes ran quickly over the text of an urgent message from General MacQueen and his sleepiness vanished in an instant. It’s not every day that the Fleet Commander sends a message to space traffic control. If he wants people sent to the base urgently, it must be a serious matter.
Such haste boded ill. The operator looked at the screen giving out up-to-date information on all the ships in the Solar System. Nothing out of the ordinary, it seemed. He looked at the visualisation for a few seconds, then shrugged his shoulders and pressed something on the console in front of him. A buzzer sounded.
“Well?” asked a loud coarse voice that reverberated unpleasantly around the room after the fifth buzz. The acoustics in the control room were terrible; it was like a tiled bathroom.
“Shift your arse! Take two others with you and get to 723 as quick as you can!” said the operator, wasting no time on niceties.
“What’s going on? Has a reactor packed up?”
“No. An order has come in from Fleet Command to fly to 723 immediately. Three of you.”
“Three of us? Why?”
“How the hell should I know? It didn’t say. Just pick up the other two and get going!”
The rustle of unfolding paper was heard over the loudspeakers, then a loud chomping noise. It seemed that MacQueen’s message had not produced a favourable impression on the owner of the voice.
“I’ve only got Todd here with me, we don’t have a third person,” he replied unhurriedly, speaking with his mouth full.
“Where’s Bill?”
“God knows, it’s his day off. Probably crawling through the caves as usual.”
The chomping ceased, and the sound of liquid being poured into a mug was heard.
“Anyway, I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to contact him. If he’s too far down, there’ll be no connection.”
“Howard, you don’t seem to have woken up yet. I’ve got an order from MacQueen himself here and you’re driving me up the wall! Get a third person any way you can and fly out to 723! Once you know it, give me the ETA. They’re in a terrific hurry down there on Earth!”
“OK, OK, calm down. I’ll think of something.”
The operator disconnected, got up and went over to the panoramic window. The light from the sun hanging low over the horizon was shining directly into his eyes, preventing him from seeing the plateau with the landing strip half a kilometre from the traffic control centre.
He picked up his binoculars and raised them to his eyes. Through the polarised lenses, which intercepted the irritating rays, he had a good view of the living accommodation for the maintenance team, with one of whom he had just been talking. The steel shutters on the large rectangular windows were half raised and some sort of activity could be seen through them.
A minute later, the compartment lock opened and two people in space suits emerged unhurriedly. They waddled over to the ship standing a little way off and a few minutes later the ship took off, disturbing the dust around it. It disappeared over the horizon.
The operator put down the binoculars and returned to his chair. Soon after that, the head of the maintenance shift came online. This time the video was switched on and his still rather rumpled face appeared on the screen. The maintenance men didn’t need much persuading to have a few drinks, particularly when there was nothing to do, like now.
“I’ve spoken to Bill and he’s crawling about in his bloody caves. He says it will take him about an hour to get to the surface. We will be flying there in that time. Better add half an hour for possible delays, so we should be there by about nine.”
The operator nodded.
“OK, I’ll let Earth know you’ll be at 723 by nine.”
“Sure, do that. But whatever is going on?”
“I don’t know. We were told to be at the base, so we’ll be there. They’ll probably tell us later.”
“OK. Over and out.”
The destination for the ship’s flight was between the Mariner Valleys, a system of gigantic Martian canyons. The huge cracks on the face of Mars were silent witnesses to the planet’s formation process and had been there ever since the Solar System was in its infancy. They were two hundred kilometres across and ten kilometres deep, vastly greater than their terrestrial relative the Grand Canyon. Their third colleague, whom they had to find and take with them, was deep down in one of the valley’s numerous fissures.
While others just spent their days off lounging on a divan, Bill was attracted to the caves. It was a strange hobby for a maintenance man, particularly considering the meagre wages of the space fitters. After all, equipment for adventures in caves costs a fortune. Bill obviously did not have a wife or children. They would soon have knocked this nonsense out of his head.
It wasn’t easy to find the right crevasse. The complex topography within the canyon, with its numerous high cliffs, absorbed the signals from Bill’s radio beacon. There was no hope of intercepting his signal from the heights.
Todd, who was acting as navigator, peered at his console. “I think it’s over there,” he said eventually, pointing to the map on the screen.
Howard moved the control column forward sharply. The ship’s nose went down, and like an eagle that had just sighted its prey, it dropped like a stone. The tablet on Todd’s knees slipped forward.
“Take it easy, you’re not going hunting,” shouted Todd, just managing to save the tablet from falling. Howard took no notice.
The ship rapidly descended to the planet’s surface, cutting its speed and beginning to circle around the crevasse. Todd kept turning his head, looking first at one display and then the other.
“Can you see him?” said Howard eventually, losing patience.
“Nope,” replied Todd. “We probably came down too soon,” he suggested. “Let’s try 20 kilometres north of here.”
Howard breathed a deep sigh of irritation, but didn’t say anything. He returned the ship’s nose to its previous course and increased thrust.
“Slow down now. It looks as if we’ve found him,” said Todd a few minutes later. Pressing something on the console in front of him, he opened the cover of the ventral camera.
“There he is, I can see him,” he said eventually.
/> “Where?”
“There. Take us down just there.”
Howard silently obeyed, reducing speed and hovering at the foot of the low mountain to which Todd had pointed. The mountain cast a long evening shadow in which, barely distinguishable, was a harrier loaded with expedition equipment. The man in a spacesuit who could be seen sitting on it made signs to the ship, pointing to himself with one hand and to where the slope began with the other. The ship headed that way, hovered two feet above the ground and lowered a ramp. The man started the harrier, raising a cloud of dust, turned neatly, flew across to the foot of the ramp and shot deep into the ship.
Once inside, Bill put his harrier in one of the free parking spaces and locked it in position. While waiting for the ship to open the entrance, he took off his spacesuit, which was liberally coated with dust, and hung it in a cupboard. Straightening his rumpled clothes, he set off for the cockpit.
“Look, our worm has crawled up to the surface,” said Todd to Howard, pointing to the new arrival. “So what did you find this time?”
Bill, ignoring this mockery, sat down in a spare seat and strapped himself in. Then he took a small stone from his pocket and showed it to Todd.
“Have you ever seen one of these? Do you know what it is?”
“Yes, I do. It’s a fossilised mammoth turd,” answered Todd, and burst out laughing.
“You’re a chump, Todd. You can get a good hit from this.”
“Really? How?”
“Well, if you burn elephant dung and inhale the smoke, you’ll soon be seeing pink elephants, so mammoth dung ought to do something for you,” laughed Bill, and put the stone back in his pocket. “By the way, you can also make excellent nanotubes from this mammoth dung. But you don’t have the brains for that do you, Todd? Anyway, what’s all the hurry? A reactor again, is it?”
Howard was silently observing Bill, and once he was sure that Bill was strapped in, he pulled the control column towards him, pointing the nose almost vertically upwards.
“No, not a reactor. We got a message from the top brass. They told us to fly to 723, but we don’t know why.”
“Take it easy,” was all Todd had time to say before Howard pushed the accelerator to the floor.
The ship shot up like a rocket. Howard reluctantly switched control of the ship to automatic. He preferred flying manually. He was very good at it, but he always tended to create overloads. Since he had been born on Earth and had grown up there, unlike Bill and Todd, he was more accustomed to them and could withstand them better.
Soon, the sky outside became black. The ship left the atmosphere of Mars and set course for the base. Howard switched on the autopilot and the engine thrust was immediately reduced. The autopilot only performed sharp manoeuvres in exceptional circumstances, so it was possible to undo the straps and move freely about the ship. Bill did not fail to make use of this opportunity. He got up and stretched himself.
“I’m going to go and lie down; I’ve been on my feet all day. Wake me up when we get there. And don’t floor the gas pedal!” he called to Howard as he went out.
2
MacQueen looked at the Presidential Standard as he patiently awaited the beginning of the VIP videoconference. He had not often had to speak to the president in person. Usually he reported to the General Staff, which in turn reported the state of affairs to the Supreme Commander, but there had been occasional exceptions.
The first time he had spoken to the president directly was while he was still in the Special Space Service. Long ago, in 2160, his unit, which was based on the Moon, had been called out in an emergency. A space liner with a large number of passengers on board had been hijacked not far from Earth’s satellite. MacQueen clearly remembered the moment he had been sitting in the military transporter with his group and saw the Presidential Standard on the screen for the first time.
The seizure of hostages on what was, at that time, the largest passenger spacecraft ever built created a lot of commotion. The president watched the liberation operation in real time. Before the battle, he contacted all four SSS ships rushing to assist the hijacked ship.
“We all know that the operational situation on the liner is extremely difficult. You know better than I do that it will be a miracle if we get through it with no casualties this time. All you lads should know: whatever happens, I personally take responsibility for the course of the operation and for each and every one of you. Earth expects that every man will do his duty. Rest assured that I shall do mine.”
MacQueen listened to the president’s instruction along with the rest of his group. It was the first time he had seen him like this, not hiding behind platitudinous phrases. The president spoke sternly and to the point.
The hijacked liner was too big, and the radar systems with which it was equipped were too advanced, for it to be approached unnoticed. The hijackers had mingled in with the huge number of passengers, making it impossible to neutralise the terrorists without civilian losses. There was little information from the liner; the only thing that was known for sure was that there would be casualties, both among the civilians and among the special forces.
On this occasion, the president kept his word. The liberation of the hijacked ship was difficult and many were killed and wounded on all sides. Losses could only have been avoided by a miracle, but there was no miracle. The subsequent inquiry revealed many miscalculations, including in the actions of the SSS. The public demanded that the guilty be punished, and if it had not been for the president, the rage of the masses would have been directed at the special servicemen. Yes, the way they acted was not ideal, but they were people too, and people are bound to make mistakes. It would have been wrong to expect the impossible, which was never going to happen, and call for resignations.
The dark blue background of the Standard gave way to a view of a long oak table. Several people were sitting either side of it, but the seat at the head of the table was still empty and several officers of the Presidential Guard were standing behind it. The walls were panelled in a material that looked like redwood. So the relay was coming from Space Force One.
Finally, the officer standing by the door, whose body was partially obscured in the picture, stretched out his hand and pressed the button to it. The president entered, gestured to everyone to remain seated, then sat down in his chair.
“General MacQueen, good morning. I have been informed that you propose declaring total mobilisation because you expect military operations to commence within a few hours,” began the president.
MacQueen nodded.
“Some of my advisors believe we shall be able to avoid military operations this time, too. Consequently, there is no need for large-scale mobilisation,” said the president, followed by a significant silence.
“Sir, this time the aliens have let us know they will not tolerate their ships being tracked by targeting systems. For the fleet, this is not a problem; we obtain information about their position without such tracking. But their flight trajectory crosses many sectors under the responsibility of armed stations that act independently. When they find unidentified ships in their vicinity, they target them immediately. This could be interpreted by the aliens as preparation for an attack, and could provoke them into a pre-emptive strike.”
“Why can’t you just forbid the stations to track them?”
“The stations are part of our defence infrastructure and have been developed to act independently. This is due to their great distance from Earth. We can authorise the passage of the aliens, but even authorised traffic is tracked by targeting systems. To meet the aliens’ requirements, we will have to take the stations off duty altogether.”
“So take them off duty!”
“That takes time. The aliens are changing their flight speed; there may not be enough time. It is for this reason that I see a need for mobilisation.”
The president glanced briefly at the Minister of Defence who was pulling a face, apparently indicating approval of MacQueen’s words.
“The first planet they’ll approach is Mars. What’s the mobilisation situation there?”
“It will take more than twelve hours to bring the forces on Mars to combat readiness. If the aliens do not change their trajectory, we will only have time to mobilise about a fifth of our Mars-based fire power.”
“And what about the civilians?”
“In such a short period, we can only move an insignificant part of the population underground.”
“So for Mars, there’s not much difference?”
“In the event of military operations, no, sir. Unlike Earth and the Moon, Mars does not have a sufficiently developed defence infrastructure. Furthermore, humans cannot survive there outside hermetically sealed premises. The atmosphere of Mars is not suitable for breathing. Consequently, if the habitats are damaged, and we must assume they will be in the event of military operations in the planet’s atmosphere, the population of Mars is doomed.”
“What about Earth?”
The Minister of Defence coughed.
“Sir, with your permission, I’ll answer that question. The army only began to consider a threat from an alien civilisation as probable after the first alien appeared. Therefore we do not yet have precise plans for coping with such emergency situations. We would have to make do with plans for the event of a meteorite threat.
“The proclamation of global mobilisation will give us full control of the transport infrastructure; that is, we shall be able to use all available transport for our needs, which in the event of mobilisation greatly increases our ability to transport large masses of people and goods in the shortest possible time.
“Operating in this way, we can guarantee that we can put ten per cent of the Earth’s population under the surface, in self-contained bunkers, where their chances of survival in the event of military operations in the atmosphere will be greatly increased. Another twenty per cent of the population, mainly those living on the shores of seas and oceans, will be loaded onto floating cities, which in turn will be spread over the surface of the water so as to disperse the population as far as possible all over the planet. The fewer dense population centres there are, the greater the chances of survival of the race as a whole.
Beyond the Event Horizon - Episode Two Page 1
