“Drones are like combat toys, they have predatory instincts, understand?” It looked as if Toshi really did consider them toys. “They don’t just enter the atmosphere, they drop like a stone.” He again gestured the ship’s route from space to the outer limit of the atmosphere. This time it was a sharp movement, at the end of which he loudly clapped one palm against the other, simulating a bumpy landing.
“Get it? They enter the dense layers at Mach 20, so I wouldn’t advise you to eat a big meal before landing, if you don’t want to have to wash the cockpit out afterwards. What’s more, the way they land is literally a pain in the arse.”
“You’ve cheered me up no end,” said Steve, instinctively scratching himself in the groin.
The drones were standing in the corner of the cargo compartment, covered in tarpaulin and away from curious eyes. As soon as they got to where they were parked, Toshi unceremoniously pulled the protective cover off one of the drones. Half a metre from Steve’s face, one of the cannon appeared, the hole in its impressive barrel yawning ominously.
This was the first time Steve had seen the drones since they had dealt with the pirates. The cannon muzzle was slightly melted at the very end, and the shining metal on the tip, shaped like a muzzle brake, shimmered barely noticeably with the colours of the rainbow. This phenomenon appears on metal after it has been subjected to high temperatures. The cannon tip must have glowed red after the shot.
Steve went up to the cannon and cautiously touched the barrel. The cold metal was redolent of terrible power. It was strange, but the drones now looked quite different from the first time he and Toshi had taken them out of the transporting containers. On that occasion, Steve thought they looked rather like big toys for adults. Now a threatening battle craft was before him. It looked like a glowering face, showing a singular lack of sense of humour.
“Hey, get back right now! It’s still radioactive!” called Toshi, almost shouting, his eyes wide open in horror.
Steve snatched his hand away as if he had been burned.
Toshi burst out laughing.
“Only kidding!” he said, and clapped Steve on the shoulder.
Steve laughed and took hold of the barrel again, continuing to scrutinise it.
“What’s its fire power?” he asked, indicating the cannon.
“It varies. The strike force is set depending on the task. Against lightly armoured targets, the cannon reduces its power so that it can fire in long bursts.”
“And what was it when it fired at the pirates?”
Toshi shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t know... But maybe...”
He felt in his pocket and pulled out a small elongated device. Taking it over to the drone’s plating, he pressed one of the buttons. The drone’s canopy opened with a hissing sound. At the same time, the drone settled down lower, as if it were bending its knees. Now the walls of the cabin were on a level with his belt.
He nimbly jumped in, and flopped down carelessly in the pilot’s seat. Steve finally let go of the cannon barrel and came closer, so that he could see the monitor readings on the console. Now he noticed that the console and the interior of the cockpit were dimly illuminated in an orange-red light.
“Parameters of last task to main monitor,” Toshi ordered the onboard computer.
The cockpit came to life, the light became brighter and the control units were illuminated. The brightest illumination was on the joystick. Its white lighting pattern made it look like a killer whale. As Steve looked around the interior, he felt delighted by this miracle of engineering thought. He was already looking forward to flying in it.
Columns of figures flashed up on the screen. Toshi set about leafing through the electronic log until he found the section ‘Combat use of weapons on board’.
“So... weapon cocked at 17:46, target acquired and shot fired at 17:47... Target: lightly armoured spacecraft, type... Energy of shot on leaving barrel, 3.5 terajoules,” read Toshi.
“Does that mean anything to you?” he asked, looking at Steve.
“Yes, it does. That’s a little less than a kiloton of TNT. Hmm... Why so much?”
“In space they always fire with excess energy because there is no shock wave. If you hit the target at a tangent, the charge detonates slightly to one side. The explosive energy may not be sufficient to destroy the target. Hence the over-insurance.”
“I see. OK, show me how to control it.”
Toshi got up from the seat and jumped out of the drone as nimbly as he had jumped in. Then he signalled to Steve to take the pilot’s seat.
There was not that much room between the cockpit walls under the open canopy. Steve, groaning, crawled in, and, trying not to break anything with his clumsy movements, sat down neatly in the seat, which automatically changed shape to fit closely around his body, and straightened itself out to some extent, so that the person sitting in it was in a semi-recumbent posture. After his flight in the military shuttle from the Earth spaceport to EMC1906, Steve had not expected such comfort in a military craft.
“Look, as you’re sitting down, first you have to be authorised. Put your hand here. After that you can control it with your voice, like a normal computer. If you get bored, you can go over to manual control, but I’d advise you to be in automatic mode when entering an atmosphere. Understood?”
Steve nodded. Controlling this was not very different from the Falcon.
“Another important point. When you are piloting a civil spacecraft manually, even in completely manual mode, the computer is still acting as a nanny. For example, it won’t let you exceed the maximum angle of attack, so that there won’t be an airflow breakaway. If you lose control anyway, it will take over and correct the situation.
“Here it’s different. Novices don’t fly craft like these...” Toshi paused significantly and then continued: “Well, at least they don’t normally.” He clapped Steve on the shoulder.
“So if you set it to manual control mode, it’s no use relying on the computer any more. Well, you must realise that a dogfight always takes place in extreme conditions and a nanny would only get in the way. So the computer assumes the pilot knows what he’s doing.
“You can play around with the joystick a bit in space if you want, but always enter an atmosphere on autopilot. Don’t switch to manual in an atmosphere till the drone’s speed is down to below two kilometres a second. Otherwise, if it suddenly starts bucking around and you lose consciousness, you’ll be in the next world when you wake up. Got it?”
Steve nodded. Looking around the instruments in front of him, he passed his hand over the surfaces of the console, the joystick and various levers.
“Can I fire the cannon?”
“Absolutely not.”
Steve raised his eyes to look at him, but Toshi resolutely shook his head.
“Don’t even ask.”
“OK. What else?”
“Well, that seems to be everything.”
8
Contact had only just been established when a text floated up in the instant message window:
ALIEN: If our ships are threatened, we shall undertake appropriate counteraction, including the use of force.
Shelby unhurriedly took off his spectacles, wiped them and put them back on.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the second round of negotiations is open. We have discussed this subject. Therefore, permit me to reply in accordance with the result of our vote.”
In silence, he took a few seconds to type in the text of the reply.
EARTH: We are a hospitable nation and do not wish to be at enmity with peaceful visitors. Firing on your ship was not intentional. We are very sorry that it happened.
ALIEN: Responsibility for armed forces lies with the civilisation that controls them. We shall not tolerate such inappropriate behaviour in future.
“I propose we consider this theme exhausted,” said Sullivan. “If we pursue it further, we can only make matters worse.”
“I totally support yo
ur opinion. Professor Shelby, please go over to the questions proper,” said MacQueen, agreeing with him.
Shelby nodded.
EARTH: Tell us the purpose of your visit.
ALIEN: In spite of what happened, in the hope that such incidents will not be repeated and as a gesture of goodwill, we propose cooperation on mutually beneficial terms.
Shelby looked round the faces of the videoconference participants. This turn of events was somewhat unexpected. The others were no less surprised than he was.
“It seems they’re offering us a deal,” remarked someone whose voice was familiar.
Shelby looked in surprise at the camera in front of him then at MacQueen, who appeared to have known in advance about the presence of the voice’s owner.
“Mr. President, if I am not mistaken?” asked Shelby.
“Exactly. But I didn’t want to distract you. Please continue,” answered the voice. The president’s image was not being relayed, apparently for security reasons.
EARTH: As a peaceful race, we are happy to establish and develop relations with our brothers in intelligence. What is the nature of your proposal?
ALIEN: Your race has begun colonising space. You have successfully assimilated the fourth planet out from your central star. Its orbital velocity is different from Earth’s. This represents a serious obstacle to your economic activity on it. We propose a solution to this problem.
“I think it’s worth asking a question about the price,” proposed one of the historians.
Shelby looked round the others, awaiting other proposals.
“I think it is,” he replied after a few seconds.
“Just a second!” cried Sullivan suddenly. “I’m an adult. I don’t believe in fairies, but nevertheless... What if they intend to make us a present of this?”
MacQueen laughed. “Professor, you’re an incurable romantic...”
In reply, Sullivan just shrugged his shoulders and smiled broadly. Why not?
EARTH: Are you offering this help free of charge?
ALIEN: We are proposing a mutually beneficial project.
EARTH: What do you expect in exchange?
ALIEN: We are willing to accept part of the energy of your central star and minerals from the inner planets in payment.
“Now I’m starting to like them,” laughed the president. “Well, OK, let’s start haggling!”
EARTH: What exactly will we get?
ALIEN: Your economic activity on Mars involves considerable costs due to its remoteness from Earth. From the point of view of your life form, it has a far from ideal climate and its atmosphere is unsuitable for breathing.
We shall reduce Mars’ orbit around the Sun and synchronise its movement with Earth’s. After our intervention, the distance between them will be constant at no more than five million kilometres. We shall change the composition of the atmosphere so that your life form will be able to exist outside sealed habitats.
“Professor...” began the president, and then stopped.
“Shelby.” MacQueen gave him the name.
“Thank you. Professor Shelby, how do you like this idea?”
Shelby thought about his reply for a few seconds, then slightly shook his head.
“The scale of such a project is beyond my imagination, sir,” he responded. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“But if the price is right, isn’t it just what we’ve been dreaming about for centuries?”
“Yes, but...”
“Be a visionary, professor!”
Suddenly, the president’s image appeared on the screens. He came right up to the camera so that his face occupied the whole picture on the monitor. There were unconcealed sparks of enthusiasm in his eyes.
“You want me to fantasise. OK, I’ll do that. Earth and Mars are moving around the Sun at different angular velocities,” began Shelby, thinking aloud. “That is, it takes them different times to complete an orbit. Earth moves faster, as if always running away from Mars. Because of this, the distance between the planets is not constant, but varies from 55 to 400 million kilometres. It is least when the Earth catches up with Mars, and greatest when it is on the other side of the Sun.
“At the moment of closest approach of the planets, our ships take only a few days to cover the interplanetary distance. When Earth and Mars are on opposite sides of the Sun, the trip takes a month or more. In such periods, almost all transport between the planets ceases, because in these conditions it is extremely expensive. It is not just a matter of the great distance, but also because the optimum flight trajectory passes close to the Sun, which we cannot approach too closely for obvious reasons.
“A change in the orbit of Mars to a lower one, i.e. closer to Earth, reduces the flight time to only a few hours, and, even more importantly, completely does away with the problem of the enforced break. In other words, on one hand we use less fuel, which is a considerable saving in itself, and on the other, we intensify the interplanetary exchange of freight and passengers. Taking into account the possible scale of trade in these circumstances, this would undoubtedly give a powerful boost to the economies of both Earth and Mars.
“If in addition to this, the atmosphere is changed so that man can breathe on Mars, the cost of life support would fall... I find it hard even to imagine... probably by a factor of ten.”
Shelby was quiet for a moment, apparently himself staggered by the prospects opening up.
“But a breathable atmosphere solves not only the problem of breathing, but also that of the density of the atmosphere. On Mars, the atmospheric pressure on the surface is equivalent to that at an altitude of about 30 kilometres above Earth.
“This creates a whole load of problems. For example, the habitats have to be not only sealed, but also quite strong, so that their walls can withstand the pressure difference. The thin atmosphere of Mars is no more than a hundred and tenth part the thickness of Earth’s, due to which it is much less effective in absorbing radiation and small meteorites...”
“Excuse me interrupting you, professor, but surely our meteorite defence system is not inadequate?” asked one of the historians.
“I’m not talking about large meteorites, but ones less than the size of a fist. On Earth, these break up before they reach the surface, but on Mars they fall on the planet and create a risk of seal breach.
“If the aliens can fulfil their promise, in the long term we might even be able to think about settling terrestrial flora and fauna on Mars.”
“In other words, an economic miracle awaits us?” asked the president.
“If you like, yes. But we mustn’t forget that the aliens expect payment in the Sun’s energy and minerals from the inner planets.”
“Now that’s another matter.”
“The most important one, in my view.”
The president gestured to Shelby to continue the negotiations with the aliens.
EARTH: How much in the way of minerals do you intend to take, and from which planets?
ALIEN: A third of the mass of Mercury, Venus and Mars.
EARTH: What proportion of the Sun’s energy do you expect as payment?
ALIEN: We expect half the energy radiated by the Sun in the course of one billion years.
EARTH: How will this affect the energy received by Earth and the other planets?
ALIEN: The amount of radiant energy radiated onto the planets will remain unchanged.
“Well, what do you say, professor?” asked the president. There was a note of impatience in his voice.
“From the technical point of view, there are a whole lot of questions. I will have to go deeply into the subject with my colleagues. But on the other hand, they want half the Sun’s energy, and not for one or two decades, but for one billion years. I fear that if our economists were to begin calculating the cost of such a quantity of energy, the screens of their tablets would not have room for such a number of symbols,” replied Shelby.
“Fine, then we’ll talk again as soon as you have though
t enough about the matter. All the best, ladies and gentlemen,” said the president, nodding in farewell. His image disappeared at once.
9
Ever since childhood, Steve had liked to sleep and get up late. His university studies finally made him a night-owl – cool student parties never began before 11 p.m., and he hardly ever missed one. After six years of night life, any time before midday was ‘early morning’ to him. That was until he joined ‘Dawn’. Even after several months, he still could not adapt to the adult rhythm of life beginning at six in the morning.
Every morning began the same way: with torture. First he opened his eyelids, then he got out of bed. At these moments he almost felt physical pain; his organism made every effort to resist early waking. Maggie happened to learn about Steve’s sufferings, and as a biologist, she gave him good advice on how to wake up quickly and benefit his body at the same time.
“Throughout evolution, our brains have been fully occupied with saving energy,” she told him in a well-organised speech. “Because of this, when we have to get up early in the morning, and all the more so if it runs against our habitual rhythm, the grey matter in our head is struggling against itself. The prefrontal cortex understands that we have to get up, but the rest of the brain tries to prevent it. It’s no use trying to convince it otherwise, this reaction is due to a biological feature, it isn’t just a whim.”
“I’ll have to tell my parents that my laziness is the fault of evolution, not of faulty upbringing,” said Steve, smiling.
“Yes, that’s quite true. Laziness is of profound biological significance, it is an inalienable part of our physiology.”
“Well, OK, but what’s the method for overcoming this laziness?”
“Create a sensory shake-up. For example, pour water over yourself and rub yourself with a rough towel. This will create a firework display of neural pulses from the skin to the spine and the brain,” she explained, gesticulating energetically.
Trying to indicate as clearly as possible the direction of the neural pulses towards the spine, she passed both arms behind her back, without noticing that this made her breasts jut forward. Steve’s gaze at once instinctively passed over the protruding rounded shapes under the thin summer dress, immediately turning his thoughts into a different channel.
Beyond the Event Horizon - Episode Two Page 5
