Parker's Folly

by Doug L. Hoffman

  The phenomenon recurred several more times as the observers cowered. Later that same year, famed chronicler Fratello Gervase—known as Gervase of Canterbury, himself a monk at Christ Church—wrote down the five monks' recounting of those frightening events:

  “This year on the Sunday before the Feast of Saint John the Baptist, after sunset when the moon was first seen, a marvellous sign was seen by five or more men sitting facing it. Now, there was a clear new moon, as was usual at that phase, its horns extended to the east; and behold suddenly the upper horn was divided in two. Out of the middle of its division a burning torch sprang, throwing out a long way, flames, coals and sparks. As well, the moon's body which was lower, twisted as though anxious, and in the words of those who told me and had seen it with their own eyes, the moon palpitated like a pummelled snake. After this it returned to its proper state. This vicissitude repeated itself a dozen times or more, namely that the fire took on tormented forms variously at random, and afterwards returned to its prior state. Even after these vicissitudes, from horn to horn, that means along its length, it became semi-black. This to me who writes this was told by those men who with their own eyes saw it, and who are willing to swear an oath that they have not added to nor falsified the above written.”

  In later years, scientists hypothesized that the monks had observed an asteroid shower striking the Moon. In fact, some say it was the impact that created the lunar crater Giordano Bruno. Many astronomers accepted that the well-chronicled event coincided with the formation the crater, the youngest substantial impact feature on the Moon.

  Even more recently, new astronomical calculations have brought this theory into doubt. Based on the size of the crater—measuring 22 kilometers across—the impacting asteroid must have been between one and three kilometers wide. Such an asteroid impacting on Earth would threaten the existence of human civilization.

  If an impact had blasted a crater as large as Giordano Bruno into the Moon's northeast limb, it would have ejected large volumes of rocky material. This would have caused a week-long meteor shower, raining down 50,000 meteors each hour as ten million tons of rock pelted the entire Earth. Yet no vigilant 12th century sky watcher in Europe, Arabia or China reported such a storm.

  It has been suggested that those five ancient sky-watchers might have seen the fiery display of a meteor traveling along their line of sight rather than an impact on the moon. But perhaps not. The monks' description does not match that of an earthly meteor shower, which medieval observers were well acquainted with. If it was not a meteor or an impact event, what could have caused the heavenly spectacle that one observer called “a dragon on the limb of the moon?”

  International Space Station, Low Earth Orbit

  Lieutenant Colonel Ludmilla Stefanovna Tropsha of the Voenno-Vozdushnye Sily—the Russian Federation Air Forces—looked out the observation window at the blue and white planet slowly turning below her. Well Luda, she thought to herself, this was the thing you wanted most in the world, I hope it was worth it.

  All the sacrifices, the failed marriage to Yuri, not having any children, fighting her way into what was left of the Russian space program. Fellow officers told her she was throwing her career away for a chance to fly in space, and then probably only once. The old fashioned Soyuz capsules only had room for three cosmonauts. One seat had to be for a Russian pilot. That left two seats for Russian scientists or to rent out, and the Americans and the Europeans paid millions in cash to transport their people to and from the ISS.

  Lt. Col Tropsha was not a pilot, she was a medical doctor with a doctorate in Biology. Her trip was paid for by the rapidly dwindling funds of ROSCOSMOS, the Russian Federal Space Agency, the Rodina's equivalent of NASA. Of course, NASA had funding problems of its own—and no man-rated rockets of its own. If the Americans had somehow managed to continue flying their space shuttle, the three remaining people on board the ISS wouldn't be in this fix.

  The Sun was acting up. A big sunspot “crackling with activity” had emerging over the Sun's eastern limb a week ago. Then NASA's Solar Dynamics Observatory recorded a surge of extreme ultraviolet radiation from the sunspot's magnetic canopy 24 hours ago. This was no minor solar radiation event, it was the worst solar eruption in a century.

  Normally, solar storms do not affect people on Earth's surface. Radio communications may be disrupted and dramatic aurora displays may paint the night skies with ghostly dancing light, but generally there is no threat to those living on the planet's surface. In space, on the other hand, large solar explosions can potentially damage satellites and other spacecraft. Of course, as with everything in nature, there are exceptions.

  On the morning of Thursday, September 1, 1859, English solar astronomer Richard Carrington noted the appearance of an enormous group of extraordinarily bright spots on the face of the Sun. Before dawn the next day, skies all over Earth erupted in brilliant auroras so intense that newspapers could be read as though it were daylight. Miners in Colorado stumbled out of bed and started preparing breakfast, thinking the Sun already up. Stunning auroras appeared even in tropical latitudes, painting the skies over Hawaii and the Bahamas blood red.

  More troubling, ships' compasses no longer functioned properly, birds temporarily lost their ability to navigate and telegraph systems around the world were knocked out. Sparks from telegraph keys shocked their operators and set telegraph paper on fire. The Carrington Event's gigantic coronal mass ejection was sent directly toward Earth, taking only 18 hours to travel the 150 million kilometer distance. Quite remarkable, since such journeys normally take three to four days. The total energy emitted was equivalent to tens of millions of atomic bombs exploding at the same time.

  This new solar eruption—thought not to be quite as powerful as the Carrington Event—was still monstrous, measuring more than X30 on the Solar Richter scale. Though the two scales cannot be directly compared, if the equivalent of the solar explosion were transferred to Earth it would register more than 17 on the terrestrial Richter scale.

  The peak of the massive star quake had been detected 18 hours ago and, like the Carrington Event, the flair was aimed directly at Earth. The particle radiation from the eruption was predicted to reach Earth in about 8 hours. It not only represented a severe threat to all communications, terrestrial power grids, and satellites orbiting the planet, the predicted radiation levels were going to be deadly outside of the atmosphere. This meant that anyone trapped on the International Space Station was going to get fried, and trapped Luda and her two companions were.

  Normally there were six people working on board the ISS, three each for the pair of Soyuz “lifeboat” capsules docked at the station. Trouble was, when the alarm was raised to evacuate the station, one of the capsules malfunctioned. After consulting with mission control and among themselves, the six crew members drew straws. The three winners bade their companions a tearful good bye, boarded the working capsule and headed back to Earth and safety. The losers—Colonel Ivan Kondratov, scientist Hiroyuki Saito and Lt Colonel Tropsha—were left to their own devices, waiting for the Sun to kill them.

  Colonel Ivan Alexievitch Kondratov was also a Russian officer, he would have been the pilot of the second escape capsule if the damned thing had been in working order. He was in the crew quarters, talking on the radio to his wife and children. Undoubtedly Ivan, ever the stoic Russian hero, was remaining calm while his wife and two daughters wept back on Earth. That didn't mean he was not as anguished as they were, just that, like most Russian men, he had emotional “issues,” as the Americans would say.

  The Japanese scientist Hiroyuki “Yuki” Saito was a cosmologist and astrophysicist. A brilliant scientist by all accounts, Dr. Saito had worked for years to earn a trip into space. Originally from Fukushima prefecture—Saito is the 4th most common family name in the prefecture—fate seemed to be dealing him the cruelest hand of all.

  Years ago, his wife and young son were on a bullet train headed for Tokyo when the 2011 earthquake struck. Following
the 9.0 quake, the worst in Japanese history, a 30 foot tsunami had come ashore. When it retreated the bullet train and all its passengers were nowhere to be found. Evidently the train had been washed out to sea with all aboard. Now, in an improbable twist of fate, Saito was about to be killed by another tsunami, this one made of high-energy atomic particles instead of water.

  Yuki, as he preferred to be called, was currently in Node 3, the Tranquility module. He was looking out the windows of the cupola, which offered the best outside view on the station having six large windows on its sides and one on top. Luda figured that the astrophysicist was up there making peace with the universe that had treated him so unfairly.

  Luda had thought about calling her estranged ex-husband but decided against it. Their marriage had ended badly a decade ago and she saw no reason to pretend they still meant something to each other. Besides, in the end, everyone dies alone.

  As the station doctor, she had full access to the Health Maintenance Facility. While the HMF was not equipped for surgery, there were a number of strong emergency painkillers in the ISS medical accessory kits. She was preparing for the worst—three syringes, filled with a potent narcotic cocktail that would hopefully bring painless ends to the three stranded cosmonauts.

  Nothing to do now but wait. Two things Russians do well—suffer and wait. She sighed and looked back out the porthole.

  Ranch House, Parker's Ranch, Texas

  A number of emergency rescue vehicles had driven out to the now disheveled dirigible hanger and rescue workers were searching for any survivors inside the structure. The SWAT team members suffered only minor cuts and bruises, their pride suffering more damage than anything else. Of course, if they had been inside the building when the ship powered up their shredded remains would now be scattered over several acres of TK's ranch.

  After recovering from the shock of the departing ship's sonic boom and the imploding house windows, Chief Marshal Earl looked out the shattered window in TK's office at the ruined hangar. “My God! There was a squad of Marines in that building.”

  “What!” TK and several others exclaimed at the same time. “I didn't see no Marines running around out there,” he finished.

  “They were sent in from the other side. Snuck up by air so they couldn't be seen from the house,” the Marshal answered. “If we find the remains of ten dead Marines in your hangar, Mr. Parker, there will be hell to pay.”

  “Did you ever think that if they hadn't snuck up they'd a bin all right?” the old man snapped. Inside TK felt sick, he never intended for anyone to get hurt. He couldn't believe that Jack would have callously taken off with people in the hangar. Of course, the effects of the ship's departure were a bit more dramatic than anyone had expected.

  One of the local Sheriff’s deputies stuck his head into the room and said: “Just talked to the fire and rescue people on the radio. There is no sign of human remains in or around the hangar.”

  “Are they sure no one was killed? Where did they go?”

  “The guys out there said that anyone inside would have been turned into hamburger. If those Marines had been in there, there would have been blood and guts all over,” the Deputy continued. “The Osprey pilots said they entered the hangar ten minutes before blastoff and didn't come back out. They must have gotten on board the ship.”

  “Well that's a relief,” said Sid Hopkins, the Texas Ranger. “You know Mr. Parker, even if those Marines are safe on board somewhere, I think the federal boys are going to be royally upset with you.”

  “What did I do?” said a secretly relieved TK Parker. “I'm just an old man, mindin' my own business and bein' harassed by the authorities.”

  “Oh, I think that there are laws against flying unlicensed experimental aircraft, shooting things into outer space without a permit, and kidnapping Marines is bound to upset the Pentagon.”

  The deputy, who had been talking on his radio, interrupted again. “We got reports coming in from all over. There are claims that some cattle were killed by the ship's passage—flung 'em two hundred feet through the air—and an old gas station was blown apart next county over. Evidently the ship pulled up and headed for the sky just before passing over San Angelo—the sonic boom blew out windows all over town. The people are up in arms, but they think it was part of the air show.”

  “I'll bet the air show people are going have a hard time convincing the town's folk that their windows were broken by a renegade spaceship and not the flyovers,” remarked Ranger Hopkins. “No sir, Mr. Parker. I do believe you'll be spending a lot of time with these fellas here for the foreseeable future.”

  Well, thought TK, that's done. The ship is safely away and it sounds like nobody got killed—what a relief. I wish I could talk to Jack and find out what happened to those Marines. Hell, I don't even know who all is on board the Folly. But Jack's a big boy. He knows how to take care of business, that's why I hired him.

  In any case, TK had some of the best lawyers in Texas. They would soon spring him from custody and tie the authorities up in legal knots. It would take a while, but eventually he would be able to talk to the ship and find out what really happened during its spectacular departure.

  Just then, Maria entered the room. “Senor Parker, I'm sorry but the coffee pot was shattered by the big boom.”

  “Never mind, Maria. I think we'd all rather have bourbon instead of coffee about now—that is if there are any unbroken bottles left. What do you say Ranger, Marshal? Like you said, no reason to be uncivilized.”

  The Bridge, Parker's Folly

  After the helmsmen set the flight plan, the trip to orbit went smoothly. Acceleration had again peaked at around six Gs and once headed toward space the ride had smoothed out significantly. The roaring sound from outside the ship, caused by the passage of air, quickly subsided as Earth's atmosphere was left behind. Folly was now in a roughly 350 km high orbit traveling about 27,500 km/hr.

  The planet below was mostly dark as they flew into the oncoming night, after passing over the Atlantic Ocean. Soon the Indian Ocean would be below and they would see the Sun rise over the Pacific. In its current orbit it took about 94 minutes to circle the planet below. Both that time and the orbital velocity were dictated by altitude and the gravitational pull of Earth. When George Lucas had the Empire's Death Star “orbiting at maximum velocity” it was so much Sci-Fi BS—every orbit and position has its own velocity.

  Hokey Hollywood movies aside, the ship was eerily quiet as the bridge crew sat mesmerized by the view outside Folly's transparent bow. Unlike the old U.S. Space Shuttle, which rolled 180 degrees onto its back during the climb to orbit, Parker's Folly retained the same orientation it had when it left the hangar. Earth was passing under the nose of the spacecraft as the crew looked up at the brilliant full moon and unblinking stars above their heads.

  Let's give the lounge's starboard side viewport a full on look at Earth passing by, thought the Captain. “Helm, please gently roll the ship clockwise by 90 degrees.”

  “Aye Aye, Captain. Roll the ship clockwise 90 degrees.”

  “Gently, Mr. Danner. I think everyone on board is shaken up enough after our ascent.”

  “Yes, Sir.” replied Danner, as the still dark planet began to swing around to the ship's right side.

  Enough wool gathering, Jack thought, angry with himself, I should be finding out what shape the ship and crew are in. “Mr. Medina, what is the status of the ship's systems?”

  “Engines are at idle, Sir, all parameters well within limits. Hull integrity is intact, no breaches and no pressure drops in sealed sections. Repulsor shields are up. The power reactors are running, power draw is negligible.

  “Environmental is running at around 87 percent, probably because the hydroponics were not all on-line before we took off. Given the number of souls on board that poses no problems. Air pressure is 14.7 psi, relative humidity 25% and temperature is 23°C.

  “Internal visual monitoring is just now coming on line and the deck gravitational system
is still running internal self-calibration—it will not be up for another 35 to 45 minutes. Other than that, Captain, all systems are nominal.”

  “Very good, thank you Mr. Medina.” Of the two, the more critical was the deck gravity. The reason for Folly's horizontal deck layout was that, when the deck gravity system was functioning, an adjustable artificial gravity gradient defined down to be toward the deck underfoot. Even more importantly, the system compensated for the ship's acceleration.

  If it had been working during takeoff no one would have felt any motion, let-alone been flung violently about. Unfortunately, they were never able to successfully calibrate the deck gravity while setting at the bottom of Earth's gravity well—that task had to wait until they were in orbit. “Engineering, Bridge. Dr. Gupta are you all right?”

  “Uh, Bridge, Engineering. We are all right, mostly, but Dr. Gupta can't answer right now.”

  “Who is this and what seems to be the problem with Dr. Gupta?”

  “This is Freddy Adams, Captain,” Adams was one of the engineering techs and the only tech on board when they launched. “We came through the takeoff fine but Dr. Gupta has space sickness—he's throwing up, Sir.”

  Space sickness, or space adaptation syndrome as NASA calls it, can last for days and be quite debilitating. Caused by confused signals from the inner ear under zero-gravity conditions, when it strikes and who will get it can be hard to predict. People who show an exceptional tolerance to motion sickness—at sea or when flying jets for instance—can suffer the worst symptoms in space. Fortunately, when the deck gravity generators come up that problem should go away. Until then things could get messy.