Hayden’s World Shorts (Stories 1-3)
43 Seconds, Signal Loss, Aero One
S.D. Falchetti
Copyright
Copyright © 2017 S.D. Falchetti. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Contents
43 Seconds
1. 43 Seconds
2. Transit
3. ESL2
4. 55 Seconds
Silver-Side Up
Author’s Message
Story Extras
Signal Loss
1. Seventy Days
2. Contact
3. Bow Shock
4. Kinetics
5. Watts
Last Stand
Author’s Message
The Science of the Story
Aero One
1. Breathe
2. Descent
3. Freeze
4. Sunset
5. Cloud Nine
Author’s Message
The Science of the Story
About the Author
1
43 Seconds
James Hayden smiled as his dream died. It was the polished, charismatic smile that had glossed the feeds of Frontier and Momentum. In the silence he could hear the soft pulse of Hayden-Pratt’s logo spinning on the wall behind him. He paused and gripped the podium. A room full of tuxedos and gowns looked back.
“It’s gone, James,” a voice in his earbud said. “We lost telemetry forty-three seconds after wave initiation. They’re reviewing imaging now, but the debris field and trajectory are consistent with a cascade implosion. Distance traveled was twelve million kilometers.”
The A speech indexed in his vision. Twelve Minutes to Mars. The timing of it, here at the Industry Innovators awards, would have been perfect. He blinked, changed to the B speech, and considered the first sentence. The audience watched, waited. He cleared his throat.
“A great man once said, ‘Rules are made for people who aren’t willing to make up their own.’ He was one of the nineteen pilots who flew the one hundred and fifty-seven test flights of the Bell X-1 aircraft. The fiftieth flight, in October nineteen forty-seven, is the one everyone remembers.” A murmur of recognition swept across the room. “The X-1 had no ejector seat. Each of its pilots was committed, in a single-seat rocket designed to look like a fifty-caliber bullet with wings.”
The voice in James’s ear said, “Okay, Skyway3 just picked up the story, and it’s starting to go viral.”
He could see the Skyway3 news filtering across his audience. Feeds were tapped and haptics signaled notifications. Eyes darted to wearables and looked back to him.
“As a pilot, Chuck Yeager is a personal hero of mine,” James said. “He represents an age and spirit of unbridled exploration and courage. The Bell X-1 flights paved the way for supersonic flight design, forever changing the way we travel.” He gripped the award, and the cold bevels of the etched letters bit his fingers. “I’m honored to receive the Aerospace Innovators award on behalf of my team for the development of the Riggs drive. Like the X-1, the test flights for the Riggs vehicle are pioneering a new frontier in travel, and I am humbled to be a part of the team pushing the envelope.” He paused, seeming to want to say more, but simply smiled and raised the award. “Thank you.”
A short round of applause sounded, the host wrapped up the ceremonies, and James walked casually back to his table. He set the award behind his plate with a solid thunk.
William Pratt sipped a scotch. The ice clinked as he swirled the glass. “That was not the B speech.”
James shrugged. “When in doubt, quote Yeager. Besides, I think better off the cuff.” He sent a private message to William: I’ve just been getting verbal updates from Hitoshi. What’s the latest on the crash?
William seemed to be expecting this. “Let’s get some air.” He set his napkin on the table as he stood, picked up his drink, and smiled to everyone. “Excuse us.”
The two walked to the back of the room, past the bar, and through a frosted glass door onto the balcony. The distant, rhythmic white noise of the Pacific’s crashing waves greeted them. Crimson light faded into an ultramarine skyline with the first stars brightening. A few people were seated at tables with flickering oil lamps, chatting and watching the night’s arrival. James and William found a quiet corner and leaned against the railing.
“Manifold irregularities at thirty-one seconds, then resonance.” William gestured a tired spiral with his free hand. “Cascade failure, implosion. Same as last time, although the upgraded compensators did keep everything together three more seconds. This is the problem with space. For something that’s filled with nothing, it’s not very uniform.”
James nodded. “Hitoshi thinks we need an AI to manage the flux changes. The interferometers aren’t cutting it. We need to go predictive, not reactive.” William quirked his head, but James continued. “Plus, the mass dynamics of the Riggs vehicle are part of the problem. Hitoshi’s working on a Comet for the next run.”
William leaned forward and lowered his voice. “We’re fortunate these have all been unmanned flights. You put an AI or pilot in there, and they’ll be a glowing field of wreckage before they know they’re dead.”
James thought about that for a minute, and said nothing.
William paused to take a swig of his drink. “All right, consider this. When the US shuttle program collapsed, astronauts went to Soyuz launchers. It was forty-year-old technology, but it was still the most reliable rocket in the world.”
“Your point?”
“Tried and true technology doesn’t kill you. RF and Mach-Lorentz drives can achieve similar speeds without all of the drama.”
“That’s true, except you skipped the part where a one gee acceleration takes a year to get near light speed. The Riggs engine takes nine seconds.”
William pointed his finger, clinking the ice again in his drink. “Sure, but no one needs to spend a year taking an RF drive near light speed. You can literally fly to the end of the solar system in fifteen days. Riggs could change that from days to minutes, which, sure, is amazing, but really, is it necessary?” He gestured towards twin contrails glowing brilliant rose against the navy sky. “Your supersonic flight story is the perfect example. Commercial supersonic was available since the nineteen seventies. I mean, we’re talking disco-era technology, here. It was pricy, and it folded.” He shrugged. “Daily life worked fine at subsonic speeds. Unless you’re talking military, that is.”
James sighed. “Yeah, well, I think we’ve beat that horse to death.”
“Yup. There you have it.”
James laced his fingers and leaned his elbows against the railing. “You know, this is all about getting people interstellar. Everyone’s imagination is fired up from those Proxima images. Timing’s right.”
“How many interstellar drives do you think we’re really going to sell, considering the premium? It doesn’t even get you that much. Six years to Proxima with RF, four years with Riggs. Everything crashes into the light speed limit.”
James’s expression brightened. “But time dilation tips that scale. The RF crew experiences four years, but only eight months for Riggs. And th
at’s with current design. Tack on more nines after the decimal point, and months become days.”
William considered the point. “I’ll give you that one. But for now, forty-three seconds is the best we can do. The power costs alone are prohibitive.” He clasped James on the shoulder. “Look, the award is great recognition, and I won’t complain about the PR, but there’s a lot more baking to do. We can’t endlessly implode ten-billion-dollar test vehicles.”
James glanced at William’s hand, and William withdrew it, shifting back to his scotch. James knew the inevitable conclusion of this debate before it started. Still, he paused a long second and sent a private message: You’re not going to side with me on Monday’s board vote, are you? You’re going to mothball the Riggs drive.
William tilted his watch, read it, and responded: Sorry, James. I’m sure you knew this was the last swing at the ball. On to brighter projects.
2
Transit
Dawn broke in a splash of spectacular rose and indigo over Miami’s orbital port. The Sandpiper’s strobes pulsed red and green along the pavement while James finished his pre-flight checklist and chatted with the tower.
The comms voice said, “Hayden-Pratt charlie three five niner, cleared to LEO VG Atlantic. Fly runway heading. Climb and maintain five thousand meters.”
Computer handshakes officially handled this, but verbal confirmation was a throwback to the early days of aviation, and James always requested it. He looked at the slate fastened in the co-pilot’s mount. It was a clear hand-sized rectangle with translucent blue waves spilling across its face.
“Any second thoughts, Ananke?” James said.
The slate’s waves introduced ripples of purple. A female voice said, “No, James. I feel, in fact, that this is my purpose. I imagine that Bernard would be very happy.”
James raised the Sandpiper’s power, hearing the rising hum of the engines, and opened the tower comm. “Miami ground, Hayden-Pratt charlie three five niner ready to taxi.”
“Proceed to whiskey three-five, HPC359.”
James broke with protocol. “Copy, Miami, and, Jacob?”
The voice from the tower hesitated. “Yes, Mr. Hayden?”
“I just wanted to thank you for all the times you’ve got this bird safely on her way.”
“Thanks, Mr. Hayden. Are you retiring?”
“No, no, nothing like that. You’ve got a thankless job, and I wanted to change that.”
“Well, thanks. You’re one of the few who talks with the tower. Keeps me on my toes.”
James glanced at Ananke again. Swirls of purple and blue still slid across her face. He released the brakes and eased onto taxiway W. A bloom of coral sunlight swept across the cabin as he turned onto the runway.
No matter how many times he had done it before, James loved this part. Bringing engines to full power, the rumbling acceleration of the wheels along the runway, and the pitch of the horizon falling out of view of the cockpit, until nothing but clouds and sky remained. When he received his handoffs at five kilometers, the world was flat. At thirty kilometers the Earth curved away from him like a brilliant cerulean pearl. Here, oceans were chords of sunlight, and clouds swirled over taupe land like cream splashed into coffee.
James glanced at Ananke. “Will this be your first time in space?”
“It will.” Waves of red undulated across her surface.
“I’m surprised to hear that, considering all of your work.”
“Bernard was never well enough for launches, and I stayed with him. Everything we did was Earth based.” She was silent for a moment. “I’ve always wanted to see the world, myself, from space. I’m quite excited. Do you mind if I link into the Sandpiper’s externals?”
He tapped an icon on the overhead panel. “You got it. Hang on, engaging thrusters.” A new hum resonated throughout the ship as the pilot’s seat pressed hard into his back. “And, we’re supersonic. Pretty anti-climactic after hearing my Yeager stories. Two minutes until the Karman line.”
“I can officially submit for an astronaut cert, then?”
“Well, yeah! Although an astronaut cert is a bit of an understatement, considering what we’re about to do.”
Ananke’s face pulsed a jade green. “The Earth is beautiful, almost ethereal. It’s difficult to find something to compare it to, since all points of reference are themselves of the Earth. It reminds me of an art exhibit I once saw, where glass spheres were sitting on pedestals, interiorly illuminated. I remember titanium spirals corkscrewing through cobalt and chromium, the light catching the edges of each turn. The sunlight on the clouds, right there, over the Mediterranean, is like that.”
“You speak so colorfully. There’s a poetry in the way you see things.” He glanced at the altimeter. “And, congrats, you’ve just earned your astronaut wings. One second.” He tapped the comm. “LEO VG Atlantic approach, HPC359 inbound for landing along transit path sierra four.”
“Cleared for landing at dock two, HPC359. We have handshake. Taking the wheel on your mark. Welcome back, Mr. Hayden.”
James accepted the auto-control request, took his hands off the stick, and looked over to Ananke. “Station’s got us. Sit back and relax.”
Through the cockpit windows, VG Atlantic station was a tiny, glistening metal fleck, growing steadily in diameter. The speck became an asterisk and bloomed into a proper space station, with a large central dome radiating into six landing pads. Three of the pads were docked with craft on both sides, and one had a Hayden-Pratt Pegasus clinging upside down, facing Earth. Space-side was vacant. James’s heads-up display had vectors taking him directly to it.
The station filled the cockpit windows as the Sandpiper’s landing struts deployed with a hydraulic whine, then the craft sank onto the pad, smooth as a feather drifting to the ground. Vibrations buzzed through the struts into the cabin. A bump and whirl of servos. The AIRLOCK SECURE icon appeared.
James ran through the power-down sequence, completed his log work, and unclipped Ananke. “Ready?”
“Switching to slate forward cameras now,” Ananke said.
He flicked the slate between his thumb and forefinger, spinning it weightlessly.
Yellow and red rippled across Ananke’s face. “Thanks, I enjoyed that. I’ve always been curious to experience zero gee. My accelerometers are generating alerts that I’ve been dropped, but haven’t hit the ground. It’s unusual.”
“You aren’t going to get space sick on me, are you?”
“That seems unlikely.”
He stopped the spin and attached the slate to his flight suit’s pocket mount. “Falling can be a lot of fun when done right. I’ll have to take you skydiving sometime. Will’s got a vintage Twin Otter that’s a blast to jump out of.”
“Intriguing. Let’s see how today goes, first.”
In one fluid motion James unclasped his seat restraints, rotated his body one-eighty, and pulled against the seat back. He caught the cabin holds and sailed to the floor hatch, flipping his perception so he hauled himself into the ceiling. The hatch opened into the station’s transit tube, connecting the Sandpiper to the Pegasus. He drifted up, through the airlock door, and coasted into the main cabin of the Pegasus.
The shuttle interior resembled a small, round office suite with tapering walls. A curved row of eight seats occupied one quadrant, and each seat had attached screens, workspaces, and eating areas. Hitoshi Matsushita sat in one of the workspaces examining a parabolic screen filled with topographic diagrams. His right hand held a bulb of creamy coffee.
“James, Ananke!” Hitoshi said. “How was your flight?”
“James insisted on driving.”
“It’s more fun that way,” James said. “Been here long?”
“Thirty minutes. Everything was on time. Flew a VG Aurora out of Narita. You ever been on one? It’s a sweet plane.”
“You’re killing me, Hitoshi.”
Hitoshi smirked. “Yeah, well, figured you’ve flown everything there is.”
>
“Not everything.”
“Right. Well, I’ve been looking at the topos. I can send them over to your screen when you’re ready.”
James attached Ananke to an empty seat’s workspace and clipped into his harness. “I’ll check it out when we’re underway. And I definitely need a coffee first. Everyone good to go?”
Hitoshi was once again engrossed in his display, and waved away James’s question.
“All right,” James said. “Ship, ready for departure.”
The ship’s voice was male, deep. “Good morning. Clearance requested and granted. Destination Hayden-Pratt Earth-Sun Lagrange Two Test Facility. Flight time: Eight hours, eleven minutes.”
External nose-forward views appeared on their screens. They were looking directly at the blindingly blue Earth. James’s weight increased as the ship lifted off, the Earth pivoted ninety degrees, and black space with the glare of the station’s underside filled the display. The flight graphic showed the Pegasus completing a third of an orbit before launching into a tight arc that turned back towards Earth-Sun L2.
Will’s right,” James said, “at least about his next project. We need a ship you don’t need to get out of. Something efficient enough to compete with aircraft, but shielded for space drive speeds. Eliminate the LEO transit stations.”
“Don’t let VG Atlantic hear you say that. We still need that Sandpiper,” Ananke said.
James smiled and unclasped his harness. One gee acceleration gave an Earth-like feel to the floor as he set his feet down. He walked over to the galley, warmed some coffee, and dispensed some cream into the bulb. It swirled into wispy clouds, a self-contained world held in his palm. Endless worlds. They could put endless worlds within reach, if he could make this work.
Hayden's World Shorts, Stories 1-3: 43 Seconds, Signal Loss, Aero One Page 1
