The Death of the Universe: Rebirth: Hard Science Fiction (Big Rip Book 3)

by Brandon Q Morris

  “I’ve got an idea. I’ve booked an EVA with you, anyway. We’ll just use our time out there to bring this thing in.”

  “We’d have to change course,” Nick replied. But he no longer protested, only searching for possible objections so the man could help clear them out of the way.

  “You’re the pilot. But it looks to me like that thing isn’t that far off.”

  “Up here, that’s relative. It’s above us. We’d need to decelerate to get into its orbit, then accelerate again to recover the lost time in a lower orbit. I have to get all of you back to New Mexico, preferably with a couple of gallons of methane left in the tank, or else my boss will give me the sack.”

  Which might not be so bad, Nick thought. Then he’d never have to get back on this space bus and make stupid passengers with no training into astronauts.

  “You’ll have to figure that out on your own. I can’t help you with that,” said Wiseman. “But I assume we have reserves on board. What if you lost me during the EVA?”

  Nick sighed. “True, we have about twice as much methane in the tanks as we need. This is regulation in private space travel, and that’s what makes the tickets so expensive.”

  “Just check it again. But let’s suppose we could bring in ten million for this thing there, then you’d get three million. Of course, since I discovered it, I get a little more.”

  “No way. We’ll go fifty-fifty, or it’s not going to happen,” Nick replied.

  “So you’re in?” asked Wiseman.

  The bald guy had fallen for it. Nick gave a short laugh. “Are you a politician or something?”

  “No, I’m a real estate agent,” answered the passenger. “Let’s just split the proceeds. It’ll bug me, but so be it. I’m Walter, by the way.”

  Wiseman held out his hand and Nick gave him a palm slap.

  Nick pressed a button on his control panel. An automated voice announced, “Your attention please. Orbit correction. Please ensure that your safety belts are securely fastened.”

  The same text appeared on the displays adjacent to every passenger porthole. Everyone reached for their seatbelts except for a blond woman in her mid-40s, sitting on the right-hand side in the back, who ignored the announcement. She had headphones on and was bobbing her head back and forth with her eyes closed. When they’d crossed the Karman Line, she’d paid attention to outer space for just a moment. Nick figured her husband had given her this flight so he could screw his secretary in peace.

  Nick sighed, lifted himself up, and floated over towards her. He knocked on the casing of her headset. When she opened her eyes in alarm, he pointed to the warning on her screen.

  “Oh, excuse me,” she said loudly, buckling herself in.

  Nick returned to his seat. Meanwhile, the computer had calculated the new course and all he had to do was press the start button. It was a good thing he’d had such thorough training in orbital navigation. But would he really still be able to calculate the necessary deceleration phases on his own? The thrust of the engines pushed him into his seat, and he closed his eyes and surrendered to it.

  His seat was shaking. Nick winced. Had he fallen asleep? He checked the display. The ship had reached the pre-calculated position and was hovering, adrift in space.

  Nick turned to the passengers. The blond woman with the headphones appeared to be asleep. The others were glued to their portholes.

  “Time to get out,” he said, nodding to Wiseman.

  “Get out?” asked the Japanese woman.

  “Mr. Wiseman here booked an EVA,” Nick replied. “He wants to take a look outside.”

  “Oh, I’d like that too,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, but you should have specified that when you made your reservation. It costs $5,000.”

  “Can I pay now?” The woman grabbed her purse, presumably in search of her wallet.

  “Unfortunately, no. We only have equipment for one guest on board. Planning, you know?”

  She sank into her seat, disappointment written all over her face.

  “Come with me to the back, Wiseman,” Nick said.

  The realtor followed him to the rear of the ship towards the airlock. Nick activated the outer door, which opened laterally to reveal what looked like an oversized chocolate box. To save air, there was a pair of three-dimensional forms, vaguely human-shaped, made of soft but very durable material. The spacesuits were inside.

  Nick took out Wiseman’s spacesuit first. “Slip it on,” he said. Then he donned his own.

  The suits were so uncomplicated that even a layperson could put one on quickly. Most importantly, it was possible for someone with no previous training to fill one up with air. Nick still remembered the old NASA suits and having to cycle for half an hour to avoid getting the bends.

  “It worked,” said Wiseman, smiling at him.

  Nick checked the fit of the suit, tightened the buckles on the belt, and then put his hand on Wiseman’s shoulder approvingly. “Good job.” He pointed to the helmet. “When you close it, Wiseman, radio communication is activated automatically.”

  “Roger that. And outside?”

  “You don’t need to do anything. My suit controls yours, which automatically follows me wherever I move. Do you see the jets on the belt? They take care of everything.”

  “What if you get hit by a meteorite?”

  “First of all, they’re asteroids as long as they’re still out here. Second, the risk is very, very low. You’d more likely get hit on the head by a coconut in New York City. And third, your suit would automatically bring you back into the airlock. FYI, this also happens when there’s a risk of running out of fuel. Nothing can happen to you.”

  “Very reassuring,” said Wiseman.

  “Then we’ll squeeze into the pack,” Nick said, closing his helmet.

  Now he went forward. It was always quite an effort to move into the narrow cavity. The less space between suit and wall, the less air they wasted. A status display in the helmet visor told him that the bald guy was ready.

  “Close inner airlock door,” said Nick.

  The inner door shut behind them.

  “Watch out, Wiseman, you’re in for a shock. But nothing can go wrong.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  “Open outer airlock door,” Nick commanded. He knew what was going to happen, but he still instinctively looked for a strap to grab.

  The metal plate that had been blocking the view to the exterior slid briskly aside. He was hanging with his head downwards over the Earth, which filled his entire field of vision. The sensation of freefall was overwhelming, and Nick felt sweat break out. No, he told himself, you’re not falling. It would only take him a few seconds to adjust to this perspective. He mentally rearranged his orientation, and closed his eyes to better do so. When he opened them again, he was lying back and staring up into the sky, where the Earth was suspended above him. Enormous. Much better.

  Wiseman was breathing heavily.

  “Everything okay? Close your eyes. The Earth is above you, you hear?”

  “Everything—”

  “Listen! Nothing can happen to you, Wiseman. There is no down and no up here. Close your eyes and picture the Earth up in the sky.”

  What Nick had said wasn’t exactly true. If Wiseman needed to throw up, the trip would be over. This was also somewhere in the fine print he’d signed.

  The outer door automatically closed behind them.

  “Okay,” the realtor finally said. “Now everything’s fine.”

  “Great! You’re a natural astronaut.” These were the first words he’d learned when he was in training to be a tourist pilot. Because they worked.

  “Thank you.”

  “We’re going to separate from the ship.”

  “Roger.”

  Nick pressed his thumb against the side of his index finger. As a result, the jet on his back emitted a pulse that pushed him slowly forward. He exited the narrow alcove and detached from the spaceship. The passenger suit
copied his every move.

  Wiseman’s breathing was audible again.

  “You all right?” Nick asked.

  “Yes. Weird, but okay.”

  “Good. I’m looking for the satellite. You can change your position in space with your left hand. Did anyone explain that to you?”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “And don’t worry, you won’t get away from me.”

  “Very reassuring.”

  Nick navigated the menus in his helmet with his eyes. First he received the radar display, followed by the infrared view. The satellite they wanted to capture was already on the same orbital plane. The computer had calculated an almost-perfect course. Nick masked the menus and looked around. There was a shadow in front of the sun. That had to be it.

  Nick reached into his tool belt for the regulation nylon cord for emergency use. “Got it,” he said. “Come on, let’s go.”

  He set course for the satellite by stretching his right arm out towards it. He always felt a little like Superman at this point, with his spacesuit serving as his cape.

  Wiseman cheered, and his suit followed Nick automatically. His passengers almost always adjusted quickly to the conditions in orbit—Nick had a natural talent for this. But the profits they were eyeing might have had something to do with it, too.

  At first glance, the Spacelink satellite looked like new. It had a few minor scars, but its solar cells shone as if freshly cleaned. Nick floated around it. He’d have to fold in the solar panel. But when he tried to do so, the satellite only turned.

  “Wiseman?”

  “Yes?”

  “I need your help over here. You’re going to have to press against the right panel while I fold in the left one.”

  “But how? I have no control over my suit.”

  “Now you do. Point your right arm towards the right panel and gently tap your index finger with your thumb.”

  “Okay,” Wiseman replied, slowly starting to move.

  When he was right about at the level of the panel, Nick took command of his suit again, and it stopped immediately. “Nice job,” he said. “Just hold the panel now.”

  Nick had his own suit exert forward pressure. Wiseman’s suit copied the movement so they were pushing the panels inward simultaneously. It worked. After about 15 degrees of rotation, the solar panels automatically began moving into their safety position and folded up completely. Nick fixed Wiseman’s position in space and moved towards the satellite. He took the line out of the belt pack and fastened it between the two panels, then took Wiseman back in tow.

  “That’s it,” Nick said. “We’re returning to the ship. We can pull in the lifeline from the inside.”

  “That was fast,” said Wiseman. “Can’t we break any rules while we’re out here?”

  “We’ve already lost time. If we’re really late, there will be trouble. The ship still has to be prepared for another launch tomorrow.”

  Meanwhile, they had started moving back to the spaceship. After Nick attached the line to a reel on top of the capsule, the outer door opened, and they floated into the airlock. The two men made their way back into the narrow gap, the outer door closed, atmosphere flowed in, and the inner door opened.

  “Congratulations, Mr. Wiseman,” said Nick. “You’ve completed your first EVA.”

  “Thank you.”

  Wiseman took off his spacesuit and an unpleasant odor reached Nick’s nose. He politely ignored it. Sometimes people relieved themselves in reaction to the adrenaline kick when the external airlock opened, but everyone was required to wear a diaper since there weren’t any toilets on board.

  Nick floated back to his command chair and pressed the button for the ‘Fasten Seat Belts’ sign. He realized there was something else to do, so he searched the menu for emergency operations, which he could use to control the reel on the roof and draw in the line. The satellite began moving towards them, but the ship was also changing its position slightly. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction—you can’t escape Newton. Finally, the satellite landed on the roof.

  Nick drew the cable in as tightly as possible so their prize wouldn’t escape. He entered the modified data, including the total mass of the ship plus the Spacelink satellite, into the control computer. They were going to land in the Spaceport 40 minutes late. His boss would not be pleased.

  Another 40 kilometers to go. In the past, he’d covered that distance in just a few minutes.

  Afterwards, he could sit himself down in his car and have it drive him home. He hoped Rosie wouldn’t be back yet. He wanted to rest, just half an hour. Sit on the sofa in front of the house and stare into the desert. Come down.

  Suddenly there was a drumming sound from above. Crap. Nick braced himself against the seatbelt and straightened up.

  “Mr. Abrahams?” asked a female voice from behind.

  Yes, he was taking care of it. Nick closed his eyes for a moment. There was an impulse to just do nothing. Wouldn’t that be the best for everyone? His wife would get the mandatory insurance his boss had taken out for him, and he’d be at peace.

  “Mr. Abrahams?” The Japanese woman was worried.

  A hand touched his shoulder and Nick turned around angrily. Had she gotten up? The realtor was kneeling on the floor and pointing upwards.

  “You got that under control?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  He nodded. It was entirely clear to him what was going on. The fucking satellite wasn’t fixed tightly enough, and now it was thrashing in the wind. He should have fastened it in at least three different places. Why had he forgotten that? Had he perhaps wanted to bring this situation onto himself? But it was too late now. He couldn’t exit during the descent, and a go-around was out of the question.

  Nick released the straps to reach the command screen more comfortably. He was looking for the emergency program. He couldn’t cut the line, but he could push off the reel that was holding the line and, along with it, the pricey souvenir he wanted to sell off to Wiseman.

  “Sorry, my friend,” he said, tapping the button that released the reel. The drumming didn’t stop. “Crap!”

  “Mr. Abrahams? What’s going on?” asked the woman from behind.

  “Doesn’t sound like things are under control to me,” said Wiseman.

  I really don’t need this, he thought. “Please, all of you, just be quiet. I have to think!”

  It worked. Nobody uttered another word. The only sound to be heard was the drumming, which was getting louder and louder. What would happen as the density of the atmosphere increased? How many impacts could the roof of the spaceship sustain? The bottom was reinforced for reentry, but the top didn’t have to be equally robust, so the design engineers had certainly saved some weight there. Every gram cost a few dollars per launch.

  Nick pulled himself toward the ceiling. The emergency release could not be controlled electronically, but it was designed to work even in the event of a power failure. He was going to have to eject the reel by hand. If only he could remember that training! But that had been eight years ago, and there hadn’t been an emergency since. Crap! This was sure to send his boss off the handle. The fact that he was proceeding manually would necessitate a multi-day repair.

  Nick hoisted himself up. With a folding knife he pushed the ceiling panel to the side. Just past it was a dark cavity. “Wiseman, give me light here!”

  The bald guy reacted quickly. Good man. Now Nick could see the levers and switches in the false ceiling. They were labeled with abbreviations that he’d had to memorize long ago but had since forgotten. What he did know was that the name would have to end with Ej for Ejection. But there were four candidates. MSEj, LEj, and CEj numbers 1 and 2. He ruled out the last two because there was just one reel.

  What could MS stand for? Should he try it? He touched the lever with his right hand. What if the ‘S’ was for ‘seat?’ If he were to fling them out of the ship at 35 kilometers, they would all die. No, it had to be the L. Maybe i
t stood for ‘Line?’ His mind was blank. He really shouldn’t drink so much.

  Nick looked down. A look of farewell? Wiseman moved his lips, but the drumming was now so loud that Nick couldn’t understand a word. He pulled on the LEj lever. There was resistance, but Nick kept pulling. The lever gave way and moved down a few inches.

  And the drumming stopped. Whew—lucky. Nick’s heart rate started slowing back down and he took a deep breath.

  “Thank you, Commander,” the bald man said, returning to his seat.

  “Everyone buckle up. Landing in twenty minutes,” Nick ordered.

  5/24/2080, Socorro, New Mexico

  Nick threw his jacket over his shoulder. When he had left the house that morning, the thermometer wasn’t yet at 16 degrees. Now the sun was shining, and it had surely broken into the 30s. He approached the gate and then passed into the lobby.

  His boss was standing in the doorway to his office. “Come here for a minute?” Had Bill been there long? He hadn’t noticed.

  “Can we do it tomorrow, Boss? I’m sure Rosie’s already waiting for me so we can have dinner.” Rosie in fact would never wait for him before eating, but his boss’s wife, Solveig, cooked for him every night.

  “No. Now.” He was noticeably abrupt. Bill was generally affable. He stepped out of the doorframe and let Nick go in first. He didn’t ask Nick to sit down, however, but instead went to stand behind his desk.

  “What’s going on?” Nick asked.

  “You’re fired,” Bill replied. “I can’t leave the passengers with you anymore. You’re unfriendly. I’ve told you so many times. But what you did today really takes the cake.”

  “This guy Wiseman wanted—”

  “It doesn’t matter what he wanted. You’re responsible for their safety. If things had really gone wrong, the company would have ended up broke and everyone here would’ve been out of a job. Who do you think who you are?”

  “Astronaut Nick Abrahams, the world record holder for most launches into space?”