The Triton Disaster: Hard Science Fiction

by Brandon Q Morris

  “Great. See you the day after tomorrow. What’s the name of your headquarters?”

  “Akademgorodok, which you could translate as ‘the academy town.’ But it’s a full-blown city now. The day after tomorrow our driver will be waiting for you at the airport. Now I will need you to say, on camera, that you give us full power of attorney.”

  Nick swallowed. What if this was a large-scale attempt at fraud? Alexa had confirmed that the woman’s voice and appearance matched the data about Valentina Shostakovna. But that could be faked. On the other hand, there was nothing left to steal from him. His accounts were overdrawn, and the bank was going to start threatening to seize the house that he and Rosie co-owned after the next credit card statement came due.

  “I, Nick Abrahams, grant full power of attorney to the RB Group, represented by Valentina Shostakovna, to inspect all my personal information,” he said. This way, the banks and insurance companies would at least check whether the request really came from RB. These big companies had better resources at their disposal than he did.

  “Thank you, Mr. Abrahams. I hope to see you again in my office.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Nick replied.

  This is nuts. Nick checked again to make sure he had locked the door, then shut it behind him. Now he needed a little exercise. He had just consumed three large cups of black coffee and shoveled in some of the cereal his wife had left behind. There were a few remnants caught in his teeth that he tried to dislodge with his tongue. It was still early in the morning, but the sun was already shining down mercilessly.

  The sprinkler was just turning on in the yard of the house to the right, where a man named Miller lived. Nick walked down the street. There was no sidewalk, but the road was so wide that you could easily play a great game of catch there. In the past, he’d sometimes imagined having a son to teach how to throw the ball there. That had been another life.

  He waved to old DeWitt, who was raking the driveway to his house, just like he did every day. The bungalows all looked the same, but it was possible to tell them apart if you paid attention to detail. DeWitt was the only one with a raked driveway, Miller was the one with the green lawn, Gump had giant cacti growing in front of his house, and Dillinger’s property was decorated with his young Thai wife, who had suddenly appeared two years ago and always seemed to be relaxing on a lounge chair under the Coca-Cola umbrella by the small pool.

  It was a tiny cosmos he’d be leaving soon. Tomorrow. Maybe when he came back, DeWitt would have already died. But then again, the first to go could be Dillinger, who had hinted at a serious illness the last time they’d had a neighborhood barbeque.

  Of course, it was also possible that he’d be the first one the universe called back. Just because anybody could fly into space didn’t mean that space travel had become particularly safe. Once he was beyond the orbit of Mars he’d be on his own. It was somewhat comforting to know that the RB Group specialized in space transport over long distances, since it was involved in asteroid mining. But even RB ships had experienced accidents.

  Where were they planning to send him? With four years of space travel, it would have to be limited to the outer solar system. Hardly any expeditions had been made there since the ILSE flights in the 2050s. Economically, this area was uninteresting because distances were just too great, and space agencies had to mind their tight budgets. There were still many exciting destinations. All the better for him. No matter where RB sent him, it would probably be a first. Perhaps I won’t have to go down in history with my spotty record.

  Nick walked down the street, which smelled of hot asphalt and dust. He searched his memory for any snatches of Russian. A language course had been part of his NASA training. According to NASA specifications, an astronaut should be able to communicate with a cosmonaut. This had been important when there had been a common space station. Today, in the area close to Earth, Mandarin Chinese would probably come in more useful.

  “Menja sawut Nick,” he said softly, then repeated in English, “My name is Nick.”

  “Gówno.” Shit. This was the word that he’d be likely to hear the most often in Russian. But he would be traveling alone. What luck! So he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone, in Russian or in English. Valentina Shostakovna seemed to speak English very well. He’d noticed from her lip movements that she had not been using a simultaneous translator.

  “Hey, Nick!”

  He turned around. It was Tedesci. He was of Italian descent but born in the U.S. His wife Maria had immigrated to the States from his family’s home region, Sicily. She was a real sweetheart.

  Nick waved. “Hey, Paolo!”

  “How are you?”

  “Doing fine.” At the moment, he didn’t feel like going into any further detail.

  “Do you have any plans tonight? We’ll be throwing burgers and brats on the grill.”

  “Thanks, Paolo, but I have to pack up and leave tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh, okay. Are you going on vacation?”

  “No, I’ll be meeting with a new employer.”

  “Cool. That’s good to hear, Nick. Will you be gone for a long time?”

  “About four years.”

  “Ha-ha, good one. Well, have a nice evening. This won’t be the last barbecue we have.”

  Nick felt no desire to correct Paolo. He himself couldn’t quite believe that he would be gone for four years.

  “Yes, thanks for the invitation. Another time,” he said.

  5/29/2080, Socorro, New Mexico

  “Good morning, Nick. Today is Wednesday, May 29, 2080. The weather forecast for Socorro, New Mexico, shows that it will be sunny, with temperatures reaching thirty-two degrees. The taxi you reserved will be here for you in forty-five minutes. The plane ticket has also been arranged from Russia.”

  “Thank you, Alexa.”

  Nick jumped up. He’d already laid out his travel clothes. Since it was going to be quite cool in Siberia, he had pants, a long-sleeved shirt, and sneakers. He’d carry his jacket with him. The suitcase was already in the kitchen.

  “Can I do anything else for you?”

  “Thanks, Alexa. Please tell Rosie ‘Hello’ when she comes in the house. You’ll probably be alone for a few days. If any neighbors come to the front door, please let them know that I’m on an extended business trip.”

  “That’s too bad, Nick, I enjoy your company,” Alexa said.

  He shrugged. This chatty feature still struck him as a little strange, but he’d never found the settings menu where he could have turned it off. “Maybe Rosie will move in here then,” he said. At some point he’d have to let Rosie know, but he could just as well do that from Russia.

  He walked into the bathroom and brushed his teeth.

  Alexa’s voice followed him. “That would be nice,” she said. “Rosie still has the highest authorization level.”

  He spat into the sink. “Yeah, great. There shouldn’t be any problems then.”

  Nick pulled down his pants and sat down on the toilet. It was funny—even though Rosie wasn’t there anymore, he still peed while sitting down. It took a few seconds to get started. He somehow had the feeling that Alexa was in the room, which of course was silly. He’d always had trouble taking a leak when there were other people around.

  “You can count on me, Nick.”

  “Thanks, Alexa.”

  The taxi door opened to let Nick out at the airport drop-off area. He approved the fare total with a voice confirmation.

  “We hope you will be our guest again soon,” said the automated voice.

  Someone had drawn a penis in black ink on the lower part of the seat. Nick briefly considered how the artist might have accomplished this without being filmed by the security cameras that monitored for such vandalism. Then he got out. The trunk opened automatically, allowing him to remove the suitcase and backpack. He reached back inside to grab his jacket before the automated system closed the lid. So far he hadn’t had to speak to anyone today, but this was abou
t to change.

  The Albuquerque airport reminded him of a museum. The walls were decorated with folk-art motifs. It was surprisingly empty and smelled like popcorn.

  In the entrance hall there was an ancient plane, and directly behind it was an elderly, dark-skinned woman selling candy at a small booth. She held out a bag with unidentifiable contents. “A present for someone special?”

  Nick shook his head.

  At security, the border official told him, “You don’t have to unpack anything and you can leave on your shoes.”

  Nick looked at his nametag. ‘Automatic unit 4ZZ2.’ The border guards wore ponchos, tattered leather pants, and cowboy hats. It was an odd combination, but automatic units rarely complained. The state was proud of its past, even though it had not always been peaceful. Nick suddenly froze—he would never see all this again, that was for sure.

  His backpack was waiting for him past the security checkpoint. He put it on and looked for his suitcase before remembering that it was being transported automatically to the plane. He spotted his jacket in the plastic bin on the conveyor. He had almost walked away before noticing it. As he walked down the concourse he kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, though there really wouldn’t be anyone else who’d talk to him.

  The doors were already open at Gate G8. Cameras captured images of his face. If he hadn’t had a ticket, the door in front of him would have closed automatically. He headed down the dark, long, and hot boarding chute that led into the plane. Unruffled, he tossed his jacket into the empty seat beside his, sat down, and clicked his seatbelt.

  Ha! he said to himself with a wry grin. Once again, he’d managed to avoid talking to anyone. Rosie would have thought it was bonkers, so he’d never told her about this rather bizarre hobby. But she was no longer with him. His new life awaited him at the other end of this journey. He reached into his backpack and found his passport. Valentina’s assistant had reminded him that he’d need a physical passport to enter Russia. Nick hadn’t even been excited when he’d received the tickets. He’d been counting on it.

  He leaned back and closed his eyes. It was strange, but he missed the sound of Alexa’s voice. She would have noticed that he was tired and wished him sweet dreams.

  5/30/2080, Akademgorodok

  “Tired?” Raissa, as Valentina Shostakovna’s assistant had introduced herself, bent over the flat coffee table to serve him an espresso.

  Nick noticed her low neckline and quickly averted his eyes. He put his hand over his mouth and yawned. “Yes, it was a long flight,” he said.

  “Were you unable to sleep, Nick? May I call you ‘Nick?’”

  “Of course you may. And yes, I can never sleep on a plane.”

  “What about in a spaceship?”

  This was actually pretty bizarre, and he’d never thought about it before. The engines of a brand-new aircraft were mere whispers in comparison to a spaceship’s rocket engines. But he’d never had trouble sleeping in space. “Yeah, that’s funny, I sleep fine then,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe it’s because I control the spaceship myself, or at least I feel like I do, and I’m just a passenger on the plane.”

  “I can understand that,” said Raissa. “I also prefer to be in control.” She remained standing in front of the coffee table and seemed to be thinking.

  He looked at her. She was an attractive woman, blonde and long-legged, dressed conservatively in a sort of corporate uniform consisting of a dark skirt and white blouse with the company logo. Raissa didn’t say anything. It seemed as if she had been briefly deactivated. Was she an automatic unit like the border guards in Albuquerque? If so, then the technology here was quite advanced.

  Raissa took in an audible breath, then pinched her nose and sneezed. So, she was a flesh-and-blood human being. The technology here hadn’t gone that far yet. Nick was relieved. “Sorry,” she said. “The boss should be right here.”

  With that, the door opened. The door’s lining was impressively thick, presumably as a security measure. As the heir to and head of the company, Valentina Shostakovna was probably a target of interest for many criminals. She smiled welcomingly. She actually looked even better than she had in the camera image, though she’d obviously already passed the 50 mark.

  Nick compared her with Raissa. They could be mother and daughter. But he’d encountered other Raissa look-alikes as he’d made his way down the long corridors. The recruitment requirements appeared to include a particular look, though RB seemed so modern otherwise.

  Valentina approached and Nick got to his feet.

  She shook his hand. “Glad you made it so quickly.”

  “Thanks to your impeccable preparations.”

  “Thank Raissa. She’s the one responsible.”

  Nick smiled at Raissa. Valentina then made the universal shooing gesture and Raissa left the room. Allegedly there was still corporal punishment here. It was said that the RB group was not squeamish in the treatment of its enemies—and employees who didn’t do their jobs were presumably classed among them. But he only knew that from hearsay. Perhaps RB was in reality quite different.

  “Take a seat,” Valentina said.

  Nick sat down on the sofa again, and the head of the RB Group chose an armchair across from him. Where else would the boss do the hiring herself? This assignment must be a very special one, he concluded.

  “I don’t want to keep you from your well-deserved rest,” said Valentina. “However, I still have a few questions. But before I go into further detail—you haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

  Nick shook his head.

  “Good.” Valentina leaned forward and tapped the table, which then transformed into a screen.

  Nick focused on her fingers so as not to stare at her neckline. Such situations had made him blush ever since he’d been in high school, and even now he felt his face growing hotter.

  “Look, here,” said Valentina. With a swipe she rotated the display.

  Nick’s eyes widened. One million dollars had just been deposited in his account. That’s what it said, anyway. He couldn’t really believe it.

  “That’s our agreed-upon advance payment,” said the RB owner.

  “Thanks.”

  “We can now move on to the confidential part,” said Valentina, leaning back again.

  “My assignment.”

  “Right. The RB Group has an important installation on Triton.”

  “The Neptunian moon?”

  “Exactly.”

  Neptune was the outermost planet of the solar system. It couldn’t be reached in two years with conventional technology, which is why Nick had been thinking of Saturn or Uranus as destinations.

  “I can see that you’re skeptical,” said Valentina, “but you can trust me. We’ll be putting you in a ship equipped with a bundle of ten direct fusion drives. Since we only need to transport one person along with supplies, we were able to reduce the mass of the ship to one-sixth of what it was for the most famous expedition into the outer solar system, the one made by the ILSE.”

  “I followed that story when I was a little boy,” Nick said. “Back then there were six astronauts who went on that voyage, if I recall correctly. But aren’t certain components still the same size, even if there’s just one passenger?”

  “Ah, you’re referring to the ring, or the garden module. Well, you will accelerate in half the time, since others would slow you down. This way, you actually have gravity all the time. So we don’t need the ring. And our mechanism for making food, which uses nanofabricators, has become so sophisticated that you don’t have to grow food.”

  “That makes sense. But what’s my job?”

  “The installation on Triton no longer responds to our commands. Something must have happened. You have to check into it for us and get it working properly again.”

  “So what kind of installation is this, and who or what is no longer reacting?”

  “That far from Earth, we can’t use humans—apart from you, clearly, but this is an emerg
ency-level situation. For this reason, the device is controlled by artificial intelligence. Its job is to give a final boost to the Starshot Gamma spaceships.”

  “‘Starshot Gamma?’”

  Starshot… That name rang a bell in the back of his brain and then his memory kicked in.

  Several years ago, an international committee had sent micro-spaceships to the nearest stars with the help of giant lasers. The probes only had a few miniaturized measuring instruments on board, and it had been possible to accelerate them to tremendous speeds, even to within several fractions of the speed of light, because they were so lightweight.

  “It’s an evolution of the Starshot Project, purely in-house. The project was especially important to my father, so I am determined to complete it successfully.”

  “And what’s so special about it?”

  “Well, our spaceships grow with time. There’s human DNA on board, and after a few years’ flight time, two children are born, and by the time they reach their destination, they will be adult, well-trained scientists. Honestly, such a tiny probe doesn’t do much. Two human researchers are capable of so much more.”

  “Your father didn’t ask the two passengers, did he? That seems morally questionable.”

  “It’s hardly possible to ask two strands of DNA for their consent. But did you get to choose if you wanted to be born? Did your mother ask for your permission before she gave birth to you?”

  “Well, she didn’t have me light years away from everyone else.” Maybe that wouldn’t have been so bad, he thought. But of course that was an entirely personal problem.

  “Fundamentally, I agree with you. My father’s ideas were often less focused on what was ethically acceptable than what was technically feasible. He was a researcher, mind and heart and soul, and he had the means to implement these ideas without asking anyone. But the situation is different now. The spacecraft in question are already underway. Still, they’re progressing relatively slowly in the solar wind. If they don’t get the final nudge from Triton, they won’t reach their destinations in twenty or fifty years, but thousands of years.”