The Beacon: Hard Science Fiction

by Brandon Q Morris

  “So you couldn’t reconstruct the original text?”

  “No, that’s impossible. The language model has nothing to do with the original character set. It only contains meaning relationships, and only those that are statistically probable.”

  “If I write a longing prose text in my invented language, could your system translate it as a poem by John Keats?”

  “That’s right, Peter. You can think of it like a Black Forest cake. The cake is the input text. It is broken down into its components until you couldn’t even guess that it used to be a cake. In the process, however, the AI extracts the concepts that are in the cake. The sweetness of the sugar, the fruitiness of the cherries, the rich fat of the cream, the chocolaty cocoa flavor. Then the AI puts something back together from these concepts. It certainly won’t come up with a car, and it won’t come up with a dog, but it probably won’t come up with a cake either, but maybe a cherry strudel with a cup of cocoa to go with it. Do you understand? We construct a new shell for the concepts contained in the old shell. But the old shell remains unknown and cannot be reconstructed.”

  “Thank you, John. That helps a lot.”

  March 24, 2026 – Passau

  “For we are but the husk and the leaf: the great death which each has within himself, that is the fruit around which everything revolves.”

  Peter read the verse over and over again. It left a sadness in him that he couldn’t quite grasp. Of course, he knew that he would die someday. He hoped he had at least 20 more years before then. His father died at 75, so he probably had that much time anyway. But so far, the inevitable end had not been worth a thought to him. After all, it was unproductive and didn’t suit him at all. Maybe it was just because he had more time to think at the moment.

  He flipped open the oven door and pulled out the hot pizza, using his fork to maneuver it onto his plate. His students had been surprisingly well-behaved today. They must have been looking forward to Easter vacation. Three more days. It suited him just fine, because SigmaLaunch had checked in this morning. His CubeSat was on its way to Sweden, and he’d confirmed his permission to observe the launch. He could hardly have chosen better timing. The launch would take place on Monday morning.

  Peter divided the pizza, which measured about 30 centimeters across, into six segments of 60 degrees each and turned it into a math problem, of course. How many people could each have a slice if nothing was to be left over and each eater needed at least 60 square centimeters of pizza to be satisfied? “Who would feel full enough with only 60 square centimeters of pizza,” Matthias from the 6th grade would say. And he’d be right, of course.

  As if to prove it, Peter ate the segments, each 117 square centimeters in size, one after the other. He left only the last one. Franziska always said he had to watch his weight. She was probably right, too. After 50, the risk of cardiovascular disease increased, especially for men who lived alone, he had read, while for women, marriage tended to be rather detrimental to health. Hmm. So, in theory, it would be better for Franziska if she separated from him.

  He washed his greasy fingers with the soapy rag in the sink and wiped the residual water first on his jeans, then on his handkerchief. He put the plate into the dishwasher, which was already growing full—and stinky. I really should start it up again sometime, he thought.

  But not now. If he was to be in Sweden by Monday morning, it was best to start the dishwasher on Saturday. Peter got the notebook. The launch site was near the northern Swedish town of Kiruna. There was a flight connection via Stockholm directly to Kiruna, but only on Mondays and Fridays. On the other days, the quickest option was 14 hours or more on the road between Stockholm and Kiruna. He had several flight choices every day to Stockholm. But, there was still that long drive from the Swedish capital to Kiruna, along the Gulf of Bothnia on the Baltic Sea.

  Surely there must be alternatives? He switched to the Finnish options. Airports were marked at Oulu and Rovaniemi. From Rovaniemi, it looked like four and a half hours of driving, but the only viable connection was on Saturday. Okay, then he’d have Sunday to acclimatize. He’d leave at 11:35 a.m. and arrive in Rovaniemi at 5:15 p.m. with a change in Helsinki. Then around five more hours by car. That sounded doable.

  There seemed to be plenty of hotels around Kiruna. He booked the Reindeer Lodge because it was fairly close to Esrange, where the Swedish Space Agency’s launch center was located. The accommodations, in private wooden cabins, looked rustic. Franziska would like that. Should he call her and ask her to come along?

  It was only 24 minutes or so from the lodge to the launch site. The weather forecast predicted a maximum temperature of minus five degrees. The roads looked rather narrow in the online route planner, so he booked a car with four-wheel drive, even though it was a bit more expensive.

  Peter reached for the phone and typed a 0, then a 1, then a 7. He’d slowed down with each digit, and after the 2, he stopped and put the phone aside. He didn’t trust himself. What should he tell Franziska? Come with me to northern Sweden to watch me send my mother’s house into space? Maybe it was better for her to keep her distance from such a madman. He was beginning to think that he should turn himself in before he became a danger to others. It was not easy, being utterly convinced of something while knowing everyone would believe you were a nutcase.

  No, not all of them. Not Thomas and not the researcher Holinger, even if she did not accept his thesis. He had data on which he based his theory, data which any interested person could measure. The problem was that they allowed for other interpretations as well. And if his theory was correct, the current cosmology would have to be overlooking a danger that was hard to imagine.

  His computer made several pinging sounds, the booking confirmations for the flights, the hotel, and the car. Peter printed them out. Who knew if he’d have Internet access everywhere in the far north?

  Then he got up and took a folder from the shelf. He had to prepare the lessons for tomorrow. Three more days of school.

  March 26, 2026 – Passau

  “Hi, Peter!”

  It was Franziska. He’d hesitated for a long time to take the call, even though he longed to hear her voice.

  “Hello, Franziska! I, um...”

  “I just wanted to give you a quick sign of life before you reported me missing to the police.”

  “That’s nice. I wouldn’t have... uh, I’m glad to hear your voice.”

  Franziska was right. She’d announced at the end of February that she’d be spending some time in Greta’s apartment because her friend would be away anyway. A month had passed. He never ran into her at school, but he assumed that she was deliberately avoiding him. After all, she knew his schedule.

  “I’m glad too, Peter. How are you?”

  She was happy. That was good.

  “Well, busy, you know how it is so close to Easter break. And how are you?”

  “Quite well. It’s a bit lonely. Greta is still traveling with the director. Can you imagine? Yesterday she called from Hamburg, and tomorrow they’re going to Amsterdam.”

  “With Greta, I can very much see that happening.”

  “Yes, it suits her. I couldn’t. I miss my garden. Are you keeping up with watering the flowers? And are you making sure the blackberries don’t overgrow everything? Are the blackbirds breeding yet?”

  “You could come and see for yourself.” Peter held his breath.

  He had surprised himself. It rarely happened to him that his words were faster than his thoughts. But now these words had escaped his mouth.

  “Hmm. I’d really like to sit in my deck chair again, look out over the fields, and have an Aperol Spritz to go with it.”

  “That sounds good to me.”

  “The forecast for the weekend is 20 degrees and sunny. What do you say I come by Saturday around noon?”

  Peter swallowed and sat down. His ear was sweating, so he changed the phone to the other side. On Saturday...

  “Peter?”

  “There’s a
little bit of a problem there,” he said.

  “You’ve already gotten a replacement for me, and you can’t cancel on her so soon?”

  “No! Please don’t take this the wrong way—”

  “Oh well, when you start out like that... I thought you’d be pleased. I would have been pleased.”

  “I’m looking forward to it, too. But the day before yesterday, I booked tickets to Rovaniemi.”

  “What are you doing in Finland? I bet it’s still freezing there.”

  “Actually, I want to go to northern Sweden, but it’s a shorter trip from Rovaniemi. On Monday, my satellite launches into space—my beacon. I’ve explained to you that the solar system is threatened.”

  “That again? I thought you would have returned to your senses by now. I’m sorry I made such a stupid suggestion.”

  “It wasn’t a silly suggestion after all. I would have liked you—”

  “Don’t act like that. Your obsession still takes precedence over everything else.”

  “You could come with me. I’ve booked a lodge in the middle of the Arctic wilderness. There are even reindeer there!”

  “Yes, and lots of snow, I’m sure. I’m not going to sit alone in the lodge in sub-zero temperatures while you watch a rocket launch, when we have twenty degrees and spring here!”

  “Gosh, Franziska, it’s not like that at all—”

  “Don’t bother, Peter. I’ve got it all figured out. Do what you have to do. When are you leaving?”

  “The plane leaves at eleven-thirty.”

  “Good, then I’ll have the garden to myself by ten o’clock at the latest. Are you sure you won’t be back before Monday?”

  March 27, 2026 – Passau

  His cellphone rang. Another call from that same blocked number! He’d already ignored it twice in class today. Answering it wouldn’t be a good example for his class. Peter swiped the green-handset icon to the side.

  “Hello, Miguel from SigmaLaunch here,” a voice announced in English. “Good to finally reach you.”

  He didn’t recognize the voice. Had they replace the chatbot, or was this a real person?

  “Peter here. Am I talking to a human being?”

  “Of course, Peter.” The man laughed as if he had made a great joke.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I have good news for you. Your CubeSat has arrived in Kiruna.”

  “Great.”

  And for that, he calls me multiple times?

  “There’s still a little problem with the documents.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “Declaration of space debris-based risks is lacking.”

  “I thought it was enough for the satellite to have a DEO?”

  “Without the DEO, it wouldn’t be allowed to launch. But without the declaration, Rockets Plus cannot integrate it.”

  “But I have no idea how to fill out something like that. Where do I get the form? Can’t you do it?”

  Peter hated bureaucracy.

  “You are the operator. We’re not allowed to take that over from you. It’s not like we’re even EU-based. If we were the operators, we’d have to put in a request to transfer the waste budget.”

  Since the increasing amount of garbage in Earth’s orbit had become a problem a few years ago, each space nation had a certain garbage budget. It was not permissible to send new satellites into space until others had been brought down.

  “Okay. What do I have to do?”

  “You need to download the DRAMA program. In it, you will enter all the data of the CubeSat. The software will then generate the certificate that you need to forward to Rockets Plus.”

  “When?”

  “Today. Now. You’re holding up the entire launch preparation of the rocket at this point.”

  If only he had answered the phone sooner. This DRAMA software had been aptly named, even if it was an acronym for ‘Debris Risk Assessment and Mitigation Analysis.’ Just creating the account and downloading and installing the software took 20 minutes.

  The program asked him for data, some of which he’d never heard of. Peter could only answer the questions by copying them into a parallel chat window, where a SigmaLaunch employee picked out the appropriate data for him. He’d been able to keep up through the classic orbital elements, but after that it got tricky.

  It was all the more surprising that, at the end, the software readily calculated what it needed: The probability of a collision with space debris during the lifetime of this mission, and the approximate time the CubeSat had until it burned up again in the atmosphere, as well as the risk that it wouldn’t be completely destroyed on re-entry. Peter saved the results in a PDF file and emailed it to the address SigmaLaunch gave him.

  He fervently hoped he had not made a mistake. If the data did not arrive in Kiruna today, his CubeSat would remain in the warehouse.

  March 28, 2026 – Passau

  Peter was excited and tired at the same time. He got the mat from the cellar and laid it on Franziska’s deck chair. Then he adjusted the lounger so that it would face toward the sun at ten o’clock. He opened out a flat-folding table next to it. On top, he placed the bouquet of tulips he’d bought yesterday and the note he’d written. “Sparkling wine and Aperol are in the refrigerator,” he had noted in his spidery handwriting. Around it he’d drawn a heart. It looked awkward. He’d never been very good at drawing. He moved the vase on top of the note so the paper couldn’t fly away if the wind should pick up. Then he got the red blanket and a pillow from the living room.

  There. Now it looked as if Franziska had been sitting in her garden for a long time and had only gone into the house briefly. His heart warmed. Peter imagined her, sitting there waiting for him when he came home on Tuesday. But that was nonsense, of course. With his latest refusal, he had probably blown it once and for all.

  Peter sighed. Then he tore himself away from the sight of the empty deck chair. He had to go to the airport. He pulled the suitcase, already standing on the terrace, to the garage and loaded it into the trunk. He hadn’t packed very much, but the winter clothes he’d known he would need were so heavy that he couldn’t transport the suitcase as hand luggage. He slid behind the wheel. Crap! Peter got out again because he had forgotten to lock everything. He ran back and locked the house and cellar doors.

  Have a good trip, honey, he imagined Franziska’s voice saying softly.

  March 28, 2026 – Kiruna

  The airport in Rovaniemi, where his flight had landed on schedule, was surprisingly large and modern. The Sixt counter was near the exit. The clerk greeted him in dialect-free English. Peter signed the rental agreement, took the keys, and exited the building, his rolling suitcase in tow. When he exhaled, a plume of steam escaped his mouth. It was cold outside, but it was a dry cold that he could handle pretty well, especially once he got his winter jacket out of his suitcase.

  The rental car was parked in the well-lit parking lot. It was only 150 steps, so he wouldn’t reach his usual 10,000-step goal today. He put his suitcase in the trunk, got in, and the car greeted him.

  “What can I do for you?” it asked in English.

  “Drive me to Reindeer Lodge in Kiruna, Sweden,” he replied.

  “I’m navigating you to Reindeer Lodge in Kiruna, Sweden,” the car said. “Autonomous driving mode is only available during daylight hours and on ice-free routes.”

  Had he heard that right? Were the roads icy? This was going to be fun. He reversed the car out of the parking space. Then he followed the arrows that appeared on the windshield.

  Fortunately, there was no sign of ice on the roads. Navigation initially followed Highway 83, which ran straight for many kilometers at a time. To the left and right were nothing but spruce and birch forests. There was relatively little snow on the trees. They usually had more in Germany in the winter. The asphalt was in such good condition that Peter felt increasingly sleepy. At Lake Raanujärvi, he stopped briefly to stretch his legs. He peed behind a tree, wiped his h
ands on snow, and dried them with the handkerchief he always kept in a trouser pocket. Then he watched the moon, the light of which was refracted many thousands of times by the snow-covered ice of the lake. The icy cold woke him up again.

  The road passed over a mountain ridge. The higher up and the further north he got, the smaller the trees became. It was a pity that he couldn’t see very much of the landscape. He passed a viewpoint but didn’t stop. At the Torneälv River, he crossed the border into Sweden. On both sides of the bridge, the border security buildings were still standing, but there were no guards.

  The road was now numbered 99. On the navigation screen, he saw that it went north along the river. The 99 then turned into the 395, but the river remained on his right as a neighbor. Finally, the road got the EU number 45, but somehow without becoming a millimeter wider.

  “In eight hundred meters, turn right.”

  Peter jumped, as the car hadn’t spoken for so long a time he’d forgotten it had that feature. The intersection seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. A sign pointed to the ‘Ice Hotel,’ which must be nearby. Now his destination was just a few minutes away. He crossed a river, which seemed to him more like the junction of two lakes, and drove through a small town called Jukkasjärvi, where hardly any lights were burning even though it was only half past ten.

  To get to Reindeer Lodge, he took a gravel road that he would not have found without the navigation program—he only discovered the tiny signpost the next morning. At least the dirt road had been cleared of snow. After about 500 meters, he came across a row of wooden huts spread between trees.