Galactic Startup

by Brian Whiting

  cover to be inserted

  Galactic Startup

  Brian Whiting

  Copyright© 2018 Brian Whiting

  Editor: John Wallis

  Book cover and layout: Damonza.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Coming soon! Book 2

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Breakthrough

  Deep within Alex’s backyard was a large shed. It was cunningly positioned just out of sight of his neighbors. Inside the shed was a modified cargo container, like the ones you see on trains or vessels out at sea. Adrenaline fluttered through him as he approached the container and ducked inside. His three friends were already getting the improbable box up and running. He pulled the heavy door shut behind him. Reaching up, he clicked a latch into place, sealing them all inside.

  “Ready?” Alex had a smile on his face and moved with impatience, sweat already forming on his skin. It was hot and sticky inside the dark container. He sat in one of the four seats - two facing each of the longer walls.

  “Our drive system is online and everything else is reading nominal. It’s not like we have a startup sequence.” Jorge adjusted his cap to better see the screen. Alex looked over at him.

  “Just tell me we’re not going to explode.”

  “Relax. We’ve done the tests a million times. And you know I’m allergic to explosions.”

  Alex looked to his right at Zeek, his best friend. Zeek noticed his childish frown.

  “Don’t look at me to make you feel better. I’m just sitting here like a complete idiot.” Zeek returned his gaze to the screen in front of him.

  “Activating the anti-gravity drive,” Jorge tapped the screen in front of him.

  Alex closed his eyes, expecting to feel movement. After a few moments, he looked at Zeek and then over his shoulder at Jorge. They were both grinning.

  “Seriously, man, chill out,” Jorge laughed. “Drive’s activated, but I haven’t applied power.” He dragged his finger across the screen. Timmy reached out for a fist bump.

  Alex scowled and turned to his own laptop, checking the five linked cameras were still recording. Without warning, his stomach lurched as the container teetered on its four corners. Timmy adjusted power levels on his console, careful to make sure they were calibrated. Soon they were floating steadily a foot off the ground, and the craft filled with cheers. They had tested the drive many times before, but never with them inside.

  Alex reached up and hit the garage-door opener. The shed, large enough to fit an RV, disturbed the nearby squirrels as the door engaged its motor and began to rise. The rodents scattered into the trees, the sole witnesses to what was about to occur.

  Alex addressed the camera above his head.

  “This is the USV Surprise embarking on its maiden voyage. If we’ve timed this right, our destination should be overhead shortly.”

  Jorge pushed the control stick forward, and four metallic pads beneath their vessel rotated. Alex still did not truly understand how the whole thing worked. He knew it had something to do with the dark matter they collected. When they applied a careful electric current, it repulsed gravity. The substance could have been sold for a substantial fortune, but they were much more interested in its other uses.

  The dark matter collector was as revolutionary as the anti-gravity engine itself. Jorge and Timmy theorized that several sheets of plied metal together in a dish shape could funnel the small, free-floating galactic dark matter particles into a collector. Of course, it required a lot of power to a magnetic assembly, combined with a thin filter of unique materials to attract the particles in the first place. The thing worked, but it took months to generate a quarter gram of dark matter. A bigger dish would mean they could collect faster, but they were working on a part-time budget. Plus, the dish was already big. It drew odd glances from people who visited Alex’s home.

  The sun had recently set as the black cargo container slipped out of the shed, quiet as a stalking cat, barely fitting through the door. It continued to float a foot or two above the ground, defying the known laws of physics. They couldn’t believe it was working.

  Beneath the container, a large I-beam was fixed along with the four rotatable metal disks that were used to repel the gravitational forces of the earth – one in each corner.

  The interior of the container resembled a college dorm in its disorganization. A spider web of cables, extension cords, and conduits decorated the walls and floor. A variety of old car batteries lined one end of the container where the wall met the floor. Proper lighting was an afterthought.

  “Increasing power,” Jorge dragged his finger across his screen.

  It wasn’t the increase in altitude that made Alex uneasy. It was the complete silence, like they were sitting in a flight simulator, or in his office, playing a video game. The only thing he could hear was the hum of the computers.

  Timmy was beaming, watching his idea come to fruition. He reached over and pushed a small button on the edge of the desk. A small, three-inch vent on the wall closed and sealed.

  Air was a huge concern. There was no air exchange system or CO2 scrubber. They calculated they would have enough time to get there and back before any serious problems arose. It would be a very short trip – more than a couple of hours and they would not survive.

  “I want to do a high-altitude maneuvering test before we exit the troposphere,” said Timmy.

  “I thought you and Jorge had the numbers on this already,” Alex closed his eyes and wondered if Timmy was looking for an excuse to back out.

  “At ground level, sure, but we don’t know how the drive will react when we’re farther away from the surface.”

  “OK, do what you’ve gotta do, but we’re going,” Alex said, determined. Deep down, he knew that if either Timmy or Jorge pushed the issue, they would have to turn back.

  ***

  “Hey Pete, check this out.”

  Supervisor Pete was a large but humble man. He made his way to Stacy’s control station, where she monitored flights to the Orlando International Airport.

  “I’ve got an unknown on my screen. It’s a NORDO.”

  A light blinked at the outermost range of her screen. The small icon where the ID should have been was blank.

  “Weird. Look at its ascent.” She pointed.

  Pete inspected the screen. The unknown was at twenty-seven thousand feet and climbing at a rate of a thousand feet every few seconds.

  “Hmm. Slower than a rocket, faster than a balloon. Too high to be a helicopter. It’s going straight up?” Pete mused. “Keep watching, I’ll make a call to NORAD.”

  ***

  “We are approaching thirty thousand feet,” said Jorge.

  “I’m worried about the air. Can we speed this up?” Alex asked, as he glanced from his friends to the timer on the computer.

  “Sure. Let’s just do a quick test at forty thousand.” Timmy reduced power to the drive. At the desired altitude, the vessel came to a stop. Anyone looking would have seen a box simply hovering in the air.

  “How much power are we using to maintain this altitude?” Alex couldn’t understand the readings on the screen.

  “I’m happy to say not much more than on the surface.”

  “Not bad, for a few half-dead car batteries,” said Zeek, never taking his eyes off his
own screen. The others smiled in agreement.

  Jorge took the control stick and made a few quick turns.

  “Maneuvering is nominal. Increasing power.”

  ***

  Pete continued to watch the screen as Stacy waited for directions. Her regular operations had been handed over to a coworker, Adam, who was quietly directing air traffic on a secondary screen.

  “Still not responding,” said Pete.

  Stacy couldn’t tell who Pete was talking to on his headset.

  As they watched, the altitude began to rise again. Forty-one thousand, forty-three thousand, forty-six thousand. In a matter of seconds.

  “Unknown is gaining altitude fast. Passing sixty-five thousand right now.” He listened anxiously for a few moments. “Understood. Transfer me.”

  Pete looked at Stacy and mouthed the words, Orbital Space Command.

  ***

  “Seals seem to be holding,” said Jorge. The pressure tests they’d done in the shed were paying off. They were approaching zero atmosphere with no problems, a good sign that things were working.

  “Adjusting flight path for intercept. We’ll need to put on some speed.” Timmy was plotting a trajectory.

  Alex looked over. “What do you mean?”

  Timmy rolled his eyes. “You need a lot of speed to stay in a stable orbit. We’re just sitting still. They’ll zoom right past us.”

  “Can we catch up to them?” Alex frowned.

  “We’re about to find out. Adjusting power and rotating disks.”

  “How high are we right now?” Alex asked Zeek.

  “Our instrument gauge only goes to one hundred thousand feet. We passed that a minute ago.”

  Alex unbuckled his restraints and drifted away from the seat. A moment later, he pushed against the ceiling.

  “Damn!” he yelped. Cold shot through his hand. The others were more envious than concerned. Alex was the first to experience weightlessness.

  “The walls are freezing. Don’t touch them,” he whimpered, too shocked to appreciate the lack of gravity. They knew space was cold, but it was an oversight to think that the warmth in the box would linger. He cradled his hand as he floated back to his seat. Zeek reached out to guide him. As he strapped back in, he noticed the timer. It had passed twenty-five minutes. Timmy increased power – all four of them experienced the crushing weight of rapid acceleration. “We need to dock soon. We’re about to hit halfway on our air.” Which, he thought, was getting cooler by the second.

  Alex looked towards the two cargo doors. One had been modified with a thick sheet of plexiglass. A three by two-foot window. Through it, they could observe the inky void, and catch a glimpse of… something hanging there in space.

  “Can you see it?” Timmy asked, craning his neck.

  “I think so,” said Alex. Even as he said it, the object drew closer and they could tell it was their destination.

  Only in space do you truly realize how small you are. He remembered when he was a boy visiting the beach for the first time. The water was so expansive and endless. The same feeling of awe had returned.

  ***

  On the International Space Station, a shrill alarm and flashing lights broke the quiet.

  Commander Mason opened his eyes. Every time he woke, there was a disorientation he had to overcome. His Velcro sleep sack kept him firmly strapped against a bulkhead. He pulled off the straps and reoriented himself. With practiced precision, he pushed off the bulkhead and glided towards the control module.

  “What’s wrong?” he called. As Mason approached the command module, he could see his astronaut colleagues were transfixed by something outside the window.

  “Unidentified object. About three hundred meters away and closing,” Lt. Commander Cindy replied. She was using one of the many expensive cameras to take pictures. Adding a telephoto lens, her hands rotated clockwise for close-up shots. “It’s a cargo container!”

  Cindy sent the image to the station computer via their wireless network.

  “We are receiving a transmission!” Lt. Commander Taggert was strapped into a communications terminal.

  “From the box?” Mason peered over Taggert’s shoulder.

  “No, it’s SC.”

  “Maybe they can explain what is going on here,” Mason mumbled, without real hope. He reached out for the headset.

  A voice on the other end sounded world-weary.

  “Commander Mason. This is Blake at Space Command. We are tracking an unidentified object approaching your location.”

  “Acknowledged. We have eyes on. Sending you data.” Mason looked at Taggert who nodded his head in return. His fingers danced across the keyboard. Mason stared at the picture on the fifty-four-inch display screen. It was a live feed from an exterior camera. The cargo container was re-orienting itself to the station. They could easily make out a painted American flag on the outside. The rest of the container was painted black.

  Chinese cosmonaut Xi Lin entered the module.

  “What’s happening?” he asked.

  “We don’t know. But is has our flag on it.”

  A light blinked among Taggert’s controls. He pushed the button and attached a different headset.

  “Uhh, Commander? They are talking.”

  Mason snapped his head towards Taggert’s terminal. He adjusted his headgear. The others watched him.

  “Could be an attack?” Xi asked.

  “What could we do, if it is? We are thousands of miles from the nearest weapon.” Mason hesitated for just a moment before activating his comms. “This is Commander Mason of the International Space Station. With whom am I speaking?”

  “Uh, hi Commander Mason. My name is Alex Prager. Me and my friends made a spacecraft, and we wanted to bring you gifts in the spirit of celebration and gratitude for everything you’re doing. We would like to dock so we can drop them off.” The voice seemed to quiver, like the speaker was cold.

  Mason looked at Cindy.

  “They want to dock. They brought presents.”

  Cindy pointed to the speaker. They had heard everything and were exchanging concerned glances.

  After a few moments of silence, the voice spoke again.

  “I don’t mean to be pushy, but we need you to make a decision. We have a limited amount of air. And it’s getting awfully cold.

  Xi left the module, while Taggert was on his own headset, still talking to Blake at Space Command.

  “We are in communication with them, sir,” Taggert said to Blake. “They brought presents.”

  ***

  “We have about five minutes of air before we have to turn around and head back.” Alex said, which was obvious to everyone inside the USV Surprise. The four of them were listening to the conversation on their one speaker. Alex was getting worried that docking would be denied. He considered another option.

  “I’d love to give you guys a tour of our little vessel,” he said, knowing there wasn’t much to show.

  “That sounds nice, Alex. Can you create a sealed dock with the station?” Mason asked, his tone both doubtful and patronizing.

  “Yes, we believe we can.” Timmy was already maneuvering the container to one of the airlocks to begin the docking process.

  A thin, rubber sheet was attached to the side of the container with the doors. Four small, hydraulic arms, encased in a large, rubber sock attached by strong elastic cords, extended toward the docking collar. When the arms completely covered the module, Timmy released the cords, snapping the rubber all the way around the hatch and part of the module, creating their own seal.

  “I am going to equalize the pressure. Get ready to head back to earth if we run into a problem,” said Timmy. Alex considered the wisdom of what they had done to reach this point and decided he would take greater safety precautions on any subsequent attempts. Timmy pushed a small button. A one-inch hatch slid open, and air from the container rushed into the inner space of the rubber sheet.

  “I hope this works,” said Timmy, rubbing hi
s hands against his legs for warmth. “Pressurizing the airlock thinned out the air.” Even as he said it, he imagined the horror of CO2 poisoning.

  Alex opened the container door, but the rubber sock was constricting its movement and it couldn’t open fully. Yet another thing they had not considered.

  They pushed it open just enough for the crew to squeeze out. Alex activated a headlamp and used a strap to tighten the rubber to the module. Then he cut out a hole to get access to the airlock, turning the rubber sock into a sleeve connected to both structures. When he finished, he simply knocked on the door to the International Space Station three times. Each knock pushed him a little away from the airlock. He could hear the others entering the very confined space of the disposable rubber sleeve behind him.

  “Careful not to touch the metal. It’s freezing,” he said, his voice shaking with the awful cold.

  It occurred to him they might die from cold before they died from lack of quality air. The airlock had a small glass window, and he could see people approach the door from the other side. He shone a light on himself and his three friends, since they were invisible to the ISS crew inside the lightless docking collar.

  Alex peered at the crew of the space station in turn. They seemed to be arguing about something.

  ***

  “This whole thing is crazy,” said Mason.

  “Look at them. They must be right out of high school. Just kids.”

  “Kids who just docked to an orbiting space station,” said Xi, appearing behind Mason and Cindy. Mason tried not to appear startled. “They must be considered a threat. They certainly don’t have clearance to be in here,” Xi continued.

  Mason pursed his lips while he studied Xi’s expression. He was right, of course.

  “Agreed. However, we have good reason to believe this is an emergency medical situation. I will open the airlock and take full responsibility for the consequences. We will need to inspect the vessel as soon as possible.”

  “Allow me to volunteer,” Cindy shared the general curiosity to discover how these young men could possibly be here.

  “If you are both are going, I will go as well,” Xi stated while moving closer to the airlock.