Skywave

by K Patrick Donoghue

  For more than twenty years, Amato had been advocating his fleet concept for deep space exploration. The birth of the idea had coincided with the first design of The Rorschach Explorer, as Amato had always believed the two provided a symbiotic solution for many of the dilemmas posed by deep space travel.

  He drew the idea of a manned mothership supported by a fleet of unmanned drones from his days serving on an aircraft carrier as a newly commissioned second lieutenant. Even though aircraft carriers are formidable naval vessels, they do not go into battle on their own. They are accompanied by a collection of warships, supply ships and reconnaissance vessels that form the carrier’s “strike group” support.

  In Amato’s mind, past NASA manned spacecraft designs relied too heavily on single-ship concepts — ships that required multiple levels of redundancy and had to contain all components, spare parts and supplies necessary to carry out their intended missions. These designs were slow to build and launch given their complexity. They were also expensive, leaving them open to public criticism and congressional budget cuts. The latter often resulted in a ripple effect of delays, redesigns and canceled projects. And despite their built-in redundancies, spacecraft still experienced component failures...and always would. While NASA’s quick-thinking engineers, physicists and astronauts had overcome their fair share of component failures through ingenious work-arounds, Amato questioned their ability to perform the same magic when a ship was hundreds of millions of miles away instead of orbiting Earth or the Moon.

  Amato believed his fleet concept offered a more practical solution to deep space travel, and for many years he had lobbied NASA to join forces to develop the concept further, offering to fund half the program’s costs. But the harsh reality of the matter was that deep space manned missions were not priorities for NASA. The challenges were too great and the agency’s funding too limited, even with Amato’s generous offer. Plus, there was plenty of low-hanging fruit to pluck in deep space with unmanned probes.

  So, Amato had continued research on his own, hoping one day to recapture NASA’s interest. Then, in 2013, at the age of seventy-three, he suffered a near-fatal heart attack, an event that led him to confront his mortality in stark terms. Viewing his survival as a second chance, an opportunity for a fresh start, Amato had gone all in to turn his long-held dream into a reality. He set a ten-year goal to launch a privately financed manned mission to explore space beyond the Moon. He committed twenty-five billion dollars, two-thirds of his fortune, to accomplish the task. He hired the brightest minds he could find and built the finest research facilities available.

  For the first four years, they toiled without achieving significant breakthroughs, but then like a dam bursting, they’d punched through with a series of technology innovations over the past year. With each breakthrough, Amato pushed them harder, for he now viewed a deep space manned mission within two years as a realistic possibility, eclipsing his original goal by three years. Now the team met weekly…and Amato led the meetings.

  “Okay, next up is Guidance. Where do we stand on the drone test results?” Amato asked Dante. As an interim step before conducting space trials, the team had tested the CubeSat fleet management software in a convoy of drones.

  “Mixed,” Dante said. “The fleet did well with the steady-state trial. They flew from here to the Ascension Island center without incident. On the way back, when we introduced random system failures, our deadheads woke as they should but there was some command conflict with other drones in the convoy. We also had some sensor failures and recording glitches, but nothing catastrophic. We’ll be ready for the next round of trials on schedule.”

  “Good. I want to up the degree of difficulty in the next round, and I want programmers standing by to send live new instructions when problems arise,” Amato said.

  “Okay. How far do you want to push degree of difficulty?” Dante asked. “We were planning a mix of altitude, terrain and mission duration challenges.”

  “Push ’em past tolerance levels. I want to see how the fleet and Mission Control handle high-stress scenarios,” Amato said.

  “Roger that,” Dante said. He turned to look at the engineers seated against the wall behind him. “Better get working on it right away.”

  As three of them shut their laptops and left the room, Amato checked off another item on his agenda. “Moving on to propulsion. What’s the latest with the plasma chamber redesign?”

  Dante signaled Kiera to answer. She cleared her throat and leaned forward so that Amato could see her at the far end of the table on the right. “We modified the electron-gun mount instead of redesigning the chamber. That seemed to do the trick in our lab simulations. We still have one problem to solve, but it’s not really a propulsion issue.”

  “What is the problem?” Amato asked.

  “It’s a drone coordination issue,” Dante said.

  “Right,” Kiera said. “As you recall, we’re trying to negate the need for an elaborate onboard radiation shield for Rorschach by creating a magnetosphere-like bubble around the ship, and then injecting VLF radio waves from the fleet drones into the bubble.”

  “Yes, I recall,” Amato said. “So what’s the issue? I thought the lab tests of the shield were successful.”

  “Interference,” Dante said. “We need to communicate with the drones. They need to communicate with each other. We knew creating a magnetic bubble around the fleet, and propagating VLF waves inside it, would create some communication issues. We think the ion output from the VLF engines may exacerbate the issue.”

  “Right, but there’s no way to know how big of an issue it is until we test it in space,” Kiera said.

  “It’s not a huge holdup,” Dante said. “We can test the engine in our CubeSat space trials. We can test the VLF shield independently, but more than likely we’re going to have to tinker with the comms in a combined trial.”

  The meeting lasted for another hour. Dante tapped several other team members to provide progress updates on their high-altitude balloon, a.k.a. HAB, launch platform, CubeSat design and instrumentation development. When the meeting broke up, Dante cornered Amato for a private conversation while Kiera held an impromptu meeting with a fellow engineer to discuss next steps for the VLF engine and radiation shield.

  Kiera’s follow-up session was cut short when Amato asked her to join his conversation with Dante. She left her gear on the table and walked to the front of the room. When the last of the others passed through the door, Dante shut it and stood by Amato.

  “As you know, we need to define a fleet mission objective soon,” Amato said to Kiera. “I’ve told Dante I want something that gives us a chance to really flex our muscles. He tells me you might have an idea in mind.”

  Kiera looked at Dante. “Uh…”

  “It’s all right,” he said. “Go ahead and tell him. The Moon’s off the table now.”

  “Oh, okay,” she said. “How much did you tell him?”

  “Zippo. You’ve got a green field,” Dante said.

  Turning to Amato, Kiera said, “It’s very speculative.”

  “Sounds like my kind of project.” Amato grinned. He resumed his seat at the table and encouraged Dante and Kiera to join him. “Now, let’s hear it.”

  Dante stepped around Amato and slid into a chair on his right while Kiera took a seat on Amato’s left and folded her hands in her lap. “I met an amateur astronomer who believes he’s detected radio signals coming from one of Jupiter’s moons. Radio signals that he picked up listening to magnetic storms on Jupiter.”

  “What kind of radio signals?” Amato asked.

  “Unknown. They sound like clicks. In each recording where they appear, there are two sets of clicks that occur every three minutes,” Kiera said. “That’s very unusual. They’re certainly not consistent with common natural phenomena, like lightning. And they don’t appear to be caused by interference from Earth’s ionosphere or terrestrial sources.”

  “Interesting,” Amato said, rocking back in
his chair. “A moon of Jupiter, you say?”

  “Yes, Callisto,” she said.

  “How far away?”

  “About four hundred million miles,” Dante said. “If the VLF propulsion system functions as we hope, we could theoretically get there in less than six months. About three to four times quicker than NASA’s fastest-ever mission to Jupiter.”

  “Now, wouldn’t that be something!” Amato said with a wistful look in his eye. “Speaking of our friends at NASA, are they aware of these signals?”

  “Somewhat. The astronomer — his name is Ajay Joshi — tried several times to get NASA interested in his data, but they didn’t bite,” Kiera said.

  “Do you know who he talked to?” Amato asked.

  “He said he contacted the project manager for the Jupiter Icy Moons Explorer mission,” Kiera said.

  “Isn’t JUICE a European Space Agency project?” Amato asked.

  “Yes, but NASA has instrumentation that’ll be on board. It was the right place for Ajay to start. JUICE will spend a year around Callisto in 2031 or 2032, analyzing its internal composition and atmosphere,” Dante said. He turned to Kiera. “Didn’t you say he tried ESA too?”

  Kiera nodded. “He also tried JPL and multiple people involved with Radio JOVE. Other space agencies as well. JAXA, the Chinese, the Russians.”

  “Radio JOVE?” Amato questioned.

  “It’s a NASA program devoted to analyzing Jupiter’s magnetic storms,” Dante said. “It’s a neat initiative, but I’m not sure how much backing NASA puts behind it these days. It’s more of a loose consortium of universities who contribute data into a program that carries NASA’s name.”

  “It’s more than universities. Primary schools participate. So do amateur astronomers like Ajay. You can buy a radio telescope kit from Radio JOVE, set it up yourself and listen in to the storms. You can post your recordings and data online, access others’ recordings and data. That’s what Ajay did. It’s where he first heard the clicks,” Kiera said.

  “No one at Radio JOVE took him seriously either?” Amato asked.

  “No. I’m not sure anyone even looked at his data or listened to his recordings. The replies he received suggested the clicks were radio interference. Honestly, though, I’m not sure they would have found his research credible if they had reviewed it. He didn’t do the greatest job building support for his case.”

  “But you think differently? You found his data credible?” Amato asked.

  “I didn’t use his data. I did an independent assessment,” she said.

  “And?”

  Kiera paused and looked again at Dante. He said, “Don’t hold back, Kiera.”

  “In my opinion, there is a strong probability Ajay is right about where the signals are coming from. And I can say with confidence the clicks on his recordings aren’t consistent with any natural phenomenon I was able to identify,” she said.

  “Then what are they? What’s producing them?” Amato asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “What does Ajay think they are?” Amato asked.

  “Aliens,” Dante said before Kiera could answer. “He thinks there are aliens broadcasting a greeting message or a distress signal.”

  “What? No wonder NASA gave him the cold shoulder,” Amato said with a smile. Turning to Kiera he asked, “What are other possibilities?”

  Kiera shrugged. “If it weren’t for a couple of factors, I’d say the most logical explanation is magnetic interference caused by Callisto passing in front of Io.”

  She explained that Io boosts the radio waves from Jupiter’s magnetic storms as it passes between Earth and Jupiter and that the clicks are only detectable on recordings where Callisto’s orbit transits the path of Io.

  “But you don’t think it’s magnetic interference?” Amato asked.

  “It’s definitely magnetic, but I don’t think it’s interference. The click pattern is too constant, too predictable,” she said.

  “I agree with Kiera,” Dante said. “If you took Callisto out of the equation, the clicks could be explained by electrical interference here on Earth, say from an appliance or device in proximity to the radio telescope listening to Jupiter. The appliance powers on and off every three minutes, causing a click or pop to infiltrate the radio signals from Jupiter.”

  “Right, but there are multiple Radio JOVE recordings with the clicks. They were made by different listening stations at different locations over a fifteen-month span,” Kiera said.

  “So, it’s unlikely the clicks originate on Earth,” Dante said.

  “Correct. Unless there are identical devices near each listening station, each synchronized to power on and off every three minutes, and set to only turn on and off when Jupiter, Io, Callisto and Earth are lined up,” Kiera said.

  “Are you suggesting there’s an appliance on Callisto? A balky refrigerator short-cycling, perhaps?” Amato chuckled.

  “Wouldn’t that be something.” Kiera smiled.

  “All kidding aside,” Dante said, “the clicks are hard to explain in the absence of an identifiable source of interference.”

  “Okay. Speculate. Beyond interference, what could be causing them?” Amato asked.

  “We haven’t come up with viable rational explanations,” Dante said.

  “Irrational, then,” Amato said.

  Dante gestured for Kiera to answer. “Well, there is definitely a beacon-like quality to the clicks, especially given the repeating pattern…”

  “Are you saying you agree with Ajay? Aliens?” Amato asked.

  “No. The only semirational explanation that fits the data is a failed probe, something launched by NASA, ESA or one of the other space agencies that found its way to Callisto and either landed on the surface or was caught in its orbit,” Kiera said.

  Amato stirred in his seat. He nudged his chair closer to the table but said nothing as Kiera continued to speak. “I compiled a list of probes that launched toward the outer solar system, looking for ones where communication was lost. Most have been accounted for in some way or another, but there are several that were declared lost in space.”

  “Phobos-1,” Amato whispered.

  Kiera exchanged a look of surprise with Dante and then said, “That’s right. Phobos-1 was one of them.”

  Amato stood and began to pace, his head lowered. They watched him walk back and forth a few times before Dante asked, “Mr. Amato? Is there something wrong?”

  The billionaire didn’t appear to hear Dante. Instead, he continued to pace, muttering in a soft voice every so often. At last, he halted and looked up at Dante and Kiera. “Have you talked to anyone on the outside about Callisto? About lost probes? NASA? ESA? This Ajay fellow?”

  They both said no. Amato exhaled and sat back down. “Thank goodness.”

  “Why?” Dante asked.

  “Where is this Ajay now?” Amato asked Kiera.

  “Uh…he lives in Phoenix,” she said.

  “Get him here ASAP. As in tomorrow. I want to talk with him,” Amato said.

  “We can get him on the phone tonight if you’d like,” Dante said.

  “No, no. I want him here in person,” Amato said. He rose from the table and started for the door. As Kiera and Dante gathered their belongings, Amato wheeled around. His facial expression was as grave as his tone. “Do not mention Phobos-1 to anyone. It should remain confidential between the three of us for now.”

  As midnight approached, Kiera shut down her office and headed for the elevator. At this hour, the office level of the Mayaguana complex was quiet, save for the hum from the computer room down the hall. Kiera pressed the down button and massaged her neck as she thought once more about the odd end to the meeting with Amato.

  She had yet to find an opportunity to circle back to discuss it with Dante, as he was absent from his office when Kiera stopped by after arranging Ajay’s visit. She had hoped to stop by again after she relayed the details of Ajay’s itinerary to Amato’s assistant, but that plan had
been scotched when Amato appeared from his office and requested she prepare a presentation of her findings before calling it a night.

  By the time Kiera sent off the email to Amato with the requested presentation, Dante’s office was dark and he was nowhere to be found. She had checked the Mission Control Center, the cafeteria and his dormitory quarters but struck out in all three places.

  His disappearance was as confounding to Kiera as the earlier meeting with Amato. She knew Dante was mystified by Amato’s reaction to her lost-probe explanation. She saw it in his eyes and mannerisms before and after Amato departed. Kiera had expected him to say something once they were alone, but he hadn’t. Instead, Dante had asked her to contact Ajay, and then suggested they touch base later in the day.

  The ping signaling the elevator’s arrival roused Kiera from her thoughts. Inside the empty car, she pressed the LL2 button and watched the doors close. During the three-floor descent, she pondered why Dante had chosen to raise Ajay and his clicks. He hadn’t been impressed by the clicks when they listened to them at her apartment, and his feedback on her data had been lukewarm. But then again…Kiera realized Dante was feeling pressure from Amato.

  The technology oligarch had invested billions into his space exploration firm over the past several years, and the only things they’d launched into orbit thus far were CubeSat prototypes with astronaut-mice aboard. Even though Amato had never verbally expressed frustration about their slow progress, everyone had felt the weight of his unspoken angst. None more so than Dante, Amato’s right-hand man and rainmaker. Kiera had hoped the pressure would abate after their recent slew of breakthroughs, but instead Amato had dialed up expectations.

  Some on the team thought Amato was hot to make a splash, to beat his billionaire buddies in the race to space. Others thought he lusted to show up NASA, to get back at them for ignoring his ideas for so many years. But Kiera didn’t think Amato’s drive was about his ego. To her, he had an earnest desire to return humans to space and push exploration beyond the solar system.