Proxima Trilogy: Part 1-3: Hard Science Fiction

by Brandon Q Morris

  Inside the visitor center it was cold. Maribel opened the control panel next to the entrance and turned on the lights and heating. The first batch of visitors—an English group—would arrive in two hours. As the newest employee, it was her job to lead paying tourists through the facility. The official reason for this was, it would help her in becoming familiar with the entire observatory. In reality, these guided tours were only an annoying chore. Public relations were important, but people who were allowed to work here, one of the top three astronomy sites worldwide, did not want to explain to fat Englishmen or know-it-all Germans what an exoplanet was. No, they wanted to do research, prove themselves, and answer questions no scientist had managed to answer before.

  There. She had started daydreaming again. Top research. What a joke! Maribel had struggled to earn excellent grades through five years of physics at college, all so she could apply at the best observatories in the world. And then her boss made her do what was essentially an intern’s job. Just the fact that she had to appear as the first employee at 9 a. m. on New Year’s Day and turn on the heating for the tourists was an outrage. She really should tell this to her boss, but would she do it? No.

  Maribel leaned against the radiator unit integrated into the wall. Comforting warmth reached her back. She looked around the single room of the visitor center, which measured seven by seven meters. The tourists were going to see a short introductory video on the monitor screen. Then the infrared camera would be used—another museum piece, even older than her SEAT.

  The camera saw the heat radiated by people—red for warm and blue for cold. The camera image appeared on the screen and would seem like a miracle to the tourists. They would wave at each other like little kids and then grimace, just because they were seeing something they had never seen before, even though it had always existed and they were constantly carrying it around—their own thermal radiation. It was really easy to get people excited. Then when you explained to them that they were blind to 99 percent of the electromagnetic spectrum, an awed silence would usually descend upon the group.

  Maribel wondered how it had all started for her, her interest in the stars. Why did she stand in the cold, night after night? Why did she suffer the temper of her boss? It was probably the fault of Amy Michaels, the commander of the legendary mission to Enceladus. Maribel was 12 when she met Amy at the Kennedy Space Center in Florida, where her father had booked a family tour accompanied by an astronaut. Amy, as she introduced herself to them, made a deep impression on Maribel. The former commander was already a legend, but did not think herself too good to lead curious tourists through the NASA complex. She even seemed to have fun doing it. Maribel felt guilty at this memory, because she herself did not really look forward to the tourists.

  Since that event she had always stated that she wanted to become an astronomer, a decision she stuck with over the years. Flying into space herself had not seemed efficient to her. Sure, some things could be only solved through personal observation. But traveling for several years inside a tin can in order to do research for a few weeks required a certain type of personality. Luckily, she had not known that she first would have to spend endless days leading visitors through the observatory before finally being allowed to do astronomical research.

  Maribel sighed and turned off the light. She had already performed her second-most-important task of the day. If nothing changed, she would have to apply for another job soon. She was mad at herself, because she should have foreseen this situation: Among top researchers, four out of five being men, she as the newcomer was considered barely more than an intern. At least her boss had not yet asked her to make coffee.

  She squinted while she walked across the field to the building of OGS 2. She followed a dirt track, the ground a greyish-black. Due to the constant wind, the only snow left was behind the larger volcanic rocks scattered across the area. From outside, the OGS 2 looked like a typical telescope—a white revolving dome on a round platform, which in turn sat on a square foundation. Yet the visitors were always amazed when she told them this was a kind of high-rise building, since it had twenty floors. Most were subterranean, and on level nine was the office she shared with her boss.

  A voice greeted her from the loudspeaker beside the door. “Good morning, Maribel.” The surveillance camera must have recognized her from afar, even though she had pulled her scarf up to her nose.

  Access to the telescope, which was worth many million euros, was strictly regulated. Maribel deliberately frowned at the camera. She entered an anteroom where she had to wait for a few seconds, and then the door opened inward. The corridor led directly to an elevator. Even two years after the opening of the facility, everything still smelled new. The elevator door opened as if by magic. There was no control panel inside the cab—the building already knew she wanted to go to the ninth floor, since she had no business going elsewhere. Therefore, the elevator automatically stopped on the ninth floor without her even mentioning her intended destination. If she were to change her mind, she would have to give an order to the building AI. So far, the elevator wasn’t able to read her mind, but this wasn’t a technical problem. It was just that laws in most countries worldwide prohibited a mental mind-machine interaction in public spaces.

  The corridor down here looked just as unremarkable as the one on the ground floor. If not for the space Muzak playing in the background, one might mistake this for an office building belonging to a bank. At the end of the corridor were two doors on each side. They displayed large numbers and letters. Maribel reached 9D and almost crashed into the white surface with its artificial woodgrain pattern. Why didn’t the damned door open automatically? The building AI knew exactly where she wanted to go. Then she remembered—the doors did not open automatically if there was someone already inside the room. This was meant to protect the occupant’s privacy, and because she shared the office with her boss, this must mean he was already sitting at his desk. On New Year’s Day, shortly after 9 o’clock in the morning! Hadn’t he recently told her he was going to spend New Year’s Eve in Germany? How had he made it back to the office so quickly?

  Maribel pressed the large white button next to the door. Now the building AI would ask the person in the room whether he agreed to let Ms. Maribel Pedreira enter. Why is it taking so long? Maribel took a deep breath and exhaled. She was sweating and wanted to get rid of her thick jacket. The fact that her boss was here before she was did not bode well.

  Then the door finally opened. Her boss looked up and smiled at her when she entered. Not just that, he even got up and helped her take off her jacket... and hung it on a hook next to the door.

  “And a very good New Year to you,” he said, this time in almost accent-free Spanish, and formally extended his hand.

  “Thanks, the same to you, Mr. Zetschewitz.” She had a hard time pronouncing the German consonants. She was annoyed with herself but tried to hide this with a smile.

  “We agreed on using first names, Maribel,” her boss said.

  “Yes, sure, Happy New Year, Dieter. How come you are...”

  “Oh well, spending time with family can be pretty exhausting,” he said, interrupting her. “You probably know that. I am really glad to be back in the office. This also gives me the opportunity to talk to you about something I have wanted to mention for a while. Are you going to be busy today?”

  “The tour starts at 11 o’clock.”

  “Good. This won’t take that long. Do sit down, Maribel.”

  She followed his request and tried not to stare too inquisitively at her boss in the meantime.

  “When new hires were discussed last August I pushed very hard to get you onto my team. Have I ever mentioned this to you?”

  Maribel shook her head. Did he just use the word ‘team?’ Dieter Zetschewitz of all people? The man was a brilliant scientist, but it was well known he liked to work on his own.

  “No? Well, for better or worse, now you know it. I think you have settled in well, so far, haven’t you?�
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  “Yes, very well,” she said. So well that I really would like to do some actual work. Her mind was working now, but she remained silent.

  “I am glad to hear that. Now would be the time to get you involved in some serious research.”

  Maribel could not suppress a joyful smile. It certainly was about time! Her boss recently published quite a bit about the dynamics of spiral galaxies. There is still the issue of the missing...

  “I have a great paper here, published by some colleagues,” Zetschewitz said, interrupting her thoughts. “They are Spaniards, you might be glad to hear. It was published,” he said, briefly looking at the article in front to him, “in 2019, and in Nature Astronomy, no less.”

  Why is he telling me about this? This is ancient stuff, isn’t it? Maribel got nervous.

  “The two of them reported on their investigations of several trans-Neptunian objects. They were trying to find indications for a ninth planet in our solar system.”

  Maribel did not know the details, but she was aware that astronomers had been searching for an additional planet beyond Neptune for a long time. She recalled that until 1992, Pluto—a dwarf planet in the Kuiper belt, now designated 134340 Pluto—had been considered the 9th planet in the solar system. Then several objects of similar size were discovered in the Kuiper belt... There had been tiny details in the orbits of small objects out beyond Neptune whose cause, according to each theory, was believed to be a planet the size of Mars or Neptune. In the end, all of this was proved to be errors of measurement, and Neptune remained the last planet.

  “Well, that didn’t work out too well,” she said.

  “You are correct. In spite of it, this paper caused a big stir back then. A mysterious planet in the depths of space—something like that wasn’t just of interest to astronomers, but also to the news media.”

  “I don’t quite understand what you are getting at, Dieter.”

  “I noticed the two Spaniards employed a very interesting analytical method in their paper. For their observations they could only use one of the old telescopes, so the quality of the data was not particularly high. They tried to compensate for this disadvantage with a clever mathematical method during data analysis.”

  “They couldn’t help it back then. Luckily, we have better data these days.”

  “That’s exactly the problem. We astronomers—and I include myself—always jump at the newest, most precise data. We don’t even try to get more out of our older data by especially clever analytical methods anymore. And if the instruments suddenly don’t improve for a few years, science is in a crisis.”

  “You mean NASA’s problems launching the new space telescope.”

  “Not just that. I would just like to return to the good old values at the beginning of the century.”

  “By sending me to the research museum?”

  “No, you misunderstand me, Maribel. Apart from the larger issues, I also hope to solve my own problems with your help. In studying the dynamics of galaxies, I seem to have come up against a precision limit for measurement data. Maybe the method used way back when will help here. I do have some knowledge of math, but basically I am an astronomer, a watcher. But you have a master’s degree in astrophysics, with excellent grades ...”

  “You want me to apply the old method to the dynamics of galaxies?”

  “Well, no... familiarizing yourself with galactic dynamics would take too long.”

  Maribel thought she understood what her boss was trying to say. The big topic, which might answer the question about the nature of dark matter and gain him a Nobel Prize, that was to belong to him, and him alone. He was like the top surgeon who operated on the living heart and saved the patient. She was only supposed to build him the tool he needed for the operation. Now it became clear to her why Zetschewitz wasn’t known for working with teams.

  “What exactly do you need?” she asked.

  “I would like you to apply the method used by the two researchers on the newest orbital data available today for trans-Neptunian objects.”

  “And what is that supposed to do? We already know there is no ninth planet.”

  “You could get a nice little publication out of it, which confirms this insight with much higher precision.”

  Maribel bit her lips. Zetschewitz had something here. Even proving the nonexistence of a phenomenon with much higher precision than before was of some scientific value. Nature Astronomy, where the original article appeared, would certainly publish her paper. Perhaps this might get her the reputation she needed to apply for a job elsewhere. Zetschewitz, she now knew, would never let her do research on an important topic, since he considered himself too much of a genius. She noticed her boss gazing intently at her, as if trying to read her thoughts.

  “That’s a good idea,” she finally said. Zetschewitz’s expression brightened. The topic seemed to be of great importance to him. He must urgently need that new tool, she thought.

  “How long do you think you’ll need?” he asked.

  “Hard to say. I haven’t even read the article.”

  He tossed the journal he was holding toward her, and she caught it. It was an original issue of Nature Astronomy, May 2019. The old journal must be worth hundreds of euros.

  “Then read it,” he said. “In May there is a convention in Mexico. I would like to be able to use the method by then.”

  Maribel nodded. It was a challenge. She would handle it.

  “I will personally make sure you get access to the newest data feeds. And I will set up a sub-account for you with the supercomputer of the IAC at La Laguna. That monster will provide results at lightning speed, no matter what you need to calculate.”

  Ahha! It was still a task from the scientific Stone Age, but at least she would not have to work with hammer and chisel. Not too bad for a start. She was glad Zetschewitz was in such a hurry. That way he would exert his best efforts to help her finish her own little paper—and her ticket to a new job. She hoped so!

  “Don’t forget the tourist group at eleven, right, Maribel?”

  “Of course not, Dieter,” she replied. Up yours!

  January 2, 2072, 2003 EH1

  Doug sat alone at the living room table. He had a sheet of paper in front of him and was chewing at the end of a pencil he held in his hand. The sheet was still completely blank. This pretty much corresponded with his knowledge of the object approaching the asteroid. Doug stared intently at the white sheet. The end of his graphite pencil tasted awful. Why have I never noticed that until now? Before launch he had bought an extra-large box of these pencils. It wasn’t easy to find them on Earth anymore. In space, pencils were irreplaceable, because they were sturdy and had no moving parts. Otherwise, people only tapped on screens, and read or talked or listened to them.

  The computer controlling Kiska, and now their little station, wasn’t much of a conversational partner. While it could be controlled by a microphone, it expected specific commands. Doug wasn’t ready for that yet. While he had sent Maria outside twice to check on the ship’s engines, this did not mean they would actually use the spaceship. Apart from the hissing and gurgling of the life support system, at the moment it was quiet down here, which rarely happened. Sebastiano was in the greenhouses on the surface, looking after the vegetables. The champagne bottle had survived and floated near the wall at half height. Yesterday’s dinner, a risotto, had been one of Sebastiano’s masterpieces. Unfortunately, one could not say that about the bland porridge he had served them today.

  Well, what did they know? Doug drew a circle on the paper. This was the asteroid, but then he erased it again. He had to start differently. He placed the sheet of paper sideways and drew a small circle in the middle. This was the sun. Then he drew three flat ellipses—squished ovals—of different sizes. Those were the orbits of Earth, Mars, and Jupiter. Between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter he added the asteroid belt as a dotted line. All four ellipses, those of the planets and those of the asteroids, were located on one plane.r />
  Now he added a new ellipse. It also moved around the sun, but was almost vertical to the other ellipses. He erased something again. Vertical, meaning 90 degrees, was too much. It had to be about 70 degrees, somewhat steeper than a clock dial pointing at eleven o’ clock. This was the course of the asteroid 2003 EH1, on which they were piggybacking through space.

  And then there was this unidentified object. They had no idea what it was. Kiska’s radar detected it, and the computer tracked its position. It approached with a speed of 10,000 kilometers per hour, but it would not hit the asteroid. They could simply wait and act as if nothing had happened. On the other hand, this object was about the only new thing they would see in the coming months. It surely would be good for the morale of the crew—and in particular, his own—if they paid it a visit.

  But what if it was dangerous? Doug looked at his drawing. He had the computer calculate this thing’s direction of movement. If he assumed that the foreign object moved on an elliptical course, like any body that was part of the solar system, and if he added that oval to his sketch, he would get a course that was almost as steep compared to the plane of the planets as that of 2003 EH1. Only it wasn’t the sun in its center, but Jupiter.

  But that was impossible, as he had learned during pilot training. While Jupiter was a gas giant, its force did not reach all the way out here. If the object moved as they measured it, it could not be orbiting Jupiter. Then it might be from outside the solar system. But its speed was too low for that, and the sun would have captured it long ago, so that it would be moving around the sun just like 2003 EH1. Or had it been sent on its way from a position near Jupiter? One could then say it had been launched like a rocket.

  Doug excluded the possibility that it was aimed at their location. Shostakovich was the only one who even knew they were here. In addition, it was practically impossible to hit something from such a distance. It had to be an enormous coincidence, meeting this object at this very moment in a small corner of space, allowing them to reach it via their spaceship. This was as probable as shooting an arrow from the Moon and hitting a specific apple in a specific orchard on Earth, but somehow that is what was happening. They simply could not pass up this chance for experiencing something new. And who knows? Maybe this thing is somehow valuable.