Arecibo Observatory, Commonwealth of Puerto Rico
October 12, 1992
“Gentlemen and ladies, what you are looking at is the archeology of the future. Five hundred years ago, Christopher Columbus left a stagnating Europe and discovered a new world. Because of his bold venture, the political, religious, and scientific world was changed forever.
“Today marks the beginning of another such adventure. From the moment the first human thought to raise his eyes above the ground out of which he sprang, he has sought physical and spiritual guidance in the stars. Starting today, instead of looking at the stars, we will listen to them. We do this in order to answer mankind’s greatest question: ‘Are we alone?’ The enthusiastic cooperation of dozens of nations is evidence that this quest has united humanity as never before.
“No one can predict when or if we will hear something, but the quest stands as its own reward. Who knows? Perhaps we will happen across a broadcast relic — or better yet — receive a message meant especially for us.”
Downrange, Cape Canaveral, USA
March 21, 2040
“Everything looks good, Colonel,” the co-pilot of the Achilles announced. His faceplate pointed downward as he focused on the dozens of readouts that made up the control panel.
“Agreed,” a woman’s voice responded. Her faceplate looked upward. Even though the ship’s computer brain steered the Achilles during takeoff far more accurately than any human pilot, the age-old admonition to “keep your eyes on the road” was a compulsion that few pilots had been able to resist since Kitty Hawk. Besides that, the baby blue Florida sky was giving way to the sparkling cobalt of space as the Space Plane climbed out of the atmosphere.
Ten minutes earlier, a signal from Mission Control had raced at nearly the speed of light through the DNA-laced circuits that formed the Achilles’ nervous system, causing its engines to roar to life in a pulse of chemical ecstasy. Unlike its predecessor the Space Shuttle, the Space Plane launched toward the stars horizontally down a five-mile runway. Also unlike the Shuttle, this next generation of manned orbital vehicle would make its return to the Kennedy Space Center in one piece. The “Black Horse” had quickly become the primary transport vehicle between the surface and the International Space Station “Freedom.” It hadn’t taken Runway #3 long to become as familiar to space enthusiasts of the 21st century as Launch Pad 39A had been during the moon race of the 1960s.
Colonel Samantha Jacobs glanced into a mirror at the dark-mustachioed passenger who sat in the seat normally reserved for the mission specialist. Hachiro Monda was already going pale as he sank deeper into his seat as the Achilles reached the end of the runway, pulled three Gs, and clawed its way into orbit. It was the first trip off earth for the Japanese engineer.
Although there had been instances of cooperation between the major space-faring nations, it took until the year 2040 for the United States, the Russian Federation, and China to grasp that unless they consolidated their resources, none would enjoy a profitable future in space.
“Fifteen seconds from orbital insertion,” Jacobs announced into the microphone that connected her to the co-pilot and to ground control. “Prepare for burn.” The appropriate thrusters fired and the ship turned its belly toward the sun so that the heat shield could provide protection against solar radiation. “Control, we have achieved our initial orbital path,” she reported to those who were monitoring from earth.
A voice with a west Texas accent sounded in her earpiece. “Roger that, Achilles. We show you on path for cargo deployment in T-minus three hours, 16 minutes. Mark.”
“Affirmative, control. Will check in as scheduled. Out.”
She removed her helmet. The motion drew her auburn hair to the top of her head where it floated in the absence of gravity as if she were underwater. Its length was just beyond regulation, but the way her co-pilot looked at her told her that he didn’t mind at all. Sam had gotten used to attracting attention from men over the years. A rare few of them had been dangerous and the rest were merely boorish. Paul was a mostly enjoyable flirt. After all, if he had really been interested in something more intimate, he would have made a move during the two years they had practically lived together in the flight school that served the United Space Agency.
She smiled knowingly. “If you don’t keep your mind on your work, you’ll end up sticking this thing where it doesn’t belong.” She stroked her hair down into place. “This is your maiden voyage after all.”
”Yes, Commander. And as you know, it is most exciting the first time,” his mock sheepishness sounded thick in his Russian accent. “I apologize for my temporary distraction,” he continued. “You are right that I am new to this vehicle. But you are forgetting my experience in the Russian space program. Say what you want — back then we truly had to fly ourselves in and out of space. Today’s ships run themselves.”
The Japanese passenger spoke in a weak voice, “What do you do if you think you’re going to throw up?”
“You have two options,” Sam answered. “The first is to hold it down. I would advise doing that, because you don’t want to experience the second.”
“Okay.” The engineer made a gulping sound.
Sam hooked her helmet into its niche and unbuckled her harness. Then she pushed off the seat and began floating toward the ceiling. “Just keep your fingers off the wrong buttons.” She grabbed a support ring and spun herself around to face aft. “Are you alright, Hachiro?”
The Japanese scientist removed his helmet. He turned his eyes toward Sam but kept his head still, as if afraid that any sudden motion might increase his nausea. “I will be fine.” He offered Zimrovich a weak smile. “I agree with you. She handled the launch very well.” He unfastened his harness and the action caused him to float upward from his chair. His face flushed and his eyes widened.
Zimrovich opened a cabinet and pulled out a plastic bag. “I think you’re going to need this,” he said just as Hachiro’s cheeks swelled. The engineer took the bag and bent to the task while Sam and Paul turned their attention to other matters.
Three hours later, Sam peered at their cargo through a six-inch diameter window in the airlock door. The satellite sat small and nondescript in the middle of the payload bay, temporarily fastened to the floor by clamps that would release moments before disposition. Its owner, an obscure firm located in the middle of rural south Florida, had agreed to the United Space Agency’s significant surcharge for adding it to the mission at such late notice.
Satellite deployments were a rare assignment for manned spacecraft. Most companies employed what had come to be called “orbital launch firms.” Deregulation and the cheapening of formerly high-priced rocket technology had resulted in the proliferation of many such companies that offered to place satellites in orbit. Poorer nations such as Somalia and Paraguay had found it an uncomplicated way to generate much-needed capital.
“You know this is my last trip,” Sam said over her shoulder.
“Da,” Paul answered. “You haven’t changed your mind, I see.”
She turned around and smiled. “I’ve seen enough of things up here.” Her focus shifted past him to the huge blue planet drifting beyond the front shield window. North America spun slowly past two hundred miles below. She stepped forward and pointed toward the sphere. “My place is right there.”
Zimrovich turned to look. “Where exactly? It’s a big planet.”
“Western South Dakota. The year before my older brother left for college, my family vacationed there. We spent Independence Day on Mount Rushmore. After that, we took the road through Spearfish Canyon on our way to Devil’s Tower.”
Paul dropped his gaze to Sam. “And this Spearfish Canyon is special to you?”
She nodded. “It was the most beautiful place I had seen for a long time. I guess I was like a lot of other kids at that time, their eyes locked onto video screens. When I saw that mountain stream and those tall pines, I knew I would comeback. I bought a forty acre place last summer – of course thirty of those acres are straight up.”
“You bought the side of a mountain?”
“Yeah.” Sam turned at the sound of tapping keys where Hachiro sat hunched over a laptop computer working an equation. The barf bag was nowhere in sight. “A few hours more and Japan will come over the horizon,” she mentioned, “but we don’t have the time to wait. Suit up. You too, Monda. We’ve got a satellite to launch.”
Minutes later, Colonel Samantha Jacobs led Commander Paul Zimrovich into the cargo bay. Monda stayed in the cockpit and observed them through the airlock’s window. Paul pressed a switch at Sam’s signal and opened the cargo bay doors. Reflected light from te earth bathed the inside of the bay. Monda watched Sam approach the satellite while Paul remained at a small console.
The plan was simple. Press one button and the clamps would release. Press another and the satellite would rise from its moorings on a blast of high-pressure air and then drift out into space on its own momentum. When it reached a safe distance, small rockets would ignite and start it on a trajectory that would conclude in a geo-synchronous orbit over somewhere that they were not privy to.
“Achilles, this is command,” a voice spoke from hundreds of miles beneath the shuttle. “We show one minute to satellite insertion.”
“Roger that,” Paul answered. “Our boards are green.”
Sam gave him a thumbs-up signal. Sixty seconds later, Paul pressed a button and the securing clamps rotated back silently in the vacuum.
“Board remains green,” he reported.
“Command, we are ready to deploy payload,” Sam announced.
“Proceed, commander. Our telemetry remains good.”
“Deploying,” Paul said and pressed another button.
The satellite rose out of the bay on a stream of compressed air as particles of dust swirled around in the light. The satellite cleared the Achilles and shrank to little more than a speck against the greenish brown of the American plains. Sam turned her attention to the work of closing the bay doors and locking down the now empty bay. She looked at where the satellite had been and paused. Something didn’t look right.
“Do you see anything out of the ordinary?” she asked Zimrovich.
Paul gave a cursory glance around the bay and shrugged.
“Looks like an empty cargo bay to me.”
“Is your board still green?”
He looked down. “Da. No problems here.”
She shrugged and started toward the exterior door of the airlock. As her fingers closed around the handle of the airlock door, her mind put the pieces together and she realized what was wrong. She turned around and saw the gray block of metal on the floor of the cargo bay where the satellite had left it behind.
Five hundred yards above the Achilles, a countdown inside the satellite reached zero and a message contained in a beam of invisible light raced back toward the Space Plane.
“What is that?” she pointed.
Paul turned to see what his commander was concerned about. “What . . .?”
A small but powerful device detonated within the block and blew a hole in the side of the ship, rupturing the fuel lines. The mixture erupted into a ball of fire that exploded into space carrying Samantha Jacobs and Paul Zimrovich with it. A second explosion blew the airlock door apart and separated the cargo bay from the rest of the ship. Hachiro Monda might have survived a while longer had he followed his commander’s order and secured his helmet to his space suit. The air was sucked out of his lungs as the vacuum stole his final scream.
Mortally wounded, the ruins of the Achilles started an unplanned descent that would deposit its remains in the Pacific Ocean seventy-five miles southwest of Samoa. Fifteen minutes later, the satellite received a signal from a ground station. A hatch opened in its side and several panels of radar-absorbing material swung forth and wrapped around it, leaving only a small antenna exposed. A series of rocket burns moved it into a higher geo-synchronous orbit above the Aegean Sea where it powered down and awaited its next orders.