Stars Rain Down Read online

  The main doors were on the eastern side, surrounded by a half-circle of stone columns arrayed as a sundial. They tracked the sun’s daily and yearly journeys through the sky, a simple reminder of Earth’s endless whirling journey through space.

  Beyond that sat a sunken courtyard with a black memorial wall, inscribed with the name of every human being known to have perished in space exploration. The monument was inspired by the Vietnam Memorial still standing in old Washington DC, and oddly, both monuments were made of granite from the same Bangalore quarry less than ten kilometers away.

  As usual, Marcus passed the wall without pausing, and promised himself he’d stop and read the names next time. It was always next time.

  Leaning heavily on a metal cane, he limped past the wall, through the towering columns and headed straight for the automatic glass doors. He was thankful for that last detail. His tours in space were growing longer and more frequent, and that coupled with his natural aversion to exercise made every return to gravity more difficult—more painful—than the last. This time, he’d endured two weeks of physical therapy after touchdown, and his legs still felt like chewing gum in July. He wouldn’t be walking at all without the cane, and normal everyday doors were more trouble than he cared for.

  As he limped up to doors, the GAF emblem loomed above. It was a circular seal with shape that could have been a great red bird soaring to the stars. He wasn’t sure, really. The design was terribly abstract, and the bird could as easily have been a spaceship, a boomerang, or man’s indomitable will to greatness. It was anyone’s guess.

  The foundation’s motto was written in golden letters around the seal, reading “Ab terra, ad infinitum et ultrum.” Marcus failed high school Latin, but he was pretty sure that meant, “From Earth, to infinity and beyond.” He often wondered if a certain cartoon studio paid for the product placement, and that thought always put a smile on his face, no matter how onerous the task before him.

  This time was different, though. Utterly unique. Usually, Marcus was there against his will, bureaucratically kidnapped in order to give seminars about his methods, or appear before this board or that committee to explain himself. Not this time. No, Marcus had a plan, and had pulled in favors from every corner of the Foundation for an opportunity to sit in on the Budget Oversight Committee’s monthly meeting.

  That didn’t stop him groaning on his way in.

  The interior was as unfriendly as the exterior, and largely empty as a final proof that its construction was all pretense without purpose. Marcus thought symbolic of the culture of waste that had crippled the Foundation for decades, and he ground his teeth while calculating how many exploratory missions could have been funded on the cathedral’s budget. If he had his way, the Foundation’s bureaucracy would be pared down to two dozen full time accountants who would meet once a week at an all-night diner, but he thought that dream a little far fetched, even for him.

  The half-kilometer journey to the Goddard Meeting Hall was swift thanks to the network of moving pavement, or what he called the Great Conveyor Belts of Doom—he’d always had a flare for the dramatic—and he arrived early for a meeting for the first time in his life. The feeling was strange, maybe even a little refreshing, but nothing he intended to grow accustomed to.

  He took a seat and somehow survived the next three hours, which were slow, tedious and boring in the extreme. One rotund bureaucrat after another stood at the head of the long table, pointed sweatily at ill conceived charts and graphs, and failed to describe in words what his diagrams failed to describe in pictures. The inability to come to a point must have figured highly on their resumés, and Marcus stifled laughter when the thought occurred to him.

  Once the last presentation was blessedly over—something about cost cutting measures in the office supply division—Marcus was up. It was show time.

  He limped uneasily to the head of the table and tried to find some comfortable way to lean on his cane, and failing that, settled on leaning uncomfortably instead. His pose was not the absolute picture of masculinity, but it would have to do.

  He reached into his pocket and removed a wireless drive that doubled as a remote control. With the click of a button, it interfaced with the rooms projectors, uploaded his presentation, and then sat in waiting for his next command.

  “Gentlemen,” Marcus said and cleared his throat. “We’ve heard a lot today about cost-cutting measures: department re-organization, energy conservation, toilet paper recycling and what-have-you.” He paused to let the barb sting. “What none of these men told you is that they’re only offering band-aids that will, in all frankness, do nothing to stanch the Foundation’s financial bleeding. No amount of schedule shuffling can fix our problems.”

  He took a look around at the blank faces surrounding him and then went on. “Those of you familiar with my work know that I operate a little differently. I’m not here to give you a lick and a promise. I care about results, and I know you do as well.”

  The old codgers were awake, and Marcus had their attention. Technically, the difficult part of the job was already done.

  He pressed a button on his remote; the room’s lights dimmed and the large screen behind him displayed an image of a bright, eye-shaped burst against a backdrop of stars.

  “Twenty-five years ago, Sirius B went supernova and filled the night sky with a light that re-ignited mankind’s imagination. Interest in space exploration rocketed to levels not seen since the Cold War, as people all across the globe once again looked toward the heavens and wondered what secrets the universe might hold.”

  He tapped the control and the screen now showed the Earth, its moon, and Mars.

  “The Foundation was established and we quickly constructed more than two dozen permanent orbital facilities. Telescopes, the Midway Refueling station at Lagrange-Five, and the two greatest achievements of our time, the Helios and Hyperion Solar Energy Arrays which made low-cost power a reality. We then went on to establish Tranquility Research Station on the moon, and Ares, the first permanent colony on Mars, which today supports more than seven thousand colonists.

  “That list is just mind-boggling, isn’t it? That’s a hell of a lot to be proud of… But that’s all in the past. What about today? Well, as you all know, I’ve just returned from Copernicus Observatory, the only new off-world facility built in more than ten years. Think about that for a moment.

  “Twenty years ago, the Global Aerospace Foundation was a media darling. We were the future, possessed of our own epic drive and determination, and working without rest toward a single goal: to press forth into the darkness and spread humanity to the far corners of the cosmos. My question is… what the hell happened?”

  He clicked the remote again, and the planets were replaced by an artist’s rendering of the space elevator climbing up its tether into the void. That particular image was exceptionally famous, and had become a punch-line in the Foundation offices. In response, a rather predictable groan filled the air. “This is what happened, gentlemen. May I politely direct your attention to the elephant in the room.”

  “The space elevator is our most ambitious project. It holds the promise of virtually eliminating the cost of orbiting payloads, and it could finally realize interplanetary travel on a massive scale. If we stop to consider the elevator’s potential, it’s a wonder we’ve accomplished so much without it.”

  Another click of the remote, and the inspirational rendering was replaced with a photograph of a metal frame work, a skeleton of steel girders floating high above the Earth. A small maintenance crew was visible working at one end. “And here’s where the project stands today, more than six years past the planned completion date. The elevator has proven to be a logistical nightmare, and its failure has destroyed our momentum. Those bare girders… that’s where we throw all our money away.”

  Marcus clicked again, and the display switched to a very simple diagram, one he hoped even bureaucrats could grasp. It was a green circle on a white background. He pointed to
the image as he spoke. “This delicious apple pie represents all GAF expenditures since the project began.” Nine tenths of the circle turned red. “The cherry portion is all of the funding that’s been diverted to the elevator.” A fifth of that area then turned blue. ”…and the tiny little blueberry slice here was the original cost estimate.”

  “What, then?” Chief Administrator Chandra asked without a hint of amusement. “You’re not seriously suggesting we cancel the space elevator?”

  “Not at all, sir. I have a much more revolutionary idea: We finish it.”

  Marcus advanced to the next image. This one was an aerial photograph taken over Cape Canaveral launch center, where a monstrous rocket sat on the pad. “The single biggest obstacle is precisely what the elevator is designed to fix. Our inability to put its largest components into orbit has become a fiscal sink-hole. Even our largest multi-stage lifters aren’t up to the task, and the components are too complex to be assembled in space. Essentially, we need the space elevator to finish the space elevator.”

  “We’re chasing our own tail then,” a droll voice at the far end of the table said.

  “No, no… we’re just attacking the problem from the wrong angle. Nobody wants to admit it, but we’ve run face first into a brick wall. We need more thrust and that requires more fuel, which in turn means larger, heavier and more sophisticated craft. Our answer has been to slap secondary rockets onto a lifter, and when those don’t do the trick, we add support rockets to the secondaries. More components means more potential points of failure, and I don’t need to remind anyone here the human price we’ve already paid for that failure.

  “Maybe we could change public perception of atomic rockets, but I just don’t see that happening anytime soon. That leaves one possible answer: a more energetic fuel source with a higher thrust to weight ratio.”

  The image changed again, now displaying a dense scattering of rocks against a field of stars. One rock was eerily out of place. It was a long cigar-shaped object with a strange black sheen and ripples along its length. “Gentlemen, I believe I have that fuel source. For the past year, my team has been investigating an anomaly we discovered in the Themis family of asteroids, which we’ve labeled Zebra-One. We couldn’t figure out what Zebra-One was made of, but when we brought Copernicus on-line, we made a very interesting breakthrough. My associate, the esteemed Dr. Rao has determined that Zebra-One is in fact a solid mass of meta-stable metallic hydrogen, more than ten kilometers long, most likely separated from Jupiter by a prehistoric impact event.

  “By conservative estimates, the thrust provided by metallic hydrogen would be more than three times greater than that of our current liquid fuel. This would not only answer our problems in constructing the elevator, but also provide a platform for further space exploration. And it’s just floating out there, ours for the taking.”

  Marcus had struck a chord and he knew it. The entire committee was so deep in thought that he worried some had slipped into comas. It was more than a minute before Chandra spoke again. “I assume you’ve come here with a plan today, Dr. Donovan?”

  Marcus always had a plan. He clicked his remote, and now the screen showed a shimmering metal space ship in orbital dry-dock. Its shape was blocky and strictly utilitarian, the surface bristling with dishes and antennae. “That’s correct, Chief Administrator. With the committee’s approval, I intend to repurpose the Shackleton Exploratory Vessel, which like most Foundation projects is over budget and behind schedule. My team is prepared to take up residence on board and finish construction, after which we’ll set course for Zebra-One and conduct initial survey and mining operations. We estimate the Shackleton should be capable of towing at least ten thousand tons of cargo back to Earth orbit.”

  “And the Shackleton’s mission to the Galilean moons?”

  Marcus turned off the projector, and the room’s lights came back on. “Postponed, sir. I’m sure everyone here would agree that the space elevator should be our first and only priority. The Galilean moons can wait until after mining efforts are fully under way.”

  “Well… You’ve made a very compelling proposal, Dr. Donovan, and we thank you for coming today. The committee will deliberate and contact you with a decision.”

  With nothing left to say, Marcus dipped his head and left the room. He was glad to be out; the silence inside was heavy, and he had no idea which way things would swing. He had to believe he’d done his best, and trust that his offer was too sweet to pass up. He also prayed that his reputation was enough to cement his place on the ship, otherwise there would be hell to pay. Of course, there’d be some hell to pay anyway.

  As he stepped onto the Great Conveyor Belt of Doom, he began to feel the first twinge of regret. He wasn’t a dishonest person by nature, and this exercise amounted to deception on a scale he never imagined. There were billions of credits riding on his manufactured data, and the sudden weight on his conscience was immense.

  His only relief came when he thought of the hoodoo math that “proved” humans were, without any shred of doubt, alone in the universe. A dangerous dogma had risen from that math, and with any luck, he’d soon have the physical evidence necessary to bury it once and for all.

  Chapter 4:

  228 Days

  Marcus Donovan’s con worked. Less than a week later (3.3 picoseconds in bureaucratic time), the Budget Oversight Committee agreed to his plan and the Gypsies left on the first shuttle out.

  They spent the next two months finishing and reconfiguring the 170 meter long Shackleton Explorer. The Io, Europa, Ganymede and Callisto probes were removed and placed in storage for some future Jupiter expedition, as was the bulky orbital scanning array, while seven modular cargo containers and a state-of-the-art extra-vehicular mission unit were installed in their place. The cargo holds were packed full of mining equipment and explosives which Marcus realized would have no use on the mission, but he couldn’t figure out a way to ditch them without raising questions.

  The Shackleton lost the planetary scanning equipment, but still retained its own substantial suite of sensors. The countless forward facing antennae made it look something like a harpoon for use against impossibly large whales. It also featured a pair of opposed habitation pods that jutted out from the main hull on their own stalks, which were designed to rotate around the central axis and supply the crew with more than half Earth gravity during the long voyage. What the Shackleton lacked in amenities, she made up for in advanced equipment. Mostly, anyway.

  The interior of the Shackleton Explorer was a perfect match for her exterior, being both functional and inhumanly spartan. No plush seating, no Corinthian leather; only the bare essentials, and in some places slightly less. Marcus couldn’t shake the thought that he would be hurtling through space in a tin-can lashed haphazardly to a nuclear reactor. He and his crew were about to become real space cowboys, riding out across the wild frontier.

  Like the ship, Donovan’s Gypsies were also reorganized. Most of his research staff made the transition: Sarah Park stayed on as sensor operator, and Mason Shen on communications, while Nils Jansen had no interest in leaving Earth orbit and found posting elsewhere. The grizzled and stoic Hector Pacheco continued as crew chief, but his work crews were entirely purpose built, so the hands that assembled the ship were replaced with professional low-g miners before launch.

  None of the Gypsies were qualified to operate a nuclear powered exploratory vessel, so it was necessary to comingle their ranks with the original Jupiter mission crew. Marcus was put in charge of the mission, but Commander Alex Faulkland remained in charge of ship’s operations. Faulkland’s team would be responsible for navigation, maneuvering, and the day-to-day maintenance of the nuclear drive systems, while Donovan’s people would conduct the survey and mining.

  For the first time in his career, Marcus wished the Foundation had a rigid rank structure with a clear chain of command. The current arrangement was too ambiguous for his liking, and he had no clue who would prevail if (or more like
ly when) a disagreement came about.

  This feeling was made worse because he detected some hard feelings among Faulkland’s crew, and he harbored no illusions about who they would side with. The ship’s original mission would have set records for the most distant manned mission, and there was a lot of pride attached. Marcus just had to hope they were all professional who could adaptable to sudden changes in plans, because the one thing he knew for sure was that sudden changes were on their way.

  The rest of The Shackleton’s bunks were filled with Rao’s research team, which included Dr. Juliette St. Martin, a former leading theoretical exobiologist who returned to medicine when the political climate got stormy, and Professor Harris Caldwell, who was brought on as a geologist officially, and as an archaeologist somewhat less officially.

  With the ship completed and its crew assembled, The Shackleton Expedition left Earth orbit with little more fanfare than a “Good luck” from Bangalore, and then embarked on a wandering five month trek. Thrusters engaged and the Earth slowly shrank into the distance, until nothing was left around the ship but the sun and pin-prick stars. Weeks and sometimes months stretched out between the short thrusts that transferred the ship from one orbital trajectory to the next, during which time, the crew’s only challenge was to fight boredom.

  The battle was a fierce, but there were thankfully no casualties.

  Then, after watching the same movies over and over until every line was memorized, after countless card games and late shifts making small talk, a couple hundred long days after Marcus’ plan was approved, they finally neared the fringes of the Themis family of asteroids.