The Future Revisited

Author’s Notes

The Future Revisited: Something old and something new.

-Ribbon to the Sky was first published as an e-book in 2013. Copyright 2013 by Doug Turnbull.

-Dangerous Passage is a new Andy Andersen story. Copyright 2016 by Doug Turnbull.

-Tenderfoot was first published as a short story in 2014, after winning the Editor’s Choice Award for Short Science Fiction by the Mars Society-Bulgaria in 2013. Copyright 2014 by Doug Turnbull.

-The first three chapters of Mission: Mars were first published as a novella entitled Pathfinder: Mission to Mars in 2012. Copyright 2012 by Doug Turnbull.

-Portions of the last chapter of Mission: Mars were first published as a short story entitled Tribute in 2012. Copyright 2012 by Doug Turnbull.

-The illustrations for Ribbon to the Sky and Tenderfoot were created by Dheeraj Verma. The illustrations for Dangerous Crossing and Mission: Mars were created by Bill Wright.

Ribbon to the Sky

Ribbon to the Sky

Illustrated by Dheeraj Verma

Everything you hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything you see is a perspective, not the truth.

- Marcus Aurelius, 121 — 180 AD

1

As soon as we went into action, everything seemed to move in slow motion except the clock. First, the helmet gasket on Kieran’s pressure suit wouldn’t seal and had to be replaced: ten minutes lost.

T-minus one hundred and forty minutes, reminded the computer as we entered the airlock.

The plan called for us to unhook the mooring cable from the massive piton that we had drilled into the asteroid’s rock. The safety hasp was jammed and we couldn’t get it loose. After wasting ten more minutes on a job that should have taken thirty seconds, I ordered: Chief Singh, suit up, take a torch, cut the damned cable, and then you and Chief Komansky be ready to get my ship outta here!

T-minus one hundred and twenty minutes, the countdown clock announced when we entered the main tunnel.

As we made our way down at about two meters per second with our suit jets, Kieran dropped another bomb: It might take a little longer than you originally thought to do all this, Captain.

And why is that? I asked suspiciously.

The warheads aren’t just concealed; they are also booby-trapped. He paused for a moment. It’s standard procedure when planting mines and so forth. He said this last a little defensively.

That explains the extra tools, Chief Shibata observed. Kieran had insisted that he bring his own toolbox in addition to the standard suit kits.

"So what does this mean?" I asked as we approached the shafts where he said the bombs were secreted.

T-minus one hundred and one minutes. I was beginning to regret having the countdown clock.

It means I will have to go in first and disable the booby traps on each device.

Okay. I digested this latest tidbit. Kieran, I want you to think real hard before you answer. Are there any more surprises in store for us?

No, Captain. I think this one is quite enough. Here’s the tunnel to the first warhead. Kieran gestured with his hand light into a shaft that disappeared into blackness.

What happens if you snip the wrong wire? I asked.

I don’t make mistakes, but there is always the unexpected. If something untoward does happen, you’ll see the flash as the booby trap explodes. I could almost hear the sardonic smile. Then I suggest you and the chief get back to the ship and blast as far away from here as you can.

I squeezed his wrist. Be careful, Kieran.

He disappeared into the shaft.

Keep me posted on what’s happening, I said.

Will do, Captain, he answered. I knew you were the bossy type from the very first day, Andy.

Chief Shibata and I waited at the mouth of the shaft as the minutes ticked by.

Okay, I’ve found the booby trap and am snipping the hot wire right now. At least I hope it is the hot wire. Hmmm. Can’t seem to remember which is which.

Oh God, help him, please, I prayed silently as I suddenly realized that Kieran was the only one risking his life. The chief and I could return to the ship and blast away anytime. He was volunteering his all so I could save Scranton Asteroid for posterity.

Let posterity take care of itself, I decided.

Just as I was about to order him out of there, Kieran’s voice interrupted my thoughts. I was only kidding about the wires. The trap is disarmed and I’m uncovering the bomb now. A few more minutes passed during which we heard some muttering and grunts.

T-minus eighty-five minutes, the disembodied voice announced as Kieran emerged into the main tunnel, pushing an olive drab cylinder ahead of him. I had imagined a sleek, streamlined, rather wicked-looking warhead with maybe a red tip. Instead it looked like a piece of plumbing you’d buy at your local hardware store: a simple tube less than a meter long, maybe three times as long as it was wide, with hemispherical caps on either end.

It’s not quite what I expected, I said.

The W-80 is a very old design, but quite reliable, Kieran said, assuming the tone of a lecturer. It is known in the trade as ‘dial a yield,’ which refers to a yield capability that varies from five kilotons to two hundred kilotons and allows it to be used in both tactical as well as strategic applications. At its current maximum yield setting, it could flatten a medium-sized city in the blink of an eye.

Amazing was the only thing I could think of to say in response to his clinical description of this weapon of mass destruction.

It’s all yours, Captain, Kieran said as he moved it slowly toward me. It masses more than twice what you do, so be careful.

Got it. You guys move on to the next one. I’ll be back as soon as I’m clear. Keep talking so I know what’s going on.

I grasped the bomb with both arms, hugging it to my body. Rotating around it until I was facing the exit of the tunnel, I started my suit jet. The bomb and I slowly built up speed until we were moving at two meters per second, about jogging speed on Earth.

As I moved toward the surface, I had a few minutes to think about what I was carrying and how I happened to be there. In my mind’s eye I could see my favorite city, San Francisco, as I had seen it from the Bay Bridge just a few short months ago.

2

This was an ad hoc mission, just the kind I hate. Deep-space missions are complicated, long-duration affairs with many moving parts. The failure of any one of those parts can spell disaster. For this reason, interplanetary cargo and passenger missions utilize tried and true equipment, methods, and crews. Keep it routine, boring, and safe, that’s my philosophy. So when Dr. Giles Cavendish, KBE, of the Near Earth Object Foundation sent me a message that they were putting together a mission to visit an asteroid, a mission that was to depart only four months from then, I was reluctant. I sent a message to my boss, General Harvey W. Shockley (Ret.), vice president in charge of operations for Inter-Planet Shipping, Ltd.:

Dr. Cavendish said you recommended me to command their asteroid junket, boss; any chance you could recommend someone else? I’m on holiday.

Andy

We were on an informal basis, having worked together for many years; I had even dated his daughter for a while. The holiday part was something of a fib since I was already tired of being home on Earth. I felt like I weighed a ton and could almost taste all the germs and allergens in the air, and I caught a cold on the third day of my Earth-side leave. General Shockley’s answer came back almost immediately.

Didn’t you get my message sent 19:17 UT 12-06-2113? You’re it! You are the most experienced we have available and you deal well with ambiguity, of which there will be plenty. Catch the 02:00 UT ballistic from SF to London. Have set up an appointment with Cavendish. He will explain the mission. All of this is strictly confidential.

Shockley

So, I’m it, I said to myself as I looked at the message on my phone.

Pardon me, Andy? the woman seated opposite me asked. We were at a small table in Freedie’s Bar and Grill in Davis, California, my second hometown. Even though it was early afternoon and the June sun outside was hot and blinding, the room was dark and cool.

I’m sorry, Sonja, I answered. I was talking to myself, or my phone. Dr. Sonja Hildebrand, PhD, was the reason the fib was only partial.

Bad news? Sonja’s eyebrows rose in concern.

Yes, I have to cut my vacation short, I said. I have to go to London. I regarded her across the table, which was littered with the remains of a lunch that, since we had been up until the wee small hours were no longer small, was really breakfast. Standing 180 centimeters tall with a lean but very muscular build, Sonja was an athlete as well as a professor at the nearby University of California Human Performance Laboratory. After sharing the evening before together, I had been looking forward to spending part of my vacation with her.

Damn, I thought we had more time, Sonja said, shaking her head and reaching across the table to take my right hand in hers. You’re just my type, she continued with a wicked smile.

I’m sorry, Sonja, I answered honestly. I wish I could get out of it, but I can’t. With her shoulder-length blond hair, sky-blue eyes, full lips, and powerful body, she looked like she belonged in a Nordic myth. All that was missing was her sword and shield. Recalling the night before, I was truly regretting having to go.

When do you have to leave?

Now. I need to pack my bag and take the first train to San Francisco International. I have to catch the ballistic that leaves at 18:00 today.

God, that’s six o’clock, Sonja said, looking at her watch. I could drive you down to SF, she proposed. It would give us more time to visit.

I thought about her idea and realized that while Sonja had been fun, I really didn’t want to leave the impression with her that it had been more than that. I appreciate the offer, Sonja, but would you mind coming to the train station with me? I countered. I may have to wait a while, and we could visit then.

Sure, Andy, she answered, looking down at our joined hands before releasing mine. Be happy to.

Thanks. I’ll meet you back down here in a few minutes, I said with a wink and smile. You have time to finish your beer.

******

Sonja and I sat on a bench in the station, waiting for the train that was scheduled to arrive momentarily. The station was an elongated, rectangular enclosure with a large portal at either end. A track ran from portal to portal through which the trains entered and departed. I had purchased my travel token from the automated vendor. The wooden bench we waited on faced the track.

Sonja had her left arm around my shoulders while my right arm encircled her waist as we sat on the bench. My bag rested on the platform in front of us. We were both enjoying the intimacy of the moment when the horn sounded, warning that the westbound train was approaching.

That’s it, I announced. Got to run. Take care, Sonja!

Kiss me before you go, Andy! She pulled me to her as we stood and gave me a long, lingering kiss. Sonja had shoulders and arms any man would be proud to have, and she held me tight, her firm breasts pressing against me. I was sincerely sorry I was leaving. Can I write you? she asked after breaking off the kiss.

I’ll be hurt if you don’t, I answered truthfully as the train silently slid into the station.

Here, let me carry your grip, she said, picking up my bag as we walked toward the train that had by then settled onto its two-meter-wide track. The second car from the front looked almost empty, so I guided us toward its open sliding door.

Take care, Sonja! She handed me my bag and, after giving her another quick hug, I stepped inside the car. As this was a local, the seats were bench style, similar to those of a subway or metro car. I found one on the platform side and sat. Within moments the pneumatic door slid closed, the train began to move, and I waved goodbye to Sonja, who quickly disappeared as my car passed through the west portal.

The maglev train made several stops before I reached San Francisco International Airport, so we were always either accelerating or decelerating. An express would have quickly accelerated to 550 kilometers per hour, slowing only for turns, and would have covered the 160 kilometers to the airport in a few minutes. The local, on the other hand, took over an hour to make the trip and never really got up enough speed to have to worry about the curves. The passing countryside was a combination of brown or green, depending on whether it was brush land or irrigated farmland. The elevated track followed the freeway, and cars below us seemed to be crawling. After about thirty minutes and a couple of stops, we zoomed through the hills that separated the Sacramento Valley from the San Francisco Bay area. Everything turned green, and although the temperature in the car remained the same, it seemed cooler. After a stop in Oakland, we passed over the Bay Bridge, riding fifteen meters above the motor traffic on the deck below. San Francisco glittered off to my right when we stopped at Embarcadero Station.

Not this trip, I thought, pondering the city and the lost prospect of squiring Sonya around my favorite town.

After a couple more stops, I made San Francisco International in plenty of time, taking the high-speed underground tram to the ballistic terminal. General Shockley’s office had already reserved a seat for me on the London jump, so I checked my bag and repaired to a nearby bar for a quick drink. I always get a case of nerves when flying on someone else’s ship, and a quick one helps calm me down. I sat at the bar and ordered my whiskey and water.

Let me get this for you, Captain, a florid-faced man down the bar said.

Being out of uniform, I was a little taken aback by him addressing me as Captain, wondering how he knew, but nodded my head in assent.

As if reading my mind, he offered: I overheard the baggage steward call you Captain Andersen. What are you a captain of, if I may ask?

I’m a ship’s captain for Inter-Planet. So unless we’re in space, I’m not really the captain of anything. I’m on vacation.

Bill Knowles, Universal News, he said as he stood and walked over to me, offering his hand. Sorry, I’m just automatically nosey.

No problem, I answered, taking his hand. Thanks for the drink.

Headed for London too? he asked. I’m going on business, myself. How about you: business or pleasure?

A little of both in my case, I offered, taking a drink of my whiskey. Some company business and some sightseeing.

I’m on a story, he said. Then after taking his drink down in one slug: I got a tip that the Near-Earth Object Foundation has spotted a rogue asteroid on a collision course with Earth, but when I asked them about it, they clammed up. He held his glass up to the bartender. Calms my nerves, he said, glancing toward the glass. These ballistics are kinda bumpy.

Yes, they can be. Alarm bells were going off in my head. General Shockley had said this was hush-hush. Now there was a reporter sitting right next to me asking about it.

Heard anything about that? Knowles asked.

About what? I countered, feigning innocence.

An asteroid headed straight for Earth.

Those asteroid scares are always floating around, I answered. I wouldn’t put much stock in any rumors or unsubstantiated reports. When lying, you should tell some truth whenever possible.

British Airways Flight 971, San Francisco International to London Heathrow, boarding at gate 76 in ten minutes! came the announcement over the intercom and my rescue from further interrogation.

Using this as my exit cue, I stood up, tossed back the rest of my drink, and said: That’s our flight, Bill. Great talking to you. Thanks for the drink. Not waiting for an answer, I walked away toward the gate.

Yeah, I heard from behind me. Uh, great talking to you too.

I ducked into the nearest restroom and, after ensconcing myself in a stall, sent a message to General Shockley.

I thought this was supposed to be a secret mission. I just got pumped about it by a reporter in an airport bar!

Andy

General Shockley’s response was almost instantaneous.

I guess there aren’t any secrets anymore. Might as well broadcast everything! I’ll tell Dr. Cavendish that he has a leak. Be careful!

Shockley

3

I managed to avoid Knowles at the gate by striking up a conversation with an attractive Indian businesswoman and continuing the conversation until we actually boarded. Everyone was admonished to use the bathroom before they boarded and encouraged to take a motion sickness pill supplied by the airline. I declined the pill and had already availed myself of the restroom. All the tickets were first class on a ballistic flight, and only the very wealthy or people on very high-value business traveled that way. This was another red flag to me about Knowles: why would a reporter spend this much money to get to London in an hour, when he could get there in twelve for a tenth the price? Luckily, I didn’t get seated next to Knowles, but next to an RAF officer who was not talkative. I could tell by the two narrow stripes on his sleeve that he was a flight lieutenant.

The seats in a ballistic liner were really acceleration couches, and thus had to generally conform to your shape. This shape data was supplied to the airline when the reservation was made, along with the health certificate indicating that your body would be able to handle the three-G acceleration as well as the period of weightlessness you experienced during the flight. For this reason, people with certain physical limitations such as excessive weight, cardiac histories, arthritis, or pregnancy could not fly ballistic. The carrier felt the liability risk was simply too great.

My window seat fit well, and I strapped myself in. The steward came down the aisle, checking everyone’s straps and making sure they were tight. Like an ordinary airliner, there were rows of seats, with two seats on each side of a central aisle and twelve rows in all. After she was sure everyone was secure, the steward took her own seat in the front of the ship, next to the captain. The nose of the ship began to elevate until we achieved what I knew to be an angle about forty-five degrees relative to horizontal. There it stopped.

Good evening, folks, the voice said over the intercom. I’m Captain Liu. We will have a beautiful, clear evening all the way for our flight, and the sun won’t set until just before we land at 03:00 universal. That’s 3:00 AM local time in London. I’ll let the autopilot start the countdown for you at one minute.

A few minutes after he finished, the autopilot’s feminine voice counted T-minus sixty and then at ten-second intervals until it reached ten: Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, ignition, two, one, launch!

On ignition I could feel and hear the familiar rumble of the powerful hydrogen- and oxygen-fueled rocket engine as it came to life and built to full thrust. Then came the surge as the clamps holding us released and the ship lunged out of its launching ramp into the sky. Within moments we were at two-G acceleration: that is, we all felt twice as heavy as we did when at rest.

I watched the Mach meter and altimeter readings on the bulkhead behind and above the captain and steward. Within half a minute we were at Mach 1.7, almost twice the speed of sound, and at an altitude of 5,000 meters. My seat was on the right side of the ship, so I could see the snow on Mount Lassen and Mount Shasta ahead and below us as we climbed. Then the weight lifted and the rumble of the main engine died, replaced by the smooth, steady sound of the ramjets as they took over. Within minutes, the Columbia River zipped past below and the Rocky Mountains of Western Canada became the main ground features. We continued to accelerate and climb, but more gradually. After several minutes, the speedometer read Mach 6.5 and the altimeter 33,000 meters. That’s almost 8,000 kilometers per hour and thirty-three kilometers high.

Ten seconds to main engine ignition, Captain Liu announced over the intercom.

The big engine lit up again, and this time, since the ship had burned some of its fuel and was lighter, we were at three Gs for the next two and a half minutes. We continued to climb as the sky turned black, the earth’s curvature became evident, and Hudson’s Bay appeared on the horizon ahead. In order to maintain a constant acceleration as more fuel was consumed and the ship grew lighter, the engine gradually throttled down and the rumble and vibration diminished.

Ten seconds to free fall, the captain announced.

The familiar falling elevator feeling, which I have always enjoyed but most people dread, hit me as the engine shut down. The Mach meter read 20.1 and the altimeter 166,000 meters. We were now in the true ballistic phase of our journey, traveling 24,600 kilometers per hour at 166 kilometers altitude and climbing steadily as we raced toward London. I looked out my window and enjoyed the sights as we crossed northern Canada. Since I was ahead of the wing, my view of Hudson’s Bay as it passed beneath us was spectacular.

The ballistic portion of our trip, the part after the engine was shut down and we coasted, covered about 4,000 kilometers. Like a cannonball fired at a forty-five-degree angle, we ascended to nearly 2,000 kilometers before the numbers on the altimeter began to get smaller again.

I hate riding in a ship or aircraft I’m not flying, the RAF officer announced as we broke over the peak of our flight.

I was startled because I had almost forgotten he was there. Me too, I answered.

I thought you might be a pilot yourself, he commented. I overheard the steward address you as captain.

I’m not really a pilot. I’m a ship’s captain for Inter-Planet. My name’s Andy Andersen.

Kieran Moore, he offered, flashing a brilliant smile. Happy to meet you, Captain Andersen.

Happy to meet you, Flight Lieutenant Moore, I answered with my best smile. I surveyed my seatmate and concluded that he cut quite a dashing figure in his blue RAF dress uniform. This trip might not be a total loss after all, I thought rather wickedly.

Kieran, please, he said.

Kieran it is then, and please call me Andy.

As we chatted, Greenland came into view, its southern half bright green like it had been when Leif Erikson discovered it. I knew that re-entry was not far away. Since we were approaching the atmosphere at an angle so steep that we would burn up like a meteor, Captain Liu’s first job, through the autopilot, was to convert our downward velocity into horizontal velocity. This was accomplished by orienting the ship so that the underside encountered the upper atmosphere first during re-entry, simultaneously slowing us and changing the motion vector toward horizontal. As the ship changed altitude and began to bite into the atmosphere, weightlessness left and our couches shifted to adjust to the constantly changing direction of down.

I don’t know whether I love this part or hate it, Kieran remarked.

I know what you mean, I answered. The passenger cabin could be ejected and parachuted to safety during most of the potentially dangerous portions of the ascent phase, as well as during the glide and landing phases, but a malfunction that compromised ship integrity during re-entry would always be