Fundamental Force Episode Two

  FUNDAMENTAL FORCE

  episode two

  by

  Albert Sartison

  Copyright © 2016 by Albert Sartison

  First edition

  1.00

  Books by Albert Sartison

  Beyond the Event Horizon Episode One

  (prequel to “Fundamental Force”)

  The Contact Episode One

  (prequel to “Beyond the Event Horizon”)

  The Storm Episode One

  (post-apocalyptic series)

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  1

  The burning disc of the Sun appeared to be right next to the ship. It completely covered all the visible area. The apparently boiling matter of the photosphere, glaring with a blinding yellow light, extended in all directions in an endless field, filling the entire cosmos.

  Zach observed the hot globe through the external observation cameras. He had had to close the protective armor plating long ago. The radiation from the nearby star was so intense that the radiation background inside exceeded permissible levels. The thick armor plating protected the living compartments of the ship against the deadly rays, but it was only a matter of time before the mighty energy radiation flux would overcome this barrier too. And then...

  Several days had gone by since his drone and the passenger liner had parted company. Stuck to the liner’s broad belly while in the upper layers of the atmosphere, the drone, concealed from the watchful radar eye of the Flight Control Centre in near-Earth space, had slipped unnoticed beyond the Moon’s orbit. The intensive tracking zone for interplanetary traffic ended right after it and it was here that the drone smoothly distanced itself from the liner and set course for the center of the Solar System.

  It proved impossible to enjoy the beautiful view while approaching Mercury. The planet lay directly on course, in line with the Sun. The bright illumination of the nearby star was blinding, even through protective light filters, and it was only just possible to make out the planet’s shadow amid the hellish fire.

  It was a real pity, because flights to the Solar System's planet closest to the Sun were a great rarity. It was off the main economic routes and too unwelcoming for any kind of activity. Only a few were lucky enough to fly to it, which wrapped Mercury in a veil woven from many legends.

  The planet had an evil reputation. The sector of space near it was a sort of cosmic Bermuda Triangle. The closeness of the Sun, particularly noticeable during its phases of high activity, constantly threatened to render the onboard instruments unserviceable. In the periods in which Mercury was approaching the perihelion, the depression made in space-time by the tremendous mass of the Sun created many extra headaches for navigators. Carrying out complex maneuvers close to the planet to save fuel on big cargo vessels was an art.

  Instead of the usual steep descent to the landing point, the drone selected a shallow trajectory of approach to the planet. It descended lower and lower, but made no attempt to land. The absence of an atmosphere enabled it to stay in ultra-low orbit at high speed, and that appeared to be where the drone intended to remain.

  Down below, the planet rushed past at a crazy rate. Mercury, liberally covered in asteroid craters, looked rather like the Moon, except that unlike Earth’s natural satellite, it looked the same from every side.

  In prehistoric times, as Mercury cooled down, it was compressed in size and its even surface was cracked by steep escarpments. The dark zigzag lines of their sharp shadows, dumb witnesses to the planet’s past, added individuality to its image for Zach’s experienced eye.

  The drone stopped descending but continued to rotate around the planet. The orbit was so low that a complete one took only a few minutes. On the third one, a familiar tingle passed through his body. It began somewhere at the back of his neck and felt like the legs of thousands of ants crawling down his spine. It seemed that the denouement of this strange maneuver was close at hand.

  The passive radar gave an irritating beep and a small square crept out from the side of the screen. Judging by the size of the radar shadow, it was quite a large ship that up until then had been concealed beyond the horizon, as if playing hide-and-seek with the drone. It now increased speed and came out of the shadow, catching up from behind. The tingle of anticipation never let him down...

  On the fifth orbit, the distance between the two spacecraft had decreased sufficiently for visual contact. The enlarged image from the external camera clearly showed an awkward silhouette, from which unusually powerful antennae projected from the axis on all sides like porcupine quills. There were more of them than on a military ship. The big outlines of what could be a cargo module were visible at the rear. It turned out that the spacecraft approaching him was a medium-class cargo ship.

  Now the cargo ship had caught up and its body hovered threateningly over the tiny drone. The hatches of one of the cargo module’s compartments opened up under its belly and the hatchway, yawning darkly against the background of the grey ship, looked like a kangaroo’s sack, or rather its mouth. From the side, it looked like it was getting ready to eat Zach, along with his drone and two robots.

  There wasn’t a living soul on the cargo ship; it was piloted by its AI. After taking on its passenger, it did a few more orbits before setting off.

  It was a bit scary to be all alone in such a huge ship. Such ships usually had a large crew, but now the cabins were empty. Zach walked along the corridor, looking in every room. No-one. A sterile cleanliness reigned everywhere. Standard simple objects were packed in the usual polythene and set out in perfect order. The craft looked as if it had just left the building yard and he was its first passenger. Or pilot. Or hostage. God alone knew!

  He opened the door to the last cabin. There was no-one there either. Zach did not enter, but only looked quickly around the interior, muttered in disappointment and locked the door. Further on, the corridor ended in a lock, beyond which was the segment separating the living accommodation from the engine room. He stopped and thought for a minute, wondering whether to continue looking over the ship. If the living quarters were empty, there wouldn’t be anyone in the engine room either. He couldn’t wait to get to the pilot’s compartment and finally discover the destination of his voyage.

  There was no comparison between the cargo ship’s spacious pilot’s compartment, with its light brown leather armchairs that could almost be described as fashionable, and the cramped cabin of the drone, with its minimalist finish. The captain’s seat stood on a small platform like a throne. The large monitor in front of it switched itself on almost before Zach had lowered himself into the soft seat. There was nothing on it but the fine vertical strip of a cursor, winking against a dark background.

  He pulled out his tablet with the holographic cube and began rapidly reading the next code, which was longer than the previous ones. The cursor, as if listening, froze for an instant and then ran sharply to the right, leaving behind it a string of letters and numbers.

  On reaching the last symbol, the dark background was replaced by a distance grid. By means of a clever animation, first the silhouette of the cargo vessel, then that of Mercury, came down on it from above. Behind the ship was an unbroken line, denoting the track already travelled. A dotted line denoting the course shot out in front. It extended further and further until it reached the edge. The map instantly changed scale. Now the edge of the Sun appeared. The dotted line continued towards it. Periodically, labels appeared along it with values fo
r the increasing speed and the estimated flight time.

  “What the f...?”

  Zach fidgeted in his seat. The cargo ship was going to speed up with all its might and fall into the Sun at full pelt?

  Two days had passed since then. It had been a guess at first, but it had now become obvious. The point of no return was rapidly approaching, but the ship had no intention of turning away. Very soon it would be so close to the Sun that the thrust of its engines would not be sufficient to change trajectory and escape the embrace of the star’s monstrous gravity. Zach had no access to the controls, he just had to sit there and observe his approaching end with resignation. And what a stupid end!

  The ship was irreversibly falling into the Sun. It was on course directly towards the flaring plasma of the photosphere. The star and the ship were now so close that protuberances rising above the surface were clearly visible. The ship’s air conditioners were working at maximum capacity, hissing loudly as they sucked in air from slots in the ventilation shafts, trying to maintain a temperature suitable for human existence inside the living quarters.

  The thick PNR line was slowly approaching the point marking the ship on the background of the navigation map. As the ship crossed it, Zach gave a tired smile with only one corner of his lips. That was it. No way back...

  He straightened up in his seat and lowered his gaze to his pulse gun. He liked it. He treated it like a toy and had never let it out of his hands for a second since he had come into possession of it. The ribbed surface of the handle fitted his hand perfectly. Its high-capacity magazine was charged to the maximum. The perfect killing weapon. He even rather regretted that he had not been able to try it in action. When the heat of the star became quite unbearable, he would aim the muzzle at his own head and press the trigger. Who would have thought that the only shot he would fire from his beloved gun would be aimed at his own brain?

  A few hours later, the ship and his body would fall into the Sun and be converted into bright radiation. Could one think of a more fulminant end? While others were doomed to rot in damp earth, he would rush on through the limitless Universe in the form of photons till the end of time.

  The external observation cameras suddenly and simultaneously ceased functioning. The screens carrying images from them went dead. Obviously the temperature of the hull plating had risen so high that it had melted the wiring. The ship, and Zach with it, were living their last minutes...

  It seemed to him that the lighting was flickering. The air conditioners suddenly went quiet, as if on command. The ship must be really melted outside if even the high-priority life support systems were failing. There was almost complete silence in the pilot’s compartment. The thought of his near and inevitable end made him shudder. It was if someone had shaken him and woken him up.

  The navigational instruments were not working either. The screens were empty. This was the end. It was very close now.

  He got up and approached the windows slowly. It was ludicrous to be hiding from the bright light of the Sun. He was flying directly towards it. How stupid to bury his head in the sand! He took the gun off his shoulder and took it in his right hand, holding it by the handle. His finger was on the trigger, which vibrated briefly, reporting by tactile feedback that its safety catch was off and it was ready to fire. He didn’t want to die with downcast head, even if there was no-one there to see him. The feeling of fear passed.

  He lifted his finger to the button that opened the armor plating, not particularly hoping for success. The motors would surely not be able to open it, since the heat must have melted the guide rails by now. And the computer, even if it was still functioning, would not send the command to open the windows, since the dose of radiation that would be admitted would be fatal.

  His finger pressed hard on the button. To his surprise, the clicks of locks reached his ears from the depths of the ship and the sheets parted smoothly. The clearance between them was growing, but instead of the fire-breathing disc of the Sun, which by this time should have been covering the entire firmament, he was faced with a yawning emptiness. It wasn’t open space – that never looked like a bottomless pit because of the billions of twinkling stars filling it with life – but real emptiness. Nothing. There were no stars in the firmament. The Sun was not there either.

  Zach slung the gun back over his shoulder and, not believing his own eyes, leaned closer to the window, hoping to make out at least something, anything, in the absolute blackness. His breath came in contact with the glass, covering it with a film of fine droplets. Directly ahead, at an indeterminate distance, a strange whitish spot could be seen. It was oscillating slightly, as if floating in heated air over hot asphalt on a sweltering hot day. A mirage? In space?

  Through binoculars, the object appeared to be of a shape similar to his own ship, but there were no visible details. They were covered by an incomprehensible mist. Fog in open space seemed even stranger than a mirage.

  Suddenly the phantom ship floated towards him. Slowly at first, as if wondering if it was worth bothering, but then at increasing speed. It was now approaching him very quickly. An instant before impact, it became apparent that the object was, as it were, sketched on the thin walls of a transparent sphere that looked like glass, filled with shining points. The Christmas tree bauble grew rapidly in size, then...

  The light in the ship flared up brightly for an instant and something like a far-off roll of thunder struck his ears. His body ached briefly, as if from an electric shock, and an iron taste appeared in his mouth. A slight dizziness overlaid the strange bitter smell of burnt plastic. No, not plastic, but feathers... Feathers?

  A second later and the smell had faded away. Zach turned his head from side to side, sniffing in search of the source of the smell and looking for smoke. To his surprise, he found nothing of the sort. He turned his head towards the ceiling, to the nearest ventilation slot, which rustled with air being sucked in by the air conditioners. He could see the barely noticeable red light of the fire alarm sensor winking periodically. When the sensor caught particles of combusted material or fire-related gases in the air, its pulse rate increased. The light would begin to wink faster and faster until, finally, the concentration of products of combustion would reach the level that set off the fire alarm.

  Now, however, the heart of the sensor was beating quite calmly. The light came on slowly, almost lazily, and gradually faded out in the same way. It didn’t look like a fire. Perhaps he was imagining it? There were far too many strange goings on with this mission. No, it really hadn’t been worth taking it on. Dazzled by the payment being offered, he had been stupid to accept it. This wasn’t the first time his impulsive greed had played a dirty trick on him.

  Still looking at the winking diode, he suddenly realized that he could see his shadow on the wall. In the dim lighting of the pilot’s compartment, it was faint, but clearly noticeable against the pimply surface of the internal plating. A second ago it had been pitch black outside. How could there be a shadow?

  He turned sharply towards the window and was dumbfounded. In the distance, about the size of the Moon as seen from Earth, a bright star was shining. What the hell? He had only just been next to the Sun, so how could it now be two weeks’ travel away? This was even stranger than the way it had disappeared a moment ago.

  He probably wasn’t taking it in properly. His ship had gotten too close to the Sun and the X-ray radiation, which had penetrated right through the ship, had disturbed the working of his brain. You don’t feel radiation, it has no taste or smell. All this emptiness, and now the far-off star, was only the fantasy of his body’s feverish consciousness as he thrashed around in convulsions on the floor of the pilot’s compartment.

  He looked himself over. No, this didn’t seem like a dream or some raving fantasy.

  The bright star looked strange. There was some subtle difference in its light, as if it was being distorted by unusual light filters. But how was this possible? The Sun had only just been nearby, right under his nose.
He had felt its heat. The computer had closed the windows with sheets of armor plating to keep out the life-threatening radiation. Had he been raving for several weeks while the ship, with him in it, had turned around and flown away from the Sun?

  The pulse gun sling was back on his shoulder. The final shot could always wait. Zach turned back to the seat and the big screen. Now his ship was floating slowly against the background of the distance grid. There was no Sun within a radius of ten million kilometers. He changed the scale to fit the planetary orbits in it. That would be the best way to get his bearings.

  The point froze. At this scale, even though the ship was moving at considerable speed, it appeared to be standing still. The line of the track covered, extending out behind it, broke off within a few minutes of flight time. There appeared to have been a fault in the ship’s navigation and for some reason, the computer had wiped the log file of the flight from Mercury to the Sun from its memory.

  “I don’t understand anything,” muttered Zach. He zoomed out again.

  The thick line of a planet’s orbit appeared, running from the edge of the screen. According to its label, the planet was GL 581-c. Since when had the planets of the Solar System been named in this way?

  His finger moved up and touched the display where the ‘Show whole system’ symbol was located. Shivering, he sprang back from the screen in fright. Instead of the Sun, the excellent animation showed a red dwarf, rotating in the center of the star system. On the label above it was a flickering inscription:

  Gliese 581

  2

  Silence reigned on the bridge. The main ship of the formation, heading the expedition, was surrounded by absolute darkness. The AI of the navigation system, as if surprised by the sudden switching off of all the instruments at its disposal, feverishly sought for familiar objects to connect with the system of coordinates.