The Beacon: Hard Science Fiction Brandon Morris (love story novels in english .txt) 📖

Peter didn’t hear the control center’s response, but right after that, Francesca told everyone to buckle up again. So Mission Control must have approved the maneuver.

“Thrusters now!” said Francesca.

First, the Astra turned until the tail pointed in the direction of flight. Then a gentle force—not comparable with the acceleration force during takeoff—pressed him into his seat. Finally, Francesca turned the nose of the glider back in the direction of flight.

“Thank you. That’s about it,” she said.

The seatbelt buckles rattled behind them. Shortly after that, smartphone cameras clicked, and the other passengers chatted in whispers. The three bachelorettes giggled.

Peter remained calmly seated. He suspected his epic saga would soon come to an end—hopefully, the one he wanted.

“Take a look!”

Francesca pointed to one of the displays in front of her. A red dot could be seen, slowly moving into the picture from the left. She pressed a button and a green line appeared that seemed to cross the path of the red dot.

“Is that...?” he asked.

Francesca put her index finger to her lips. “Yes, that’s a satellite, quite a small one—a CubeSat, I think. But don’t worry, its orbit is well below our orbit.”

“How far?”

“Four-kilometers difference.”

Hopefully, that would put them close enough. But he had no other choice.

“Shouldn’t we get out of the way there?” he asked.

“No, the object and its cross section are known. There are no surprises to be expected. That’s what we have the registration rules for. Only with unknown objects do we have to be very careful. The surveillance can always slip through something. With asteroids, you also never know if they’re traveling alone.”

“That maneuver earlier... Was that an asteroid-like object?”

“We’ll never know. There was no confirmation from Earth. Maybe someone will see that thing tonight as a shooting star.”

“What a beautiful idea.”

Francesca showed him eight fingers. Eight minutes.

Peter took the radio onto his lap. From behind, no one could see what he was doing. The backrest was much too wide for that. Everything depended on him. He had to press a button at the right moment. Surely he ought to be able to do that? He moved his index finger to test it. It obeyed. Nevertheless, he was afraid that it might refuse service at the decisive moment. After all, nothing depended on it, apart from the sun’s continued existence and, thus, all humankind’s.

Surely you are mistaken, Peter. Your whole theory is the result of a sick brain.

And so what? he answered himself. Then at least I had a lovely trip into space.

But if you are right, you must press that button without hesitation. You can’t do that. You’re totally overwrought.

Yes, I can.

Francesca showed him three fingers. The number inflated to three digits in his head in a flash. One hundred and eighty seconds. Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, he counted along now. Briefly he closed his eyes, but the fear of suddenly falling asleep overtook him. He was sweating. Crap. It couldn’t be that hard to push that fucking button! He stared into the darkness until his eyes watered, but he didn’t dare wipe them with his handkerchief, because he’d have to reach into the pocket of his boarding suit to do it. What if the clock jumped and skipped ahead 60 seconds?

It looked like Francesca was giving him the finger. This was getting serious. The red dot was already damn close. Peter preferred not to ask how fast it was. How fast they were. They were in free fall, but they were falling so fast that they were skirting the Earth and accidentally staying in orbit.

Francesca raised both hands and held them so the other passengers couldn’t see. Then she folded one finger at a time. It was the quietest countdown he had ever experienced, and at the same time the loudest, because his heart was pounding to Francesca’s beat, which was dictating its tempo by the transition between two hyperfine structures of the ground state of cesium-133.

The universe was strange. The smallest was related to the largest, and when Francesca’s little finger curled, his index finger pressed the button and a sense of calm swept through him.

Peter needed two minutes to recover from the excitement. He just sat there, the radio on his lap, listening to the beeping of the instruments and the quiet conversations of the other passengers.

“You’ve done well,” Francesca said.

“Yeah? I don’t know.”

“When will we know if it worked?”

“After landing. I need to call SigmaLaunch, the launch provider. They monitor the orbit of the beacon.”

“I meant your theory.”

“Ah, whether it is true? If I’m right, we’ll never know.”

“I feel sorry for you.”

“That’s not necessary. After all, I have experienced space. That’s something. And I know what I saw in the telescope.”

“Oh! I think I might... Shit!”

Francesca hunched over and then stiffened up again. She held her right shoulder with her left hand, at about the collarbone.

“What is it?” asked Peter.

Only then did he notice the whistling. A strong draft of air moved past him toward the windshield. He heard excited shouts from the other passengers, and an automated voice spoke.

“Pressure loss. Please put on your oxygen masks and fasten your seatbelts.”

At the same moment, blue masks fell out of the ceiling. His dangled on a long cord to his right. The pressure loss must have had something to do with the whistling. He leaned forward and saw the hole. It was circular and about an inch in diameter. Beyond it was space. They must have collided with an obstacle, a very fast obstacle—perhaps a screw?

Francesca tried to reach forward with her right arm but could not. A dark spot was spreading on her blue uniform at shoulder height. She was bleeding.

“Should I call for help?” he asked.

She grimaced and shook her head. “No one can... help us. You have to... seal the hole.”

She was obviously in a lot of pain. Peter thought about the hole. It had an area of a good three square centimeters. The pressure difference was one bar, so they wouldn’t die right away. It