Cold Eyes (First Contact), page 7
“Interesting,” Helios says.
Dali says, “We need them to understand we don’t deal in raw items. We take tangible things, like a bunch of oranges you could count, and represent them with simplified concepts. Numbers are a summation. Later, we’ll do the same thing with letters to form words. It’s important they realize we use abstract concepts to communicate.”
Helios taps the first line on the screen, saying, “So nothing is zero.”
“Zero only means zero because we all agree it means zero,” Dali says. “Of itself, there’s nothing about the word that indicates that other than how it’s used. Zero is an idea that escaped the Egyptians, the Babylonians, the Greeks and the Romans. It took Arabic mathematicians to realize nothing was something of significance in its own right. Of all the numbers above, zero is the one that will tell them the most about how we think as it’s the most intangible.”
Dali enters in another range of options, saying, “Now, we show them how these work together.”
[ . + . = . . ]
[ 1 + 1 = 2 ]
[ . . - . = . ]
[ 2 - 1 = 1 ]
[ 2 - 2 ≠ 1 ]
“And just like that, we’ve taught them the basis of our logic and reasoning, including the idea that some things don’t equate. Humans use mathematical operators to combine concepts to reach conclusions that are either true or false and then make decisions accordingly.”
Helios asks, “How long do you think it will take them to figure all this out?”
“Oh,” Dali says. “That’s a really good question. We’re five light hours out, which is, umm.”
Helios says, “If we were in our solar system, we’d be just beyond the orbit of Pluto.”
“Okay,” Dali says. “So even accounting for our approach speed, we won’t get an answer for just over ten hours, but every second that passes after that tells us something critical about their reasoning processes.”
Kari asks, “So are you thinking hours? Days?”
“This is simple stuff. They are going to figure this out within minutes. If the reply doesn’t come for several hours, it won’t be because they haven’t understood us, it’ll be because they’re arguing among themselves about how to respond. Any delay will tell us whether we’re dealing with scientists or bureaucrats. If their reply takes more than a day or so, we need to figure out if their concerns are political or religious, because they won’t be scientific.”
“Huh,” Helios says, genuinely impressed.
Dali laughs, saying, “And, now we throw the cat among the pigeons.”
[ 5 + 5 = 10 ]
[ 2 * 5 = 10 ]
[ 10 / 5 = 2 ]
“And just like that, we’re taking off the training wheels. We’re telling them we’re not going to treat them like kids. We expect them to keep up. We’re demonstrating we use a base-10 numeric system and that we use zero as both a concept and a placeholder. We’re showing them how multiplication and division work, hinting that there are more numbers between five and ten, but that those aren’t important right now. The concepts are important, not the numbers. We’re telling them we need them to figure things out without us explaining every single detail.”
“You really are a bastard,” Helios says, chuckling.
“They’re intelligent,” Dali says in his defense. “We expect them to use that intelligence.”
Kari shakes her head. “You know, I almost feel sorry for them.”
“Almost,” Helios says.
Dali smiles.
Asteroid Kenshin
“Do you mind?” Sandy says as a foot floats in front of her face. Toes wiggle within a pair of socks. She bats at the feet drifting by.
“Oh, sorry,” Dali says, twisting. He turns upside down and peers out the wrap-around cockpit window. “This is—sublime, crazy, beautiful, insane!”
Sandy says, “Pick one, Dali. Just one.”
“Haunting.”
She smiles. Dali’s irrepressible. If he’s forced to settle on a single concept, it won’t be one he’s already thought of as his mind demands more of him. For Dali, thoughts are like stepping stones in a creek. The point is not the stones themselves, but getting to the other side. It’s been five days since he woke in a glass shell. He’s been immersing himself in documents and procedures. With a failed imprint, he feels compelled to make up lost ground. Preparing for an EVA should include dress rehearsals, but in the wild imagination of his mind, he’s already conducted several in his sleep.
“You should see this,” he says from behind a thin plastic mask covering his nose and mouth. Dali’s breathing pure oxygen in preparation for a spacewalk with Kari. By clearing the nitrogen from his blood, he’ll avoid a case of the bends in a low-pressure spacesuit.
“I can see it quite fine from here,” Sandy replies, looking at the screens in front of her. The video imagery of the asteroid is overlaid with dozens of metrics related to orbital mechanics. There are distances, dimensions, density estimates and gravitational loading—everything she needs to bring the Magellan safely into orbit.
“It’s big.”
“It’s a baby. It’s only got a radius of about five kilometers.”
“Why did you call it Kenshin?” Dali asks, curious.
“Are you a fan of manga?” she asks. “Anime?”
“Nope.”
The look on her face suggests it’s too complex to explain. He asks a follow-up question, hoping for a better response.
“Why’s there no color? It looks like a mound of rocks filmed in sepia-tones.”
Kari floats beside him, staring out the cockpit window at the asteroid. Between each breath, oxygen seeps from her mask with a hiss. Like a female Darth Vader, she says, “We’re a long way from Luyten. Not much light or warmth reaches this far out. Besides, it’s a low-albedo carbonaceous chondrite asteroid cluster.”
Dali laughs. “Ah, you used a lot of words there, but, um, without actually telling me anything.”
“It’s a rock pile, Dali. Think of it as gravel floating in space.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?”
She grins at him from behind her mask. “Sciency stuff, you know. This being a science mission and all, I’ve got to use those big names. That’s what they pay me for.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You’re getting paid?”
“All right, you clowns,” Sandy says. “We’re on the clock here.”
“I’m getting good spectroscopy,” Kari says, “Kenshin’s lighting up the graph across the spectrum. Lots of base materials. Some ice in the dark patches. Almost no mineral salts in that region near the equator.”
“That’s good, right?” Helios asks. He’s strapped in beside Sandy on the side of the cockpit, facing the instrumentation panel. The two of them are using a docking procedure to approach the asteroid side-on, lining the airlock up with the rocky surface in the distance as the spacecraft is drawn into orbit.
“It’s great,” Kari says. “It means this isn’t a terrestrial fragment. There’s been no exposure to liquid water. If we’re lucky, this is a relic from the formation of the system. It’ll tell us a lot about the composition of Bee.”
Sandy speaks for the record, saying, “And we are on station at five kilometers. Gravitational fluctuations are minimal. Magellan is stable in a polar orbit. We have an unobstructed view of the northern equatorial landing point on each pass. Sample team is clear for deployment.”
Mission milestones are automatically transmitted back to Earth. Although it’ll take over a decade before anyone reviews their logs, it’s important to document their actions. The speed of light is a bitch when it comes to communication lag, but Dali knows the scientists back there will pore over the results.
“Copy that,” Kari says in reply to Sandy. “Come on, Dali. Let’s get suited up.”
“You’re going to be fine,” Sandy says in response to his slightly worried look. “Spacewalking is a piece of cake.”
Dali offers her a thumbs up in the absence of any words.
“This way,” Kari says.
The two astronauts pull themselves through the cabin, gliding through the air as they navigate the corridors and modules within the Magellan. Two empty spacesuits float on either side of the main airlock. If it weren’t for the dust covers over their glass visors, it would be easy to think they were occupied. Kari closes the inner airlock hatch and cycles the air, purging the nitrogen and replacing it with pure oxygen. Dali double-checks the suit consumables, stows the dust covers, opens the helmets, checks the seals, and confirms the oxygen levels and pressure within his PLSS—his Personal Life-Support System. He double-checks the electrical charge, backpack fuel, and water cooling systems. Memorizing a checklist is easier than performing it, but he loses himself in the details, trying to calm his nerves.
“We’re all good,” Kari says as the atmospheric light shifts from a blue square to a green triangle, indicating they’re in an oxygen-rich environment. It’ll transform into a red stop light once they’re in a vacuum. Colors and shapes are important visual indicators. Color alone is not enough. Although none of the crew are colorblind, head trauma could change that. The design has to accommodate all possibilities for the duration of the mission.
Dali is a mess. From the outside, he looks relaxed, but it’s a lie. As much as he pushes himself to learn from the mission documentation, practice beats theory. Ideas flash through his mind. Memories come in and out of focus. He recalls needing help on Earth suiting up for a stint in the neutral buoyancy tank in Houston. The water. It was a brilliant, almost iridescent blue. The water was so clear and deep, the various mockups of space hardware set on the bottom of the pool had a distinct aqua tint. The surface of the water was as smooth as glass. Occasionally, waves lapped at the grating, spilling over into the gutter and being drawn through the pool filters. Back then, he was excited about suiting up. Stepping into the suit trousers was easy, but the upper torso had to be mounted on a rack. He wriggled beneath it, feeding his arms up into the tortoise shell. He wasn’t excited—the other him was. Old him was eager to get in the pool. And just like that, the vision’s gone. As much as he wants to cling to that memory, he can’t.
“Everything okay?” Kari asks.
“Fine.”
“Dali,” Sandy says over the intercom. “Are you good?”
Oh, she knows him too well. A single-word answer is almost inevitably a lie slipping from his lips. He looks up at the camera and smiles, offering a thumbs up.
In microgravity, suiting up is fun. Dali focuses on the process. He somersaults as he slips his trousers on, spinning slowly as he works the thick material up to his waist. The irony of what’s happening isn’t lost on him. As difficult as it was suiting up on Earth, he’ll never know the pull of one gee. He flies beneath the upper torso, pulling himself inside and slipping his head through the open neck ring. His face emerges within his open helmet. He should be thankful. This is what the old him wanted but never experienced. He trained for a mission he’d never undertake. The old Dali disciplined himself to build muscle memories and skills he’d never use. They were a gift. If the imprint had worked properly, Dali’s mind would be flooded with memories indistinguishable from his own. As it is, the current Dali is left with a longing. He has a vague awareness rather than knowledge of specifics.
Kari helps him secure the locking ring around his waist.
“Looking good, buddy.”
She must suspect he’s nervous about the spacewalk. He is. The problem is, he’s seen his own ghost. He smiles and returns the favor, helping her with her suit. They have their visors raised and their Snoopy caps on.
“Powering up,” Kari says, punching commands into her wrist pad computer with thick gloves.
“Powering up,” Dali repeats. The LED on the tip of the microphone attached to his Snoopy cap glows in a soft red. It’ll turn to green when he’s on transmit. He slides his visor down, sealing himself within his suit.
The two astronauts float entwined, looking down at the readouts on each other’s wrist pad computer, triple-checking their consumables.
“You’re good,” Dali says. Although he sounds confident, he’s only had a couple of days to familiarize himself with the procedures. In theory, it’s straightforward. In practice, it’s utterly terrifying.
“You too,” Kari replies. “Magellan, we are good to go. Vacating the lock.”
“Copy that.”
Within a minute, the green triangle transforms into a red circle.
Kari says, “Asteroid Kenshin mission elapsed time is plus two hours and six minutes, and the outer hatch is open.”
The two astronauts take either side of the instrument tray and drag it between them, edging it out into the pitch-black void. Bungee cords stretch over drills, battery packs, floodlights, scaffolding, sample collection containers, and a jackhammer.
A red sun sits off to their right. At this distance, it’s barely a point of light, but it’s bright enough to hide the stars and illuminate the rocky surface of the asteroid.
Dali’s heart beats faster. Sandy must be watching his vitals. She whispers to him on a private channel, “Deep breaths.”
Deep breaths aren’t going to help. For Dali, breathing is the problem. All he can hear is the sound of a fan whirring softly—that and his own breathing. The silence is unnerving. He wants to ask if they could play some music, perhaps a little Bach, but he’s sure that would sound surprisingly dumb to everyone else.
Both astronauts have individual jetpacks. As they’re carrying the instrument sled between them and this is Dali’s first spacewalk, Kari takes remote control of Dali’s pack. Her wrist pad computer automatically compensates for the mass of the equipment held by the two astronauts and accelerates them smoothly out to four meters per second. A Heads-Up Display appears within Dali’s helmet. The HUD shows range, relative velocity, time-elapsed, estimated time of arrival, and various consumable levels. There are too many details for him.
“Okay, we’ve got a transit time of approximately ten minutes,” Kari says as the asteroid looms before them in the half-light.
The five kilometers of pitch-black, empty space between them and asteroid Kenshin looks a helluva lot bigger and deeper than it did from the cockpit of the Magellan. If he looks toward Luyten’s Star, it’s bright enough that it blots out the other stars. If he looks away, dim stars and planets appear, fighting to break through the darkness. To Dali’s mind, it feels as if the two astronauts are hovering over eternity. In a sense, they are.
“And we are at transit velocity,” Kari says, countering their orbital momentum by traveling against the direction of motion established by the Magellan. Their trajectory follows a corkscrew relative to the asteroid as it faces the distant star. They loop over the landing zone with light touches on the jets, circling ever closer.
Kari is calm. “Drifting in.”
“Copy that,” is the reply from Helios.
Dali is fascinated by how his eyes react in the low light. If he faces Luyten’s Star, the deep space beyond the asteroid is pitch-black. If he watches the shadows on Kenshin, faint stars come back into focus in the darkness beyond the asteroid.
Rather than zooming straight toward Kenshin, it feels as though the vast mass of rocks and boulders is tumbling toward him. Nine trillion metric tons of rubble grows ever larger in his visor. It would make for one helluva grave. Dali feels sweat break out on his brow. His heart is thumping within his chest. If Sandy notices his vital signs changing, she doesn’t say anything.
At the bottom of Dali’s visor, a rearview image is projected onto the glass. The Magellan recedes from them. The safety of his spaceship appears smaller by the second. In reality, the Magellan was always small. It’s only now he appreciates how tiny their lifeboat is among the vast field of stars. He loses track of the Magellan as they loop around the asteroid again, drifting ever closer.
“Halfway,” Kari says.
Their maneuvering jets are mounted low on the sides of their life-support packs, just above their hips, equating roughly to their personal center of gravity. Bursts of ice-cold gas erupt from the jets as they rush toward the mountain of rocks. Radar warnings flicker. A proximity alarm appears. Their distance, relative velocity and estimated arrival time is constantly being updated down on the right side of the HUD. The problem is, those updates are frantic. From Dali’s perspective, they’re manic. Who cares about the numbers out to two decimal places whipping by like a rocket blazing through the sky? Such precision doesn’t help his anxiety.
Even though he’s attached by a tether, Dali keeps a good grip on the instrument rack between them, trusting Kari to slow them.
Dali focuses on the tiny outline of the Magellan as it comes back into view during the crossing. He should have memories of the ship, but he doesn’t. The strange thing is he knows facts and figures about the spacecraft, but he doesn’t know how he knows.
“Two kilometers,” Kari says, “We’re being drawn into the gravity well.”
“Copy that,” Helios says. “You’re looking good to us. Your drift profile is nominal.”
The spacecraft looks like it was modeled after a javelin or perhaps an arrow. The engines and fuel tanks at the rear of the vessel are separated from the cockpit by a long, narrow shaft. Aerodynamics are meaningless in space until they aren’t. When under chemical rocket propulsion, be that the ion drive or their cryogenic hydrogen/oxygen engine, there’s no need for smooth lines. As soon as the Falco drive kicks in, though, that shape is all that keeps them alive.
“One kilometer out.”
Dali’s been immersing himself in the details of their flight to Luyten’s Star while in the torus. He mentally reviews that to distract himself from the sensation of falling toward the rocks on the asteroid.
The Magellan’s flight is revolutionary for humanity. It has been likened to Apollo 11’s Eagle landing in the Sea of Tranquility and the Starship Philadelphia landing on the Tharsis Uplift on Mars.
