Doomsday's Eve, page 1
DOOMSDAY’S EVE
Richard Tongue
Doomsday’s Eve
Extinction Event: Book One
Copyright © 2021 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved
First Kindle Edition: June 2021
All characters and events portrayed within this eBook are fictitious; any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
“Earth is the cradle of humanity, but one cannot live in the cradle forever.”
Konstantin Tsiolkovsky
Prologue
June 3rd, 2032
Bill Ortega never tired of looking at the moon, and the view from the cupola at Gateway Station still took his breath away, even three weeks into his three-month tour of duty. On paper, the crew manifest listed him as no more than a Spaceflight Participant; a tourist, in the parlance of spaceflight, but the research package he’d accompanied to the moon had been largely designed by him, built by his company. He might have paid for his ticket, but he’d earned his place on the crew.
“Bill?” the voice of the station’s commander, Edward Nguyen, a three-trip veteran, echoed through the hatch. “Vlad’s got the relay satellite working again. We’re ready to get the latest data dump from the Big Bird.”
“Coming,” Ortega replied, kicking down through the hatch with long-practiced ease, catching himself on a footrail to drift through the cramped habitation module, coming to rest in front of the experiment rack at the end, next to the docking hatch. The Russian engineer, Vladimir Volkov, flashed him a toothy grin as he worked the controls, gesturing at the alignment sensors.
“Tricky bastard,” Volkov said. “Need a new satellite.”
“I’ll add it to the list,” Ortega quipped.
“Not joking,” he replied. “Over-priced junk.”
With a smile, Nguyen said, “Vlad has a way with words, but he’s not wrong. Those relay satellites were built by the highest bidder to the lowest possible quality. We can’t even service the damn things in that orbit.”
“Planned obsolescence,” Volkov added. “Capitalist curse.”
“What about the data stream?” asked Ortega.
Nodding, Volkov worked the controls, the monitors bursting into life as the data streamed into the system, text racing down the screens almost too fast to read, Nguyen and Ortega watching with satisfaction as the download came to an end, the last of the multi-gigabyte data stream stored safely in their Wyvern capsule for safe, easy transit back to Earth.
“That is how it is done,” Volkov said. “We have capacity for another fifteen data dumps in your secure storage.” He looked at Ortega, and said, “You will want me to provide first interpretations now?”
“Please,” Ortega replied. “I want something for the press release.”
“Journalists,” Volkov said with a sigh. “Rodents and snakes.”
“Come on, Vlad, this is big news,” Nguyen said. “The first Farside radio telescope brought on-line after eight years of development. Besides, NASA’s counting on this to unlock more funding for Project Selene.”
“Always money,” Volkov muttered. “Always money.”
Turning to Ortega, Nguyen said, “How about you, Bill? All of this worth, what, a hundred million or so?”
“More than that,” Ortega replied. “The answer to a dream. The dream of centuries. I’m just glad we get there first this time. The Chinese won’t have their observatory ready for three, four years…”
“And it’ll be twice as big, four times as powerful,” Nguyen interrupted.
“Probably, but size isn’t everything.” Ortega turned to the wall, tugging a tablet free from the webbing, scrolling through the task list. “I’d better start earning my keep.” He wrinkled his nose, and said, “Air filters again. Another fantastic design. They’re almost built to catch as much crud as possible.”
“You wanted adventure, didn’t you? High adventure?”
“Yeah, but the movies I watched when I was a kid never told me that I’d end up fixing the toilet or feeding the mice,” Ortega replied. “Don’t worry, skipper, I’ll be a good soldier.” Turning to Volkov, he said, “Give me a call when you’ve got something, will you?”
“Hang on a few minutes,” the engineer replied. “I think I might have something for you right away. Results from the first observation target. I’m pretty sure we’re discovered a new interstellar comet.” With a wide grin on his face, he added, “Technically, I think I get to name it.”
“I’ve no objection to Comet Volkov, Vlad,” Ortega replied. “I’ll see if I can get that signed off by the IAU.” Kicking back to the experiment rack, he added, “What sort of data have we got?”
“Good trajectory plot, and coming close. Inner System. Could try and get a probe out to this one, even sample return.”
Shaking his head, Nguyen replied, “You’d never get anything like that into the budget.”
“If NASA won’t pay for it, AstroTech will,” Ortega said. The two men looked at him, and he added, “I’m serious. If either of you think I’m passing up the chance to get hold of rock samples from another star…”
Volkov whistled, and said, “Big beast. Thirty-seven kilometers.”
“Good size for a comet. Should have one hell of a tail when it gets closer to the sun. Maybe even visible from Earth.” Shaking his head, Ortega turned to Nguyen, adding, “This is going to be one hell of a public relations win. I couldn’t have come up with anything better if I’d scripted it.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Nguyen replied with a grin. “Any idea how long before we get enough data for Bill to break the news to the world?”
“Thirty minutes, maybe.”
Nodding, the commander replied, “I’d better talk to Mission Control, get this set up, get the local press pack ready.”
“Vultures,” Volkov said, a grimace on his face.
“Get Sam Sherman on the line,” added Ortega. “I want her to get the social media people moving. Any chance to get people excited about space…”
“No argument here,” Nguyen said. “Just remember that we’ve still got a station to run, and those air filters won’t clean themselves.” He moved over to the communications console, glanced at the clock, and said, “Ought to be in time to make Good Morning America. Let’s…”
Volkov shook his head, and said, “It’s coming close.”
“How close?” Ortega asked. The engineer’s face grew pale, and he drifted away from the workstation, heading for the nearest viewport, trying to get a look at Earth. “Vlad, how close?” Ortega pressed.
“Too close,” he whispered. “Too damned close.”
“Let me take a look at that,” Nguyen said, moving to the workstation, bringing up the data. “There’s got to be a mistake.” Ortega drifted to his side, watching as the computers plotted the comet’s trajectory. The systems were good, state of the art, designed to solve complicated navigational problems, and that posed by the comet was all too simple.
In a little over four years, the comet would race into the Solar System at seventy-nine kilometers per second. It would swing close enough to Jupiter to have its course altered, sending it into the heart of the Earth-Moon system, narrowly missing the Moon by only ten thousand miles, a glorious sight for those on the surface.
And about an hour and a half later, no more, the comet would collide with Earth, dying gloriously in furious flame.
And if the numbers were right, ending all life on Earth in the process.
“Scrap the press conference,” Nguyen said. “I’ll get Mission Control on the line.” Turning to Volkov, he continued, “Get into the capsule, start working on pre-flight procedure. We’re going home.”
“Ten weeks to go…”
“He’s right,” Ortega replied. “We’ve got to get this data back to Earth. I’ll handle pre-flight. You try and get the Big Bird aligned for another pass. The more information we get, the better. There must be an answer, somewhere.”
Chapter 1
Four Years Later
Jack Corrigan tugged his jacket tighter in the cold Russian air, looking up at the clear, star-laden sky, the view dominated by Volkov's Comet, the tail long enough to be easily visible even in daylight as it closed on the Sun. He almost walked into an old woman, who flashed him an evil stare as he walked into the Café Sputnik, one of the few places in town that served a decent meal.
He took his usual table, looking up at the television, a grey-suited man reading the news, an image of Mars over his shoulder, framed by images of the four crewmembers of Ares Three, destined to complete their first landing on the Red Planet in a matter of weeks.
He should have been among them. A year ago, he’d been the commander of that mission, hand-picked after a decade of training, after three tours of duty in the orbital stations and a landing on the Moon. Then his world had collapsed all around him, and by the time the dust settled, he’d been politely but firmly thrown out of NASA and the Space Force, reduced to hunting around the fringes of the space program, hoping to get a job somewhere as a consultant.
Eight months without a job. Astronauts weren’t well paid at the best of times. That wasn’t why they signed up. But it meant that his bank account was close to empty, even the room over the café becoming a precarious drain on his remaining resources. As a bored waitress served his usual, a burger that was perhaps only half soya, he looked up at the television again, the story mercifully switching to coverage of another terrorist attack, a news station destroyed somewhere in California, three journalists killed.
That was happening more often than it used to, as well. Time was an attack like that would have dominated the news for a week. Now it didn’t even make the lead story. More and more, it felt as though bad news was being buried, a weary population unable or unwilling to tolerate harsh reality.
The door opened, and a tall woman wearing a thick, heavy coat swept into the café, looking around before heading over to his table, flashing him a smile as she sat opposite him, throwing a quick glance at the waitress who resentfully brought over a menu.
“Do I know you?” Corrigan asked.
“No, Colonel, but I know you,” she replied. “Samantha Sherman. I’m Executive Vice-President of AstroTech.”
Raising an eyebrow, Corrigan said, “I’m not a Colonel. Not anymore. The Space Force made that very clear. Call me Jack.”
“I think Colonel is more appropriate.”
“I told you…”
“You earned your rank the hard way. I wouldn’t give it away so easily.”
With a smile, he replied, “If you insist. Now, just what is the Executive Vice-President of AstroTech doing in a one-horse town like Belogorsk? Did you get off at the wrong stop on your way to Vostechny?”
“I’m staying at the Cosmodrome, yes, but I came here looking for you. I understand that you’re looking for work.” Pulling out a piece of paper, she glanced at her notes, and said, “You were hoping to get a consulting contract with a satellite launching company based here, yes?”
“Their office was boarded up when I arrived,” he replied.
“You haven’t been having much luck lately, Colonel.”
He leaned back, and replied, “You didn’t come out here to offer me life coaching. If you’re offering me a job, I accept.”
“Without even knowing what it is?”
“If you’re that well informed, then you know that I’m not in a position to argue. If you want an ex-astronaut, I’m your man.”
“What would you say if I told you that it wasn’t an ex-astronaut we were looking for.”
His mouth widened, and he said, “You want me to fly for you?”
“You’d be willing to go back into space again?”
“Ma’am, I’d ride a rocket tomorrow if that’s what it took.”
“Excellent. I think we might be able to accommodate you.” A bag was placed by his side, and he looked down to see his remaining possessions, all packed and sorted, a receipt tied to the handle. “I took the liberty of arranging for you to check out, and AstroTech has cleared your bill.”
“Thanks,” Corrigan replied. “Are we in a hurry?”
“Let me put it this way. I have a car waiting outside, and a helicopter on standby to take us to Vostechny. The boss wants to interview you, as well as the other members of the Mission Team.” Looking at her watch, she said, “Tonight, preferably. If you don’t mind abandoning your meal, I think I can promise that the cuisine will be significantly better where we’re going.”
Pushing his untouched plate away, Corrigan said, “Lead on.” Reaching into his pocket, he piled a collection of coins on the table, the waitress glaring at the tip as he rose to his feet, grabbing his bag and following Sherman out of the café, back into the cold gloom of the night. Sherman looked up at the comet for a moment, a scowl on her face, then led Corrigan into a waiting car, the engine starting up as soon as he climbed inside.
“We’ll be at the helipad in a few minutes. I’ve got traffic priority.”
“I guess your boss really means business. I met Bill Ortega once, a few years back, when I was in training for Ares Three. He knew more about the mission than most of the support team.”
Nodding, she replied, “He remembers you. That’s why he picked you. Even if someone else had hired you, you’d have ended up working for us.”
“Nice to be wanted by someone,” he said, looking down at his bag.
Glancing at him, Sherman said, “I hope you don’t have much baggage, Colonel, and I’m not talking about your holdall. There won’t be room for it on this voyage.”
“Let’s just say that I’ll be leaving Earth with no regrets, but that’s as far as it goes.” He paused, then said, “Who else is on the Mission Team?”
“Two old friends of yours,” she replied. “Sergei Antonov as flight engineer, and Commandant Michelle Dubois as pilot. You’ve flown with both on past missions, trained together as the backup crew for Ares Two.”
“Just how did you spring those two? Sergei was on the short-list for Ares Four, and last I heard, Michelle was on her way back to the moon.”
“Doctor Antonov has experienced problems of his own, I’m afraid. His role in the Ares Project was terminated four months ago, and I understand that Roscosmos was not willing to transfer him to other duties. Besides, once he heard that you were involved, he was happy to join our mission.”
“Once he heard…,” Corrigan said.
“I assumed you would be willing.”
“What about Michelle?”
“She was dismissed from ESA five months ago. I understand their leadership disliked her public protests relating to their decision to withdraw from the Ares Mission Syndicate.”
Corrigan chuckled, and replied, “She’s even worse than me at playing the political game. So three of us are going up, then. Soon?”
Nodding, she said, “The mission is high priority.”
“Ramshackle Station, right?” he guessed. Over the last few years, AstroTech had been buying up old space station components, mostly from the American and Russian space programs, and piecing them together into their own private space station, positioned in an unusual polar orbit. Given the nature of the cobbled-together platform, the nickname had been inevitable.
“Hermes Station,” she replied.
“I didn’t know it had an official name. I didn’t even know that it was completed. There wasn’t anything on the news.”
“We haven’t made many of the details public. The station completed initial check-out last month, and the initial flight crew returned three days ago. She’s in free flight right now, but we’re anxious to begin our research program as soon as possible.”
“Not tourism, then?” he asked.
“Not in the way you mean,” she replied with a smile. “How much do you know about the station?”
“You bought what would have been Node 4 of the ISS, a Russian airlock and science module, a few other bits and pieces…”
“That’s essentially correct. There’s a Cupola from what would have been the Euro-Chinese Space Station, and a modified Cygnus module.”
“As a permanent part of the station?” Corrigan asked. “Interesting.”
“Also, a prototype TOPAZ-Nine nuclear reactor.”
Raising an eyebrow, he replied, “On a manned station?”
“It has operated safely in space for two and a half years. The Russian government agreed to loan it to us for this project. One of the reasons we wanted the three of you is that you have a good working knowledge of all of those components, either on ISS or Gateway. Doctor Antonov worked on the TOPAZ project, prior to his selection as a cosmonaut. You won’t need to spend much time in training. Given our timeline, that’s just as well. You’ll have a fourth crewmember, but you’ll meet her later.”
“Not another old friend, I take it.”
“Your Payload Specialist has never left Earth, but she’s been in training for this mission for more than two years.”
Corrigan looked at her, and said, “I take it you’re going to keep our actual mission a secret for a while.”
“Not until you’re on the payroll, anyway. I hope you understand.”
“You’re offering me the chance to command a space station. That’s a far better deal than I’m going to get from anyone else. Last week I was hoping to get hired by a two-bit outfit hoping to launch navigation satellites for some less than savory Third World governments.” He paused, then asked, “You’re familiar with my recent background.”
“We are,” she replied. “It’s irrelevant. As long as it doesn’t get in the way of your work, your personal life is of no importance to us, I assure you.”
“None of the stories were true.”
She shrugged, and said, “It doesn’t matter to me. Or to Bill Ortega. All we care about is that you are one of the most experienced flight commanders available, on active duty or not. We need that knowledge right now, though I suppose it’s fair to say that we’re assuming you’ll have no problem undertaking an extended flight.”
