The crew members of STS-136 were the featured guests at what was billed as the Final Launch party, hastily planned and held at the V.A.B., Kennedy Space Center’s enormous Vehicle Assembly Building. Politicians, high-level Pentagon officials, select NASA personnel and contractors, and a handful of media attended the event.
Despite the unusual circumstances and sense of urgency with the mission, the atmosphere was festive and celebratory. The Space Shuttle program had never fully realized its potential, its systems proving too complex and the launch process too costly. But the program had achieved great things, responsible for untold new technologies, scientific discoveries, and furthering mankind’s advancement into the final frontier. These accomplishments did not go unnoticed as everyone attending the event gave STS its due respect, in both speeches and video homage during the formal dinner as well as the after-party buzz as guests casually mingled and reminisced.
Except for Benson Davis, who was busily pacing throughout the V.A.B. like a nervous cat, stepping outside every five minutes for a hurried smoke. The orchestra, champagne and eight-foot tall shuttle-themed ice carving did little to lift his spirits as he fretted over Essie’s recovery.
Carver was sympathetic. He too respected the STS program’s accomplishments, but, like Davis and the handful of other individuals in the hanger, he knew that it would pale in comparison to the discovery of intelligent life outside the Solar System.
Carver walked up to Davis and handed him a tumbler of Scotch.
“To success,” Davis said before slugging down the whiskey.
Carver lifted his ginger ale to the toast, taking a sip.
“Are you ready?” Davis asked.
Carver raised his eyebrows. “I sure as hell hope so,” he confessed. “I could read through every inch of Essie’s schematics and diagrams for the next month and it wouldn’t do much good. I won’t know what’s broken or how to fix the damn thing until I get up there. If it was up to me, we would skip all this pomp and circumstance, climb aboard Discovery and take off right now.”
“Me, too.”
Both men heard the proverbial clock ticking loudly, and feared they were running out of time.
Chapter 6
E.S.S.E. Status: 72 Hours to Atmosphere Re-Entry
Having executed a textbook launch, Discovery completed its first full orbit around Earth. After opening the payload bay doors per standard procedure to cool the orbiter after launch, Commander Reynolds deemed the launch process complete and gave everyone the go-ahead to remove pressure helmets, unbuckle seat restraints and begin post-launch checks.
Carver was pretty sure he needed to immediately introduce himself to the shuttle’s toilet. He found no comfort in the fact that he was not the first to pee in his suit during launch. It was a well-known but politely ignored side-effect, produced when millions of pounds of highly combustible chemicals were explosively unleashed mere meters behind a few thin metal walls. Manned rocket launches gave even the most experienced astronauts pause. Space veterans know what to expect, and the lucky few who repeat the experience may get used to it, but none completely conquer the fear. Nonetheless, an embarrassed Carver chastised himself for a lack of control.
Not long after he shed his orange ACES (Advanced Crew Escape Suit) and donned the customary royal blue NASA polo shirt and flight pants, Carver stole away to a workstation and began pulling up sim programs displaying Essie’s orbit. Her rate of orbital decay was accelerating, and Carver knew they would only have one chance to locate and retrieve the small satellite. The launch had been programmed to place Discovery in the same orbit as Essie, trailing by a few hundred miles. Finding her was one thing—requiring continuous guidance control from Houston as engineers triangulated their mutual positions and relayed them to the shuttle’s on-board computers—but chasing Essie down was another thing altogether, her unstable orbit making acquisition very complicated.
Reynolds interrupted Carver’s analysis and called him to the shuttle’s Flight-deck.
“What’s up, boss?” Carver asked politely. Even though the crew had given him a hard time at JSC, Reynolds had gained his respect. Not just another NASA space jockey, Reynolds was smart and capable, eager to be involved in the science of their mission, more than simply a space pilot. He was a good leader.
“We have a visual on your satellite. Here, take a look,” he moved out of the way as Carver floated over to look at one of the monitors above the payload ops console.
Centered on a set of tracking cross-hairs was a small white dot moving slowly relative to a backdrop of several stars; there was a blue hue to the right of the image, which Carver assumed to be reflected light from Earth.
“How far away is it?”
“About two hundred klicks. We have to approach slowly, so it’s going to take us a couple of hours using maneuvering thrusters to get close enough to catch it with the robot arm.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Carver asked.
“Yeah. See if you can establish a communication link. Maybe this thing doesn’t have enough juice to transmit to the surface, but if we’re lucky, maybe you can access the main computer from here,” Reynolds suggested.
“Well, don’t get your hopes up. The computer doesn’t need much power to run. If it can’t transmit to the surface, I doubt it can transmit at all. My guess is that Essie has lost all power, and even the back-up batteries are most likely drained.”
“Damage to the solar panels?” Reynolds speculated.
“The downloaded diagnostics gave no evidence of that. I can make a visual inspection when we get closer.”
“Agreed. In the meantime, I need to brief Ramirez and Ikiro about why we’re really here. And you’re going to help me,” Reynolds said firmly.
“Wonderful,” Carver replied sardonically, following Reynolds aft through the Mid-deck access.
* * *
Minutes later the other two members of Discovery’s crew were looking blankly at Reynolds and Carver, trying to process their briefing on the true nature of their mission—rescuing a wayward top-secret satellite.
Mission Pilot Diego Ramirez turned to Carver. “So that’s why you’re here. You designed the satellite?”
“I designed the power system. They sent me up here to find the cause of the sudden power loss and fix it if I can. If not, I need to download the on-board data before the satellite burns up in the atmosphere.”
“Now I know why I’m here,” Ikiro quipped. As NASA’s most experienced operator of the Space Shuttle’s Remote Manipulator Arm, her job was simple—grab the satellite as fast as possible, preferably on the first try.
Carver fidgeted. “There’s something else you should all know.” And he revealed Essie’s secret.
* * *
Twenty years ago, Franklin Carver was a brilliant but reclusive engineering genius. By 32, he earned his doctorate in electrical engineering, distinguishing himself within the scientific ranks at NASA. He was already considered an expert in satellite solar power systems design.
As E.S.S.E. project manager, Benson Davis was exercising his connections within NASA to maximum advantage, poaching the best and brightest minds from other projects to serve on his own team. He was acquainted with Carver, and impressed by his reputation. Carver was one of the best in his field, fueling Davis’ quest to lobby senior management to pull him off the Hubble Space Telescope project to be added to the E.S.S.E. roster.
Initially, Carver resisted the transfer. He was not a fan of behind-the-scenes scheming and internal politics, and despite their shared mutual respect and passion for space exploration, Carver instantly disliked Davis for pulling him off Hubble.
That changed when his security clearance came through and Davis briefed him on Essie’s mission. Unlike Hubble, E.S.S.E. would serve a single purpose: search for life beyond the Solar System. Earth-based systems such as the radio telescope at Arecibo, Puerto Rico or the Very Large Array in New Mexico had been operational for decades, producing no resul
ts. Carver found the notion of adding satellite technology to man’s search for extra-solar intelligence powerfully intriguing. “Hubble is going to take a lot of nice pictures. Wouldn’t you prefer instead to be part of the team responsible for discovering alien life?” Davis had challenged. And with that, Carver was hooked. He worked on the project for a year, until the day he discovered another, much more ominous function Essie was being designed to perform.
As the project progressed, Carver pressed Davis to explain why his team was being tasked to design a power system with more than twice the necessary capacity to run a relatively simple space telescope. Davis intentionally kept Carver in the dark for months, citing ‘need to know’ and consistently evading his queries about the need for additional power capacity.
Carver made discrete inquires through backchannels, but discovered that Davis had effectively compartmentalized the entire project, concealing Essie’s secondary function from virtually everyone on the engineering team. None of Carver’s colleagues knew the full scope of the project.
Finally, Carver became insistent and demanded to know why his team was developing an over-engineered power system. To ensure the design work would not be compromised, Davis had no choice but to come clean.
Not only would the satellite search for planets outside the solar system, but Essie would also attempt to contact life on those planets through the transmission of a tightly beamed radio signal.
Carver was stunned.
The signal itself was nothing more than a rapid burst of microwave pings, a continuously repeated sequence of the first 50 prime numbers, Davis explained.
But the simplicity of the message did not assuage Carver’s incredulity. He thought it sheer madness to blindly reveal humankind’s existence to unknown, potentially hostile, alien intelligences. Their reaction would be unpredictable, and possibly apocalyptic.
Davis conceded that the notion of announcing the presence of sentient life on Earth to extraterrestrial neighbors was highly controversial and had been hotly contested within the Reagan Administration. He recapped the months of debate, explaining that the President’s security advisors had made similar arguments. “What if an alien species, upon discovering our whereabouts thanks to this ill-conceived signal, decides humans might make a tasty meal and introduce themselves to us with ray guns blazing from the bow of spaceships the size of small cities?” one of the Joint Chiefs had quipped.
But proponents of the project passionately countered that ‘advanced beings capable of interstellar flight would be undoubtedly benevolent’ and ‘we have a duty to discover what’s out there.’
President Reagan’s adventurous spirit and affinity for space exploration prevailed. He authorized the project, caution be damned, and instructed his staff to hide the funding within a myriad of riders attached to military and other appropriations bills. No one in Congress was the wiser.
The Joint Chiefs formally protested. However, they conceded the possibility of attacks from E.T.’s was remote, and their protestations waned as a sense of career preservation outweighed their desire to defy the Commander in Chief. They arrogantly presumed that U.S. armed forces could defeat any adversary they faced, both terrestrial and alien. Privately, they assumed the project would probably never deliver results anyway, other than a waste of taxpayer dollars.
Thus, under a veil of secrecy, the project moved forward. Davis was given carte blanche to design, build and launch E.S.S.E.
Carver continued to argue the point, engaging in screaming matches with Davis. He thought it incomprehensible that the President would make such a decision if his advisors had adequately explained the risks. Didn’t the administration realize there would be absolutely no guarantee that beings from another solar system would be peaceful? “Such presumption could bring the end of the human race!” He argued that, if there really was intelligent life out there, we should discover their nature first before making contact. He was not alone in that opinion.
But Davis would not budge. “Radio and television emissions began leaking out from Earth over 60 years ago; if an alien race in Alpha Centauri wanted to attack us they would have done so by now,” he countered. “A mathematical signal is an intelligent way to say ‘hello’.”
Carver threatened to go over Davis’ head. But Davis warned him that he had the backing of senior officials at NASA, as well as the White House, and had no intention of capitulating on Essie’s design.
Carver consequently advised Davis to pull his head out of his ass, quit the project and summarily resigned from NASA. Fortunately for Davis, Carver’s work on Essie was far enough along that his junior staff was able to finish the design.
Several years later, during a routine launch in December 1991, Essie rode inside the payload bay of Space Shuttle Atlantis. She was concealed alongside a much larger weather satellite also slated for deployment during the flight. With no media fanfare, no knowledge by the general public, foreign governments nor anyone else outside a handful of politicians, top military brass and NASA administrators, Essie was borne into space.
Carver watched the launch on television. Gritting his teeth, he cursed Benson Davis.
* * *
Reynolds, Stephens and Ikiro listened with rapt attention as Carver recounted the story and concluded with recent events that led to Davis postponing Discovery’s retirement. They were astonished.
Reynolds cleared his throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “What are you saying? The satellite made contact with extra-terrestrials?”
“I don’t know. For two decades, the damn thing has done nothing more than take thousands of pictures and make a bunch of noise.”
“Why the hell wasn’t I fully briefed on all this on the ground?” Reynolds demanded.
“I don’t know that either. Need-to-know, I guess. That’s Benson Davis’ style, keeping people he works with in the dark. He has a penchant for cloak and dagger.”
Reynolds let go his consternation and started spelling out the mission profile. “Diego, you will pilot the shuttle as close as possible to the satellite.”
“How close?” Ramirez interrupted.
“Five meters.” Carver noted the looks of surprise from his colleagues.
“Why so close? The arm’s reach is more than twice that,” Ikiro pointed out.
“Mark, I’m good, but isn’t that shaving it a bit close? At that distance we could open the hatch, reach out and grab the damn thing by hand,” Ramirez added. “Five meters is unsafe.”
“I know it’s not by-the-book, but we’re only going to have one shot at this, and at the rate E.S.S.E.’s orbit is decaying, we’ll be lucky not to singe our own asses in the upper atmosphere. Houston is telling us we have 60 hours, but we’re so damn close to the stratosphere I can feel the wind from up here. I want to recover the satellite and get some altitude ahead of schedule.”
The crew nodded in agreement.
“Diego will ease Discovery up alongside. Michele, you’re on the R.M.A. performing your usual magic. Frank and I will be standing by in the payload bay, suited up and ready for E.V.A. Once you’ve grappled the satellite, Frank will run a quick diagnostic and see if he can find out what’s wrong with the satellite’s power system. If that doesn’t pan out we’ll stow it in the bay and Diego will fire the O.M.S. engine and move us to a safe orbit. Questions?” Reynolds looked at each crew member. Everyone nodded.
“Okay. Let’s get to work.”
Chapter 7
Low Earth Orbit
Upon Sentinel’s arrival above the third planet orbiting the entity sender’s yellow star, the entity had become mysteriously silent. The journey had been long, at least ten orders of magnitude longer than any it had undertaken before. Sentinel waited patiently for the prime entity to awaken.
Transporting within the Home system from one planet to the next was much quicker and far easier than interstellar travel. The Elders, empowered to manage affairs between planet communities, rarely denied the citizens interplan
etary travel. Occasionally, they even agreed to an exchange of goods to maintain goodwill between communities. Cautious due to an ancient shared history of violence, the Elders served as guardians of the peace, having successfully protected individual planet societies from returning to times of conflict for generations. Designed to curtail communities from developing any aggression toward one another, the oversight process worked, evidenced by millennia of peaceful coexistence. Citizens could travel freely from one planet to another, provided the Elders authenticated their benign motivations.
An expedition outside the Home system was, however, a different matter altogether. When the message from the yellow star system first arrived, citizens were uneasy. ‘What does it mean?’ they asked. There was no precedent for such a message in the collective memory of the population, going back tens of thousands of revolutions around the Home star. Extraordinarily, the Elders convened a special council and conducted private deliberations.
The Elders considered the entity’s message, its mathematical basis providing unmistakable evidence of intelligence originating within the yellow star system. But there were only questions, without solutions. Eventually they reached an inescapable conclusion: Contact must be made with the entity that constructed the message.
They chose a citizen experienced in traveling beyond the Home System. Very few had been allowed to do this, given the severe mental and physical demands. The chosen one was designated Sentinel, and tasked with transcending the gulf between the Home System and that of the yellow star, contacting the entity, and verifying its nature.
* * *
Still waiting for the prime entity to initiate greetings, Sentinel became concerned that the attempt to contact these beings may have been futile. Perhaps the entity had entered into a rest period to prepare for an introduction?